#well thanks for nothing author

[robespapier]

I found a novel about young Napoleon's rise to power, and in the first few pages it's told me Robespierre had no lips and that he was losing sleep over the rumours about him and Eleonore Duplay being lovers, because she was so fucking ugly, he would never, how could people say that, how mean of them

[greeenchrysanthemums]

Thus Always to Tyrants

Chapter 5: Cordially Invited.

Gem is the commander of the Wintertide royal army, Grian is the leader of a resistance hell bent on taking the crown down no matter the cost. It was only natural that they would become enemies.

Beginning -> previous -> next

Read on ao3 ❀ here ❀

CW: slight self harm? please let me know if this needs more warnings

Words: 3,834

Pov: Gem

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Gem was situated at her desk within her personal study, her back facing toward the broad window as it let the warm rays of autumn sun in to warm her against the light chill that was permeating through the Wintertidian air as fall began its transition into colder weather. Scott stood off to the side of the room behind her, his back against the sill of the window, which he gazed out of with his arms crossed and his chin tilted skyward.

She sighed as she hung her head over the stack of reports that had been deposited onto her desk that morning, bright and early. 

She ran a hand through her messy, red curls, which hung free from her usual updo. Her bitten nails scraped along her scalp and her fingers caught on a few knots as they made their way through the thick hair, but she relished in the pain of them both, so it did not bother her in the slightest. It helped her to clear her head, even if just a little bit. She dropped her elbow onto the table and then her cheek into her palm, pursing her lips as strands of hair fell into her face, her eyes trained on the newest report.

They were all much the same as they had been the past few weeks since the whole ordeal with Grian and the break-in had occurred; nothing suspicious was seen and there was nothing of note to report. It had been yet another calm and quiet day like the others before them.

The only thing of any interest that had been discovered was a faint trace of a red, powdery substance dusting the outer walls of the castle, but even weeks later, no one was able to tell her what exactly it was. She had Bdubs clean what he could of the substance off of the walls just to be safe, but she wasn’t actually sure at this point whether it was something that she even had to be worried about.

There had not even been any sign of Grian outside of one potential sighting of the avian in the downtown industrial district over a week ago, and she had not even been able to confirm this was indeed him. All the witness had been able to tell her was that the person was wearing a red cloak and was of short stature. Not conclusive evidence when many people could match such a broad and simple description.

This lack of sightings in itself was cause for concern to her. Not that this was the first time he had dropped off of the face of the world, it was actually a common occurrence for the rebel to do just that. It was the absence mixed with the lingering threat that he left her with that did not bode well to her. Who knew what he was planning in the shadows and what kind of dangers he would bring on his tail when he returned. 

Her musings were cut short by a quick knock to her study door, followed by it being pushed open only a moment later without the person on the other end so much as waiting for a response or permission to enter. Gem’s eyes narrowed as the Royal Advisor, Martyn, let himself into the modestly sized room, his posture straight and stiff, the perfect picture of the politeness that he so lacked.

“Chancellor Martyn,” She greeted, standing from her desk to give him a polite bow despite his sudden, and frankly rude, intrusion.

“Commander,” He said, returning her bow with shorter and more stilted movements before informing her of his reason for being there. “His Majesty is requesting your presence in the royal study. He says the matter is of the utmost importance”

That caught her attention and she straightened her posture into something more reminiscent of his own as Scott pushed off of the wall and moved to stand at her side, ready to go. 

“Please, lead the way.” She told Martyn, gesturing towards the door with a nod of her head, and so he did.

As he led them down the stone halls of the castle, a million thoughts raced through her mind. Had the resistance finally made their move? Was the king in danger? No, surely Martyn would have been more frantic had that been the case; he certainly would not have wasted the time knocking in the first place or being formal with his request from the king. A lesser urgent matter than, something that still needed her immediate attention but did not put his or any of their citizen’s lives at risk at that very moment.

Maybe Ren had become privy to some important and confidential information about the resistance and their plans, as well as their whereabouts? That thinking was far too wistful, she discarded the thought immediately. Again, if that were the case, Martyn would likely have been much less laidback in his mission to retrieve her from her study.

She did not even want to entertain the idea that his urgent request for her presence had something to do with Coral Crest. Gods above know that the last thing they need is to go to war again while their kingdom was already in danger from the inside.

Her study was just down the hall from the king's, a deliberate placement decision that was made during the height of the war - long before she came into the position of royal commander - to make the flow of information between the king and his commander move at a quicker place than it would if she were positioned anywhere else in the castle. 

Her personal quarters were similarly close to that of the king’s, and they were connected by a hidden passage few knew of that also ran through the entirety of the castle, acting as both a quick way for her to get to him in the event of a crisis, or as an escape route. 

Because of her close proximity to the king, they made it to his study in no time. Her hand subconsciously made its way to the hilt of her sword as Martyn knocked on the door. Unlike when he knocked on her door, he waited until Ren’s voice called out letting them know it was okay to enter.

Once Gem was able to look inside, following behind Martyn as he took the lead forward, she found the king sitting nonchalantly at his desk. He didn’t look the slightest bit worried. In fact, he looked rather relaxed, maybe even a little bit too relaxed for apparently urgent matters.

“Sire,” She said, coming to a stop in front of his desk and bowing deeply, a hand over her heart. She straightened up to her original position and questioned him. “You said it was urgent?”

“Yes, I need you to look over these plans immediately and advise me on how best to set up security.” Ren said, casually sliding a stack of papers towards her across the desk.

She reached for the papers, lifting them from the desk and reading them carefully…and then she read them again. And again. And again. No matter how many times her eyes scanned over the worlds on the parchment, she could not fathom their existence. These were- What in the world?! 

She flipped through the rest of the thin stack, hoping she was somehow mistaken. This had to be some kind of elaborate joke that he was pulling on her and the punchline was at the end of the papers, because that was the only way she could rationalize these ridiculous plans. That didn't make sense either, though. He was meant to be a king, not a court jester. What business would he have making practical jokes?

No, these papers were exactly what they appeared to be.

“Your majesty,” She said carefully, looking up to meet his expectant gaze. He was watching her, his hands folded in front of his face and his eyes squinted.

“Go on, Commander.” He replied, motioning for her to continue.

“Sire, these are plans for a party.” She said, trying not to let the dismay show too heavily in her voice. The confusion, however, she laid on in excess.

“Yes, that is indeed what they are.” He said, raising an eyebrow before tacking on. “A Winter Ball, to be more precise.”

She blinked at him, her eyes darting back and forth between him and the papers she had been handed.

“Forgive my forwardness, but surely you can see how this is a poor idea?” She questioned him.

“I don’t think I do,” He said, and then carried on before she could interject to this nonsense. “The people love celebrations. The Festival of Good Tides always raises the peoples’ spirits! I’ve noticed that the mood in the kingdom has been pretty down lately with the increase in security and the impending winter. Everyone is just as on edge as you have been these past weeks; which is to say very. A winter ball is a perfect idea to remedy that as far as I see it! “

He was excited and talking animatedly, his face bright and cheerful. “And do not worry about the funds. I’ve already budgeted everything out, it won’t hurt the economy for us to have a little bit more fun at the end of the year!”

“You cannot be serious,” Gem blurts out before she can bring herself to say something a little more polite. The King’s smile fell at her words and he narrowed his eyes.

“You’ll find that I am.” He said carefully. “However, I value your opinion as my Royal Commander. That is why I called you here to discuss how we may do this safely. I will be willing to hear you out.”

She took a deep breath and flipped slowly through the papers one more time. The words, written in Ren’s neat, scrawling handwriting, detailed plans for a grand, extravagant Winter Ball, one that was to be held within the walls of the castle itself. It was to be an open doors event, meaning all citizens within the capital were permitted to come and go as they pleased.

The entire thing was a security breach just waiting to happen. They may as well just invite Grian and his people right in, offer them refreshments along with the crown while they are at it.

“Sire, we’ve already had one security breach since Grian’s vague warning at the festival. Opening the castle doors to the public would just be asking for another, possibly a far more serious and dangerous, breach.” She explained.

“You have still yet to find any resistance activity since the festival, correct?” Ren asked, tilting his head to the side. “It is impossible for us to know whether or not he truly has something in store for us, or if he was taking the piss out of you to get this exact kind of reaction, lowering kingdom moral and giving him an opportunity to try something.”

“That is a possibility, your highness, but that possibility isn’t something we should take so lightly. We mustn't leave ourselves open to attack on the off chance he might be bluffing.” Gem said, her fingers curling around the pages a little tighter than she intended as her voice steadily rose in volume.

“But we shouldn’t let ourselves fall into despair over a few words from a rambunctious avian who you have easily bested time and time again!” Ren argued, his hands gesturing for emphasis.

“That is not the point!” She exclaimed, slamming the papers down on his desk in an act of aggression she wasn’t typically known for, causing the king to flinch back in his chair. Anger curled in her gut as she heaved, her hands planted firmly on the oak wood top. 

“I know I am better than Grian,” Gem said from between gritted teeth, her voice heated, “I can beat him in a fight any day. I can probably beat all of his men and women with ease, but you are missing the larger picture at play here, your majesty. It is not just about simply Grian anymore! He has people behind his movement, people whose numbers we have no way of knowing the true count of! They have plans we know nothing of, plans that have that may or may not be able to destroy us. Giving them free access to the castle would be suicide on our part!”

The silence that followed her screams was almost deafening, the tension so thick she could feel it pressing down on her. A hand came to gently hold her by the elbow, attempting to pull her away from the King, who was looking upon her with a blank expression that could either be read as anger or disappointment. She wasn’t sure which she preferred it to be. 

Gem ripped her arm away and met Scott’s eyes. He had his hand on his weapon, as did Martyn. Her old friend shook his head and she closed her eyes, standing up straight and releasing a breath to try and compose herself.

“I am sorry for losing my temper, your majesty, but please, try to hear me out.” She stressed carefully, her posture once again straight. “We would be putting ourselves at more risk that what is worth for this Ball. We would be sitting ducks just asking to be attacked.”

“....You are right, of course. I don’t know what I was…” Ren trailed off, not finishing his sentence. 

His eyes became glazed over and his gaze became far off, like he was looking through her, rather than at her. A range of emotions, all unreadable, flitted across his face, his beard twitching as his lips formed whispered words she could not hear no matter how hard she strained her ears. Gem’s eyebrows furrowed as the king seemingly spoke to himself. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth before dragging it down, stretching the skin of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and it looked as though he was in pain.

Gem took a step forward and extended her hand, ready to ask him what was the matter, but before she could, he sat up and looked down the slope of his nose at her, his face firm and unyielding. He looked nothing like the excited king he had moments before, nor like the despondent one who had been yelled at. He looked cold. He looked cruel. He looked like a man she didn't know.

“I respect your insight on the matter, but I won’t be backing down on this. I will do what I think is best for my kingdom, and right now, I believe this is the best course of action to bring the public's spirits up.” Ren said, his tone leaving no room for arguments as he stared her down. Her mouth was hanging open in shock and outrage. “Now, will you be advising me on how to make sure this ball is secure, or will I have to have someone do your job for you?”

A silence settled over the royal study as Ren slid the now slightly crumpled papers towards her again.

Gem then did something she could not claim she was exactly proud of. With a broad sweep of her arms, she swiped the papers off of the wide desk. Caught in the crossfire, a handful of books and a candle stand both crashed down to the ground as the papers fluttered through the air before falling down in a gentle wave to join the other objects on the floor.

She stuck around just long enough to catch the shell-shocked looks from all three of the men in the room out of the corner of her eyes before she was bursting into the hall, leaving the door to slam against the wall and slowly creak shut behind her as she stormed away.

She bypassed her own study and carried on the rest of the way down the long hall and down the stairs.

“Hello, Commander Ge-oh! ” One of the maids tried to greet her on her way down but she strode past them, unaware of their presence in her blinded fury.

That damned king! 

He had always been an immature ruler considering how young and sheltered he had been when he came into power after his fathers untimely death during the first war. He had been kept entirely away from all of the fighting growing up, spending most of his days holed up inside of the castle as a way of ensuring the heirs' safety during volatile time; and this isolation had unfortunately extended into royal politics and responsibilities. He hadn't a damned clue what he was doing.

He was naive to the ways of the world, especially to the cruel realities of war and how it affected a nation. That had been part of the reason he even had Martyn by his side, to help guide him in his ignorance. 

She was an idiot to think that he had somehow managed to mature and grow up during this period of peace. How could he have? He was always soft, of course a soft way of living had only made him softer by default.

But even if he hadn’t grown over time, she at least expected him to have the common sense to listen to her on matters he didn’t fully understand or grasp. She knew what she was talking about. This stupid, foolish Winter Ball was a horrible idea with the resistance on the loose and their threat hanging like a slowly tightening noose around their necks at all times.

She found herself suddenly outside in the garden. 

The sun was high in the sky and the warmth she provided may have been pleasant if not for the anger already heating Gem's body. Instead, an easy sweat broke out along her skin. She pushed her thick curls out of her face, trying in vain to tuck at least some of it behind her ears to keep it out of the way. She then ran her hand down her face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that had already collected as she tried to breath slowly through her nose to calm herself down.

She could hear Bdubs working somewhere close by, his humming loud and a little grating on her ears, but somehow comforting in the way it accompanied the gentle lap of the water in the fountain a little ways to her left to create a mundane song of domesticity. She turned her face skyward, watching the clouds lazily roll by in the bright blue sky. 

It was a nice moment of peace, and for some reason, she felt as though it very well may be her last.

The sound of footsteps approaching her from behind drew her attention and she figured it was time for her to face the consequences of her outburst. She turned her head to face the person who had come to fetch her, expecting to find Scott, but was instead met with Martyn’s carefully schooled self stopped in front of her only a foot away.

“Chancellor,” She said.

“Commander.” He replied. He says nothing else and she turned to fully face him before speaking up herself.

“I assume his majesty is, ah, cross with me?” She asked. Martyn inhaled and looked away from her, making her wait needlessly for a response.

“No,” Marytn said after a moment, “He, surprisingly, is not.”

“Oh?” Gem questioned, crossing her arms and tilting her head at him.

“He is understanding of your anger and its origins,” Martyn said, and then he met her eyes, his own crystal blue boring into her jade. “To be honest with you, Commander, I am as well.”

Her arms fell to her side and her eyebrows raised a fraction before she could return her expression back to a more neutral one.

“I do not think that this Winter Ball is the…best of ideas. You are right, as you always are, this is a direct invitation to the resistance to infiltrate our defenses with ease. However, think of it this way, Commander. We can safely assume that they will undoubtedly show up at this event, correct?”

“Correct,” She said slowly, unsure of where he was going with this assertion.

“So then why don’t we use this opportunity to make our move?” Martyn proposed. 

“You mean… We corner Grian at the party before he can do anything and demand he and his people surrender?” She asked.

“Exactly,” He said, eyes shining with a dangerous glee. “I knew you would understand.”

“That is a rather dangerous plan. It would put the public at risk if things were to go wrong.” She said, but did not outright deny the plausibility of the plan.

“That may be so, but they will show up regardless, and who knows when they will put that plan of theirs into motion? This may be our perfect opportunity to get them right where we want them and nail them once and for all!” Martyn exclaimed, punching his hand into his open palm.

Gem hesitated. He was not wrong, this may be their chance, their long-awaited opportunity to get rid of Grian once and for all and wipe out their threat to the crown in one fell swoop. 

…However, she could not bring herself to disregard the potential casualties.

“I don’t know…” She said, trailing off. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it exactly three firm pats.

“At least give it some thought, alright? Try to make something positive out of this inevitable mess.” He said before turning on his heels and walking back towards the castle. As he went, he passed by Scott, who had been patiently waiting near one of the hedges, listening in on their conversation.

“I’m sure you heard what he had to say.” She said, stepping up towards her friend.

“I did.” He replied. “And I know that you don’t like it.”

“No, I don’t.” She admitted. “The thought of gambling with so many lives like that just to get what I want…It doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Me neither…But he’s right, this might be our chance.” Scott said. She let out a frustrated sigh, her ear pressing into her shoulder.

“I hate that it’s come to this.” She said, holding back the tears of frustration that had been building for weeks, not allowing even a single one to spill from her eyes.

Scott said nothing, he didn’t have to. He simply placed a warm hand on the small of her back and led her once more into the castle to go over the security details for the ball she wanted nothing more than to put a stop to. 

Above them, high in the sky, dark storm clouds rolled in to obscure the beautiful blue like a foreboding omen of what was to come.

[always-a-joyful-note]

Based off ch. 19

[spark-circuit]

me at my bookstore job to the 27th young adult straight edgy fantasy romance to come in this month

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

shout out to my fellow comrades who died reading the of kings, of pawns, and of men update. this fic is one of the few i can confidently say is in my top three and has most certainly changed my life in some inexplicable, inescapable way

anyway………the fucking i c e ? ? ? ? everything that happened a f t e r ? ? ? ? i’m not well

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[miraluking-respectfully]

man while i'm on my felix kick it fucking sucks that they keep not knowing what the FUCK to do with this character when he's actually very strongly characterized. i went off about this last night but like, underutilized aspect of felix: he's like, a really good leader?? and i'm not talking an uber-inspiring protagonist-type leader like the PC; i'm talking an extremely functional organizer of people that you especially need in a military context. it's kind of hard to clock at first if you're not paying attention, especially because you're introduced to him while he's desperately trying to stave off a mutiny; but considering he's on a shithole iceball with a group of restless 18-to-25-year-old recruits who, as far as they're concerned, are trying to kill an immortal enemy, the fact that only one of them winds up ultimately raising a hand against him is impressive. he boosts morale, he makes good tactical calls on his own while not being too proud to take assistance, he metes out swift discipline without being needlessly punitive. and when the squad splits up, people keep in touch with him!!!

like, felix is extremely good at his job, and that aspect of him kind of deepens the tragedy of his permanent stagnation in rank when you compare him to other soldier comps like Rusk or even early-game Jorgan. i'm not a fan of fictional or real militaries but this character's skillset as an officer has been a repeatedly underutilized resource narratively & it makes me want to eat glass

[kindly-gourd]

truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold

which is why I choose to ignore it

[toerrishumansodontbeone]

man, its such a drag trying to find objective reviews of books with disturbing content. 9 times out of 10 it will center around the shocking subject and criticize it mainly on how justified was its usage.

Read Tender Is The Flesh yesterday and I wanted to see what more people thought, but ugh its so tiring having to filter through all the shocked normies.

I wanna hear peoples thoughts on the issues of sustainability that have been entirely left out of what is an obvious satire of late stage capitalism and the meat&dairy industry!

I wanna be validated on my nitpicky pro science sceptics pet peeves about how little enthusiasm the author has for the scientific method, how shallow the worldbuilding feels when youre faced with the premise of " all animals carry a virus deadly to humans, so they can no longer eat meat". I have a million questions having some basic interest in biology that I do. I have a million questions from being a vegetarian by simple preference. I wanna hear from other people who have trouble suspending disbelief cus INSECT PROTEIN IS RIGHT THERE AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN PEOPLE KILLED THEMSELVES BECAUSE THEY COULD NO LONGER EAT MEAT THATS INSANE

[chadsuke]

Books Read In 2022/2023:

The Financial Diet: A Total Beginner’s Guide to Getting Good With Money by Chelsea Fagan & Lauren Ver Hage (2018)

The Scorpion Rules by Erin Bow (2015)

I Want to Be a Wall Vol. 1 by Honami Shirono (2022)

My Wandering Warrior Existence by Kabi Nagata (2022)

wow, no thank you: essays by Samantha Irby (2020)

A Tropical Fish Yearns For Snow Vol. 1 by Makoto Hagino (2017)

I Married the Male Lead’s Dad by Eongsseu & Gyammi & San-ho & Ko-eun Chae (2021-present)

Franken Fran Frantic Vol. 1 by Katsuhisa Kigitsu (2019)

Franken Fran Frantic Vol. 2 by Katsuhisa Kigitsu (2020)

[ID: Covers of the aforementioned books. End ID.]

[crazy-pages]

See I get this, but also, holy shit sometimes those gripe groupchats become an awful stew of shitting on everyone constantly for any and no reason. It's very easy to forget that "thoughts and feelings aren't bad, just how you act on them" and "you need to have a safe space to speak authentically" is not the same thing as a space where all your thoughts and feelings are validated and reflected back at you. There's no such thing as thoughtcrime, but there sure are thoughts we need to hear friends say "uhhh, no" to.

Places to gripe about your boss are great. Place to vent about a disappointing fanfic where you aren't shitting on someone who shared something for free are good. Places to ask friends "hey is it just me who's getting a worrying vibe off the new guy?" are important. But unless you're willing to hear that you're in the wrong, that's not a private place to vent you've got, it's an echo chamber for all your most hateful impulses.

Safe places to put your inside thoughts are important, but sometimes "safe" means a safe place to have them rejected. It means a place where you trust your loved ones enough to hear them say "I think you're in the wrong" and know to your bones that they don't mean "I hate you".

Safe doesn't mean the absence of negative feedback, it means a place where negative feedback is safe to receive. You might have deliberately curated positive spaces to calm down or recover from shit, but those cannot be the spaces where you shit on people. That's not creating a space for deliberate positivity, that's creating a place where no one is allowed to say anything if someone steps over a line.

There is no thoughtcrime, but working yourself into a frenzy over nothing because you and your friends don't know how to calm each other down or question the righteousness of your petty grievances is in fact a bad thing.

i cannot emphasize enough how important it is to have gossipy bitchy littl pirvate group chats or discord servers with like 4 people in them whose stated purpose is posting “new kind of guy” or “this reddit post is so fuckin dumb” or “i got into a fight on twitter today look at this idiot’s reply” so your homies can still see it and laugh and back you up but more importantly, so you are not tempted to post these kind of things on main

[malachitezmeyka]

I don't mind snow. I really don't. Snow as a concept may actually be my favourite part of winter

What I DO mind is when snow falls, half melts and turns into black ice. Especially with how clumsy and flat-footed I am already

Or, in other words, the snow fell only four days ago and I already slipped. My tailbone is not surviving the winter

[phagodyke]

SUDDENLY STARTED RAINING SO HARD WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

[hyuckworld]

DID SUNG HANBIN ALWAYS LOOK AT YOU LIKE YOU HAD HUNG THE MOON AND STARS

reading ady zeroseblr debut hi 🙂‍↕️

omg i love their dynamic already sob OF COURSE HANBIN IS A STRONG CONTENDER FOR EMPLOYEE OF THE YEAR EVERYONE LOVES HIM (understandably so) mc is so valid for being a hater because that mfer (endearing) got away with giving out a frozen sandwich because of his FACE CARD..... absolutely wicked (but hanbin is so right he is a changed man. Not the frozen sandwich serving man he was last week)

“I’m coming for your award,” he breathes cheekily into your ear. 

such a nonchalant line but i died so bad I TOO DIED ON THE SPOT.....why would he say that why why why😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

“Cute,” he had said, causing you to flinch in shock. He agreeably promised to keep the noise down, and with your face heating up from a mixture of embarrassment and surprise, you turned around and left without another word. 

JSRIHH SHDUGH HE FOUND HER CUTE FROM THE BEGINNING SHOULD I JUST DIE☹️ it's the way he started calling her pajama girl after that im gonna kms HE SO FELL FIRST AND HARDER im sobbing so bad the dance classes..... the GE class he didn't need to take...... the boba runs...... the library trips HES DOWN HORRENDOUS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 PICKING HER UP WHEN SHES TOO DRUNK was my last straw actually

Hanbin searches your face with a hint of desperation, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sparkle in his eyes. (Did Sung Hanbin always look at you like you had hung the moon and stars?) 

did sung hanbin always look at you like you had hung the moon and stars is the craziest line actually. you will be paying for my therapy (and not yours) thanks

DID SUNG HANBIN ALWAYS LOOK AT YOU LIKE YOU HAD HUNG THE MOON AND STARS😭😭😭💓💕💖💖💓💞💘💕💗 i won't move on

HOW DARE U SAY JIWOONG IS JUST THERE HE IS A CRAAAZY WINGMAN who the hell says they schedule two people together because they're a perfect match together IM GONNA DIEEE he's rooting hard for their endgame bc if i was the manager i would just be like damn ur times work out so 😕

HANBIN KISS........should i just die i think i shoud just die (me when i'd kill myself bc he's sick) BUT GODDDD..........AND HE WENT BACJ IN FOR MORE this is my last straw ady <//3 HAPPIEST DAY OF HIS LIFE i need to be put down what a cutie

thank you for saving zeroseblr zhaobear i hope you continue to save me and save zeroseblr because i might collapse if i don't see gyuvin fic completed

a perfect match

PAIRING : sung hanbin x fem reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, college au, barista au, mild enemies/rivals to lovers au, sick fic

WORD COUNT : 4310 words

SUMMARY : you and sung hanbin complement each other perfectly, whether it's behind the coffee bar or during late nights in your dorm building. however, companionship quickly turns to competition as the end of the year approaches — and with that, the glorious title of employee of the year. but when hanbin falls sick, you decide you can put your feud aside for one day.

WARNINGS : profanity, brief mentions of drinking, one slightly heated kiss, mc is competitive, hanbin is messing with her, jiwoong is just there, injeolmi toast reference, there are interspersed flashbacks in italics & one tense change!

AUTHOR'S NOTE : helloo making my zeroseblr debut!! thank you so much to anyone who reads i hope you enjoy <3 a huge huge thank you to @jayflrt and @s7toru for the support and encouragement, i don't think i'd be publishing this without them!

“HANBIN DIDN’T COME IN TODAY,” Jiwoong says in lieu of a greeting as soon as you enter the back of the store. 

You flip through the café’s records book, noting down your time of arrival. Jiwoong can yap about Sung Hanbin all he wants, but you won’t let that stop you from getting paid. 

“What does that have to do with me?” You shoot back, tying up your apron.

Jiwoong shrugs. “You guys are close, right? I thought you’d know what’s up.”

You scoff. You and Hanbin may have been close once, but that was before he started coming for your position.

“Keep it up, Hanbin!” Jiwoong claps Hanbin on the shoulder as he finishes taking a customer’s order. “Engaging with customers and making them feel connected to the store is one of our most important values.” 

“Thanks, Jiwoong,” Hanbin beams, the sight of his dimples causing butterflies to take flight in your stomach, for whatever strange reason. That is, until Jiwoong’s next words. 

“With how much improvement you’re making, you might just be up for Employee of the Year.” Jiwoong winks. Your jaw drops to the floor. Jiwoong doesn’t notice your mouth hanging open and simply returns to making drinks like he didn't just shatter your entire world. 

“What the hell!” You call out indignantly. “Why would he get Employee of the Year?”

Jiwoong turns to look at you like he’s just remembering your presence for the first time. 

“Well, Hanbin’s been learning very quickly since he joined. He’s made a lot of improvement and the customers love him.” 

“He served a frozen sandwich the other day!” You cry out. You remember it clearly — the customer had approached you with a furious glint in her eyes, demanding to know why her sandwich wasn’t heated. Hanbin had popped up behind you to apologize for his mistake, and a blush immediately overtook her face as she shoved the sandwich into her mouth, claiming she preferred it frozen anyway. 

“That was last week! I’m a changed man now,” Hanbin insists.

“The award should not go to him,” You splutter at Jiwoong. “I can talk to customers too!” You shove Hanbin away as the next customer in line approaches the register. 

“Hi, could I please get an iced matcha latte, and a—”

“Hi, how was your day?” You interrupt loudly. Jiwoong slaps a hand to his mouth to stifle a poorly-contained laugh. The girl’s eyes go wide as she takes in your expression, her gaze flitting nervously between you and the door, like she’s considering bolting out of the shop. 

“Sorry, don’t mind her. She means well,” a smooth voice interrupts. Hanbin slides back to his position on the register, his hand circling your waist as he gently eases you to the side.

You huff. “I can handle myself on register!” 

Hanbin’s hand shifts to your lower back as he leans over to whisper to you. “You’re staring the poor girl down like she just murdered your family. I got this.” 

True to his words, the girl visibly relaxes when Hanbin takes over and begins to make conversation. Your cheeks grow hot at the gesture. You should be angry, but Hanbin’s hand is warm on you and his shoulder is knocking into yours and you can’t seem to think straight. 

Hanbin leans close again, and your brain short-circuits.

“I’m coming for your award,” he breathes cheekily into your ear. 

The giddy feeling in your chest immediately dies on the spot. 

You scowl at the memory, your knuckles turning white as you tie the strings of your apron tighter. Jiwoong raises an eyebrow, reminding you of his question. 

“I’m not speaking to him anymore.” You have to hold back from crossing your arms like an angry child. 

“You were fighting him over the register on Wednesday,” Jiwoong points out.

“A lot can change in three days.”

Jiwoong sighs. “Seriously, do you know what’s up? He hasn’t called or texted at all.” 

That makes you pause. Ever since your current feud with Sung Hanbin, he became particularly more committed to “beating” you at work, whether it was clocking in earlier than you, going beyond the necessary opening requirements, or covering more shifts than usual. For him to not show up to work without any prior notice or explanation — maybe there is something wrong. 

You relent. “I’ll go check up on him after my shift, okay?” 

A Cheshire grin spreads across Jiwoong’s face. “So much extra effort,” he muses. 

“We live in the same building,” you deadpan. You check your hair in the small mirror on the wall before heading to the front of the store for your shift. 

“I didn’t even tell you to go check up on him!” Jiwoong calls to your back. You give him the finger in return. 

“Hanbin, open up!” You yell, pounding on his door for what feels like the millionth time. You press your ear to the wood, but hear absolutely nothing. 

“I can see your Snap location!”

Then, a rustle. 

You hear the creak of a bed, and the sound of soft footsteps gradually approaching closer. The door swings open, revealing Sung Hanbin in his pajamas. 

“You were in bed the whole time?” You shriek. “Jiwoong was worried sick! He was acting like you dropped off the face of the Earth when you didn’t contact anyone!” 

Hanbin wordlessly turns around, making a beeline away from the door. You huff, following him inside his dorm without another thought. 

“You’re just going to leave when I’m talking to you? Look, I get it if you don’t want to interact with me, but you shouldn’t ghost your manager. Isn’t that—”

Hanbin stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door shut on you. Realization dawns upon you when you hear retching from the other end. The puzzle pieces slot into place — his glazed eyes, paler-than-usual face, and complete lack of energy. 

“Hanbin?” You ask, your voice softer than before. No response. “Do you need any help?” 

“No,” Hanbin whispers faintly behind the door. 

“Okay,” you respond uneasily, “but I’m staying here until you come out.” 

You take his soft sigh as affirmation, and immediately pull out your phone to text his roommate. 

you: wya??

taerae: staying w my aunt for the weekend taerae: why whats up?

you: hanbins sick

taerae: oh shit taerae: well. gl to him

you: 😭 you: do you have medicine

taerae: no 😂 taerae: wait actually taerae: check the bottom drawer on my desk

you: found it ty

You gather whatever medicines look helpful from Taerae’s drawer, then grab water from the fridge. Soon enough, you hear Hanbin moving behind the door, followed by the flush of the toilet and water running from the sink. He emerges from the bathroom, his face glistening with water droplets. He looks tired in a way you’ve never seen before as he trudges past you and collapses at the foot of his bed. 

He groans softly at the hard surface, but makes no move to get up. You crouch down to the ground, pressing your hand against his forehead in concern. 

“Hanbin,” you gasp. “You’re burning up.” 

Hanbin makes a pitiful noise, shifting so he’s pressing his flushed cheek to the cold tile. You loop your arms through his and haul him to his feet. 

“You missed the bed,” you try to joke, but even you can hear the terribly masked worry in your voice. Hanbin slumps onto the mattress, and you carefully pull the covers over him despite his small sounds of protest. He’s clearly not concerned enough to do anything more, so he mutters incoherent nonsense under his breath and then closes his eyes. 

You can’t help the minuscule twitch of your lips at the sight, but you turn back to the medicine bottles before you can allow yourself to dwell on it. 

Once you’ve arranged an assortment of pills and the water, you gently shake Hanbin, whose eyes are still shut. 

“Sit up,” you urge, tapping his shoulder. Hanbin cracks open an eye, sulking. Regardless, he complies, sitting up and fully opening his eyes. “Take these.” 

His frown deepens, but his gaze scans your face and he obeys without another word. 

“How long have you been sick like this?” 

Silence. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” You try instead. Hanbin pauses, like he’s taking a moment to genuinely think about it, then shrugs blankly. “Hanbin, you have to eat!” 

“Not hungry,” he mumbles. 

“This isn’t up for debate,” you shoot back. “I’ll go grab you something, so stay here, okay?”

Hanbin nods, sinking back into bed. You shoulder your bag and search for his phone and keys, finding them on his desk. 

“Here,” you say, tucking his phone under his pillow. “Call me if you need anything. I’m taking your keys so you don’t have to let me in. Take a nap, and I’ll be back soon.”

Hanbin only buries his face further into the pillow. You refill his water and adjust the room temperature before slipping on your shoes at the front. You helplessly turn back to look at him once more, like a compass straying north. Then, you leave. 

When Sung Hanbin first walked into Say Yes! Coffee with a stunning resume and even more stunning smile, you recognized him instantly. 

You had met Hanbin in the beginning of your sophomore year on a Thursday night, when the noise from the room above yours was becoming unbearable. 

You had stormed up the stairs in your pajamas, too tired to care about appearances as you incessantly knocked on the door. When the door opened to a man clad in all black with an unnervingly handsome face, you faltered slightly. However, the sight of the dim lights and red solo cups behind him rekindled your anger, and you immediately began to tell him off. 

He was holding a party on a Thursday night, for god’s sake, couldn’t he at least have waited until the weekend? As you continued on about the lack of consideration for those with Friday morning classes — however small the number may be — your voice got stuck in your throat when the man responded with a dazzling smile. 

“Cute,” he had said, causing you to flinch in shock. He agreeably promised to keep the noise down, and with your face heating up from a mixture of embarrassment and surprise, you turned around and left without another word. 

You didn’t see him again after that incident, but true to his word, the noise was considerably softer in the following parties. When you saw him again at your workplace, you weren’t even sure if he’d remember you. 

However, Hanbin’s eyes had instantly lit up. “Pajama girl!” He’d exclaimed, and your smile dropped. 

From then onwards, your relationship had taken a turn. Jiwoong began scheduling the two of you for almost every shift together, allowing you to witness every step of his journey — from training, to slowly taking over register, to becoming a pain in your ass. It almost made you sentimental, thinking about how much you’d gotten to see. 

With the increased shifts came increased shenanigans during breaks, from ridiculous drink concoctions to espresso shot chugging competitions. Eventually, these were followed by unexpected knocks on your door and boba runs between classes. 

Hanbin would let you into the dance studio, smirking at your reactions in the mirror whenever he caught you staring as he practiced. You allowed him to tag along on your trips to the library, even though he would use the soundproof study room to loudly poke fun at you while you would fret over your lab reports and problem sets. 

Despite the vast differences in your majors, you still had the common denominator of a shared dorm building. This was clear every time Hanbin would knock on your door to drag you to his upstairs parties to expand your social circle, or when you would knock on his to deliver successful baking experiments. 

In your second semester, he joined you in a General Education class that he absolutely did not need to take, and you started going to his open dance classes despite your severe lack of coordination. 

So perhaps Jiwoong was right, maybe you were incredibly close — until the possibility of Hanbin winning Employee of the Year became real enough to scare you, until you decided it would be easier to hate him. (Was it Employee of the Year that you were afraid of, or something else?)

You reenter Hanbin’s dorm with a giant thermos of steaming hot soup, an extra blanket, and an assortment of items from the nearby drugstore. You dump the contents onto the table, wincing at the amount. You may have gone slightly crazy and swept nearly everything off the shelves at the pharmacy, but you convince yourself they’ll be necessary. 

When you enter his room with the food, you’re surprised to find that he’s already awake. His brows furrow slightly at the sight of you.

“I brought you soup,” you explain, nodding at the bowl in your hands. “Eat.” 

While the Hanbin 30 minutes ago was so sluggish he could barely keep his eyes open, this Hanbin is uncannily alert. His eyes dart back and forth between you, the soup, and the medicines scattered across his desk. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s searching for the right words. 

“Why’re you doing this?” A strange question to settle on, but you smile at him softly. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t understand,” he replies, his gaze wary. 

You frown. “You’ve done the same for me. Remember when I got super drunk at Matthew’s and you brought me home?” 

Hanbin goes silent. 

Things like this between you and Hanbin are never questioned — they always go without saying. He threatens you at work, but he still picks you up when you drink too much. You fight him over the register, but you still sit next to him in class and watch him from the back of the dance studio. You’re still here, because you know Hanbin would be no different. 

“You don’t owe me for that,” Hanbin blurts out, red creeping up his cheeks. 

“I don’t think of it like that. I’m here because I want you to get better,” you say, holding out the bowl of soup to him. A peace offering. 

Hanbin hesitates, then accepts it, blowing on it to cool it down and taking a sip. He hums in satisfaction, then shovels the rest down his throat within a minute. You gape. 

“Slow down,” you scold, remembering the vomiting from earlier. You feel a pang of guilt realizing how hungry he must’ve been, motionless in his bed without the energy to eat. 

Hanbin grows more lethargic on his second bowl, his eyelids beginning to sink. He catches himself just before he can allow himself to doze, and you frown. You can’t help but wonder why he’s fighting sleep when it’s what he needs the most — his half-lidded eyes stay focused on you, and then it hits you. Maybe he wants to be alone. 

You take the bowl back and pull the covers over him, noting with a twinge of satisfaction that some color has returned to his face. 

“I’ll clean things up and then head out so you can get some sleep,” you tell him. Although something deep inside you longs to stay, to stick with him until you’re sure that his fever is gone, you stand up from the chair. 

However, Hanbin grabs your elbow before you can fully turn away. When you look at him, there’s a plea behind his eyes that he doesn’t seem keen on voicing. Even when he’s sick, he’s strong, tugging you back towards him until you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“Do you want more soup?” You ask, unsure of what he needs from you. 

Hanbin shakes his head. “Stay,” he mumbles, so faint that you barely hear it. 

Oh. 

“Sleep,” you coax him gently, your heart squeezing at his request. “I won’t go anywhere.”

Hanbin searches your face with a hint of desperation, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sparkle in his eyes. (Did Sung Hanbin always look at you like you had hung the moon and stars?) 

You don’t have to think about it for too long because Hanbin seems to find whatever he’s looking for in your expression and finally closes his eyes. Sleep pulls him under within minutes, evident in his deeper breathing and the loosened tension in his body. 

You brush some of his hair away from his forehead, softening at the lines of his face, more youthful and relaxed with the rest. 

In a few minutes, you know you’ll have to clean up, restock the fridge, and find a damp washcloth to reduce his temperature. But you allow yourself a moment to stare, brushing his thumb with your cheek. 

Even while asleep, Hanbin leans into the touch, like a flower searching for sunlight, and you flinch. You return to your chair next to his bed and watch him until the sun rises, your heart a jumbled mess. 

“Jiwoong.” Hanbin calls out one morning towards the end of his training, when the three of you are opening the store. 

“Hmm?” Jiwoong shoots Hanbin a brief glance before going back to busying himself with the espresso machine.  

“Why do you always schedule me and Y/N together?”

You turn at the mention of your name, perking up with curiosity. Jiwoong’s brows furrow, almost as though the answer is obvious. 

“Y/N is efficient, in pretty much all ways possible. She can make the most drinks in the least time possible, without compromising quality. She’s also great at responding to unexpected situations,” Jiwoong explains. You grin at the compliment but stay silent, sensing he has more to say. 

“Hanbin, you’re slower and sometimes you freeze up during mishaps. But you’re good with customers. You know enough about coffee to make recommendations. You’re perceptive, so you’re first to know when we need to restock. All of which Y/N tends to fall short on. Which is fine, of course, because neither of you is perfect.

“But what one of you lacks, the other one makes up. You’re imperfect separately, but a perfect match together.” Jiwoong puts a pause to his grandiose speech to fish for the keys in his pocket. “Anyways, I’m going to unlock the door now.” 

You shoot Hanbin an incredulous look, despite the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. Hanbin looks equally confused, but his gaze softens when you make eye contact. The smile he returns is so tender that you have to look away, your face burning like a star. You go back to wiping down the counters, and avoid thinking about Sung Hanbin and how incredibly red his ears were. 

When Hanbin wakes up, you’re reminded of his training days from all those months ago, of his shy but earnest demeanor, unafraid to reveal his struggles and ask for help. 

This Hanbin is similarly vulnerable, allowing himself to be open and show you weakness. Allowing you to help him. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Hanbin’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you flush, shaking yourself out of your nostalgia. You press the back of your hand against his forehead, sighing in relief. 

“Drink this, it’ll help," you say, avoiding his eyes as you hand him a glass of orange juice. “Your fever finally broke.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m sweating balls,” he rasps, kicking off the blankets you’d piled on top of him. He chugs down the juice and rubs at his eyes. “What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday evening. You pretty much slept through the whole day,” you grin.

“Did you stay since yesterday?” A hint of guilt flashes across Hanbin’s face. 

“It’s fine, I got some work done,” you wave it off, gesturing to your computer propped open on his desk. “Taerae’s gonna be back soon, so I’ll head out, okay? I texted Jiwoong for you, so you’re not working tomorrow. There’s some extra soup in the fridge, so heat that whenever you want.” 

You start to gather your things, but Hanbin catches your wrist. His expression is abnormally serious, his eyes piercing holes into yours. 

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?” You use your other hand to check his forehead again, but he stops you.

"I need you."

Your mouth falls open. “What?” 

Hanbin quickly catches himself. "I need you — to drop this Employee of the Year thing. Jiwoong already told me he's giving it to you."

You're still stuck on the first three words of his sentence, but when the gears in your head finally turn you gasp. It's a lot to process and you shake your head, wondering if you even heard him right. How long were you fighting for an award that was already yours?

"I thought you wanted to win," is all you can think of saying.

Hanbin smiles, warm and soft in a way so familiar that your heart aches. “Y/N, I don’t care about Employee of the Year. Go out with me.”

You find yourself at a loss for words, but Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind as he continues.

“I know I still have a lot to learn, and I didn't even care about the award that much. I was mostly just teasing you, so can we please stop fighting over it? Or else I’ll seriously think you hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” you choke out. 

Hanbin chuckles. “I figured that now. No one spends this much time and effort on someone they hate.” 

“Shut up,” you say halfheartedly, your heart hammering in your chest. “Are you serious?” Hanbin tugs you by the hands, enough that you’re sitting on the edge of his bed. All traces of humor vanish from his face as he stares at you intently. 

“Y/N, I like you. I thought you were cute ever since you showed up at my doorstep in your pajamas. And I’ve been hopelessly obsessed with you ever since we started working together. Does that answer your question?” 

Fireworks explode in your chest as you think back to Jiwoong’s old words. 

What one of you lacks, the other one makes up. 

When Hanbin is sick, you take care of him. When Hanbin forgets to eat at the dance studio, you bring him food. And despite all your incessant fighting, Hanbin covers for you at the register. Hanbin invites you to parties when you’re cooped up in the library for too long. Hanbin sends you his notes when you doze off in class. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you begin to put together the little moments of your relationship. You were a perfect match the whole time, just as Jiwoong said, only you hadn’t truly realized the weight of his words. You itch with the need to do something, but your hands are still tightly grasped in Hanbin’s and you can’t think of much else to do than to lean down and press your lips to his cheek. 

Hanbin makes a small noise of surprise at the contact, his hands slackening around yours. You flush at the warmth of his skin against your mouth, feeling as though you’re floating somewhere above the stars. When you pull away, Hanbin’s eyes are closed, lashes fanned against his cheekbones and face tilted upwards like he’s hoping for more, or savoring it. His eyes are glassy when they finally open, eliciting a giggle from your throat. 

“I like you too,” you grin, “if that didn’t make it clear.” 

Hanbin smiles then, so wide that you can see his whisker dimples. He pulls you down and on top of him, burying his face in your neck. 

“Let me kiss you properly,” he whispers into your skin. You separate from him enough to read his expression, eyes widening at the sudden sharpness in his gaze. His eyes flicker between yours, before darting down to your lips and fixating on them. 

“Won’t your mouth taste horrible?” You tease, but you’re already leaning in. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs against your lips before closing the distance.

A thousand firecrackers flare up in your body when his mouth meets yours. You gasp when his tongue slips into your mouth, leaving behind the pleasantly surprising taste of orange juice. 

Sparks fly where his skin touches yours, multiplied by a thousand when he cradles your cheek and deepens the kiss. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. The soft groan that emits from Hanbin causes a jolt of pleasure to shudder down your spine, and you instinctively tug harder.

You pull away far too soon to catch your breath, breath hitching at the string of saliva between both your lips. 

“Gross,” you lie, but Hanbin’s eyes only darken. 

“I wanna do that again.” He leans in again, but you veer away before you can allow your judgment to blur. 

“You have to focus on getting better first!” You swat at his hands. 

Hanbin pouts. “I’m way better. Stellar, actually.” 

“You can kiss me in two days.”

Hanbin’s answering smile is blindingly bright, even though you didn’t say anything particularly funny. 

“What is it?” Your pulse races at how he looks at you — like you’re made of every precious thing in the world, like you’re a dream made alive. 

“I think this might be the happiest day of my life,” he answers. As he grins at you with the warmth of the entire sun, you realize the fluttering behind your ribcage was never a new feeling — you were just as enamored with him when you first met. 

You smile back, bigger than you’ve ever smiled at Hanbin, watching his gaze turn awestruck as a red-hot blush creeps up his cheeks and neck.  

“I think it might be mine too.” 

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I���m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 1

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Summary: You're hired to babysit little Megumi for the summer, but you end up taking care of his father, Toji, as well.

Author’s Notes: This is repost from my old blog! I initially got this as a request and it became my first Toji fic ever, and certainly not my last lol. I'm posting this again because I actually wrote a Part 2, check it out! Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth. 

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?” 

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. “Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.” 

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!” 

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy. 

Toji, on the other hand, is another story. 

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you. 

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas. 

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby. 

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence. 

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very��bad. 

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time. 

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with. 

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho. 

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.” 

And apparently, so are you. 

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job. 

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working. 

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen. 

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking.