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solxamber · 9 days ago

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Sync or Sink || Vil Schoenheit

You, an overworked S-Class esper with the survival instincts of a damp sock, catch the eye of SSS-Class guide Vil Schoenheit. He decides you’re his personal fixer-upper project. Shockingly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

The world was already hanging on by a thread — economic collapse, melting ice caps, influencers starting cults via TikTok. It was a mess. You’d think that would be enough. You’d hope that would be enough. But no. Some ancient cosmic being — probably named something dramatic like Thar’zul the Chronovore — looked down at Earth and said, “You know what this needs? Fun.”

And by fun, it meant Gates.

Gates are like if cursed portals, radioactive sinkholes, and a haunted Etsy store had a baby. They pop up anywhere and everywhere: in libraries, parking garages, yoga studios, even in the middle of someone’s wedding ceremony. (“Do you take this—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”)

These glowing tears in the fabric of reality are basically open invitations to every monster, demon, and unholy abomination in the neighborhood. And if left unchecked, they break, releasing those nightmares into your already-taxed existence like a hellish game of whack-a-mole.

But don't worry! Humanity, against all odds, did not die out immediately.

Because the universe, in its infinite chaos, also gave rise to Espers. Special little guys. Think emotional time bombs with telekinetic temper tantrums and the ability to level buildings if they stub their toe too hard. Espers are the only ones who can suppress Gates and fight back the monsters. They're strong, fast, powerful—and also dangerously dramatic.

Like, “cries during dog food commercials” dramatic. “Blew up a vending machine because it ate their dollar” dramatic. If they don’t have someone helping them regulate their powers (and by extension, their feelings), they’re a walking nuclear disaster waiting to happen.

Which brings us to Guides.

Guides are born with the power to soothe, ground, and stabilize Espers before they turn into emotional IEDs. They go through rigorous training. They meditate. They are the human equivalent of “have you tried deep breathing?”—except instead of calming down toddlers, they’re keeping an Esper from melting the freeway with their grief-powered fireballs.

This entire survival system hinges on compatibility between Espers and Guides. Sounds romantic, right? It’s not. It’s mostly screaming, paperwork, and sometimes unspoken sexual tension.

So, to recap:

Gates = Bad.

Espers = Powerful but emotionally unstable.

Guides = The only thing standing between civilization and utter monster-induced ruin.

Together, Espers and Guides form the first — and only — line of defense between humanity and total monster-induced annihilation.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, this system hinges entirely on two people getting along.

Which, as anyone who's ever been in a group project can tell you, is a complete joke.

The Gate had been rough. You were bleeding, caked in monster goop, and running on exactly one granola bar, four energy drinks, and pure spite. Monsters just kept coming—one after another like it was a clearance sale on eldritch horror—and now your knees were shaking, your head was pounding, and you were 99% sure you were hallucinating the talking goat that told you to “go into the light.”

You stumbled out of the Gate zone, vision blurry. There were Guides waiting beyond the perimeter, crisp in their uniforms, radiant with that “I got 8 hours of sleep and drink water” glow. Unfortunately, most of them had already been snagged by the other Espers, who were quicker, cleaner, and not currently dripping ectoplasm from their sleeve.

You blinked. The only one left was… well, no. That couldn’t be right.

Standing a few feet away, untouched and oddly pristine, was a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine shoot titled "War-Torn But Make It Couture."

Tall, composed, and stunning in a way that made your brain short-circuit, he was clearly someone Important™. The other S-Ranks had actively avoided him, which should’ve been a clue. But your frontal lobe was melting. You didn’t have the bandwidth to care.

You wobbled forward like a dying Roomba, grabbed a handful of his sleek uniform, and mumbled, “Guide. That’s you, right?”

And then you slumped forward and face-planted directly onto his collarbone.

There was a pause.

“…Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, incredulously.

You groaned. “Yeah. You’re a Guide. You’ve got the badge.”

Another pause. Longer, this time.

He sounded… offended. And faintly intrigued.

“…You don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” you mumbled into his neck.

You didn’t see the expression on his face, but if your ears weren’t lying, he audibly gasped. Like someone had just told him dry shampoo was canceled. Like the very idea of not being recognized was a personal attack.

But instead of pushing you off, he slowly brought a hand up, fingers grazing your temple. You felt a wave of warmth radiate through your skull like a breath of fresh air had crawled into your ribcage.

It was… good. Too good.

A jolt of relief punched through your nervous system. Your heart rate settled. The Gate static stopped screaming in your ears. Your whole body sagged, weightless and calm, and you barely had time to mutter “holy shit you’re good at this” before your knees gave out completely.

You passed out in his arms.

And Vil Schoenheit—SSS-Rank Guide, national treasure, and walking perfection—stood there holding your limp, grime-covered, unconscious form with a complicated look on his face.

You came back to consciousness the way a phone boots up after being thrown into a wall. Slow, glitchy, and confused.

Something was warm under you. Something was very firm. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the strange sensation of not being in pain anymore. The Gate headache was gone. Your soul no longer felt like it had been sandpapered. You were, inexplicably, comfortable.

That’s when you realized: you were still wrapped around the fancy Guide like a human backpack.

Face: mashed against his shoulder. Legs: around his waist. Arms: locked in a desperate hug like a koala going through a rough breakup. And he… was just sitting there. On a recovery bench. Completely calm. Holding you like this was something that happened to him all the time.

“Oh,” you mumbled, sleep-dazed. “My bad.”

He tilted his head, glossy hair catching the light like it had a sponsorship deal with a shampoo brand. “Are you done?” he asked, voice sharp. “Or shall I assume you’ve permanently relocated to my clavicle?”

You peeled yourself off him with all the grace of wet laundry sliding off a countertop. “Thanks for, uh, not letting me die,” you offered, scratching your head.

He stared at you for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”

You blinked. “…A Guide?”

He inhaled. Visibly. Offended on a spiritual level. The look on his face could’ve soured milk. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Are you actively trying to offend me?”

“What? You’ve got the badge! That’s all I need, right?”

Vil Schoenheit—as he introduced himself—flicked you on the forehead. It was somehow both dismissive and full of judgment. “Recover. Properly.” he snapped, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. “You’re lucky I’m magnanimous.”

He swept out of the room like a disgruntled ballerina.

You blinked after him, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell was that about?”

A nurse walked in and immediately gasped like she'd just witnessed a royal birth. “Oh my Seven—was that Vil?!”

“Vil… who?” you asked, trying not to sound like an idiot.

She turned to you so fast her clipboard flew off the counter. “Vil Schoenheit. SSS Guide. He’s a legend. Do you have any idea how many Espers have tried to bond with him and been turned away in tears?”

You stared at the door where he’d just vanished. “No? He just kinda… guided me.”

The nurse screeched. “YOU JUST KINDA GOT GUIDED—are you INSANE? That man once made a Grade-SS Esper cry because they wore Crocs to an informal debriefing!”

You slowly sat back against the pillow, eyes wide.

“…I told him ‘oops sorry lol.’”

You were still internally combusting about the whole “Oops sorry lol” situation when you finally worked up the nerve to go to Vil’s office. Not to bond—you weren’t delusional—but at the very least, to apologize. Maybe offer him a thank-you fruit basket. Or one of those luxury hair masks. Something.

Espers were better paid than Guides. That wasn’t a flex—it was just how the system worked. You’d always thought it was kind of unfair, but now, standing outside his office, you suddenly felt even worse. Because if Vil was being underpaid to deal with Espers, plural, like you? He deserved hazard pay.

You raised a shaky fist and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

The door opened, and you were hit with the distinct scent of wealth, vintage cologne, and spiritual intimidation. The office looked like it belonged in a magazine titled Power & Passive Aggression: Interiors for the Elite. It had velvet chairs. A chandelier. And on the floor, sobbing, was an SS-ranked Esper.

“Please,” she was whispering, clutching Vil’s coat like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “Please, just once. I know I’m not SSS, but my compatibility score is so close—”

“I don’t guide based on some arbitrary number,” Vil said coolly, extracting himself with the same disdain you'd use to avoid stepping in gum. “I guide based on worth.”

You were already edging away when his eyes snapped up—and softened.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked, voice shifting so drastically in tone it gave you whiplash.

“I—uh. I just wanted to apologize. For, you know. The slumping. And the drool. And the calling you ‘a Guide’ like you’re not the Guide.” You laughed nervously. “Also. Uh. I can repay you?”

He stared at you like you’d offered to give him pocket lint.

Then, without even glancing at the SS Esper still on the floor, he waved a perfectly manicured hand and said, “Leave.”

She looked up, stunned. “W-what?”

“I said leave.” His voice sharpened like glass under velvet. “Now.”

You watched her scramble out in silence. Then Vil turned to you, posture relaxing like you were an entirely different species of Esper.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the velvet chair.

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your legs moved like they belonged to someone else.

“I didn’t come here to be guided,” you said quickly. “I just thought I’d offer some compensation since you took care of me back at the Gate, and—”

“Hush.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t guide you for compensation,” Vil said, moving closer, “and I certainly don’t require repayment.”

“But I—”

“Do not interrupt me,” he said smoothly, placing his hand just under your jaw and tilting your head with two fingers. “Close your eyes.”

You did.

And just like before, the storm in your chest went still.

He hadn’t even made full contact yet, and already your frayed nerves calmed, your aching muscles relaxed, and that hollow echo left by the Gate quieted.

You opened your mouth to speak again—because, honestly, who wouldn’t panic under that much raw focus—but his voice cut in before a single syllable escaped:

“Did I say you could talk?”

You shut your mouth.

Vil smiled. Like he’d just won something important, and wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.

“Good. You learn quickly.”

You staggered out of the Gate like a soldier crawling back from the front lines of a war no one believed in. Your clothes were singed, your limbs were shaking, your skin was buzzing with leftover energy that had nowhere to go, and your brain was running the Windows 95 shutdown noise on loop. You had fought monsters for the past hour with all the grace of a dying blender.

Everything hurt. Your body felt like it had been used as a battering ram. Your soul felt like it had been microwaved.

So when you saw the sweet, merciful glow of a Guide badge ahead in the crowd, your instincts took over. You staggered forward like a half-dead Roomba on its last cycle, locked onto the nearest beacon of safety.

The Guide in question had orange hair and the smug look of someone who thought they were God’s gift to humanity despite the fact they were clearly holding a vape pen and a clipboard.

You didn’t care.

You lurched toward him, arms outstretched like a cryptid emerging from the woods.

“BRO NO,” he yelped. “DUDE, I’M NOT CERTIFIED FOR THIS LEVEL OF TRAUMA—DON’T PUKE ON ME—”

But before your forehead could connect with his very punchable shoulder, a blur of movement swept in.

You were yanked back by the collar like an untrained dog trying to bolt into traffic.

“Absolutely not,” a cool, smooth voice said with the unmistakable tone of expensive disdain. “You are not grounding with him.”

You turned sluggishly to your new captor and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Vil. Hair perfect despite the apocalyptic weather conditions of a gate zone. Wearing a coat that probably cost more than your entire existence and looking at you like you were a particularly unfortunate stain on said coat.

You blinked at him. “Am I in trouble?” you mumbled.

Vil arched a brow. “You’re seconds away from slumping onto a Guide who once tried to ground an Esper by playing lo-fi beats through his AirPods. Yes, you’re in trouble.”

You were too tired to be offended.

He sighed, took your hand, and suddenly, bliss.

Like every nerve in your body was dunked in lavender oil and told to shut up. Your breathing evened out. Your vision cleared. Your bones climbed back into their sockets like, “Our bad, we’ll behave now.”

You let him guide you to a nearby bench, too dazed to do anything but follow the magical angel who had just saved you from the worst decision of your life.

Vil sat gracefully. You slumped next to him like a dying cactus in a thunderstorm.

“Post-gate recovery is non-negotiable,” he said, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly expire in public.

You closed your eyes and focused on the cool, steady rhythm of his guidance, and then—

A crinkle.

You opened one eye to see him pull a juice box from his bag. With a bendy straw.

He inserted the straw and handed it to you like you were a toddler who’d just had a very bad day at daycare.

You stared at the juice. Then at him. “Is this for me?”

“No,” he said dryly. “It’s for the other S-class Esper currently drooling on my coat.”

You blinked, deeply touched. You took a sip.

It was… heavenly.

You made a soft noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

And then—your eyes stung.

“No,” Vil said immediately, without looking at you. “Whatever emotional reaction you’re about to have—don’t.”

You sniffled. “But you brought me juice. Nobody’s brought me juice since I got classified. Everyone just shoves me into Gates and tells me not to die.”

He flicked your forehead. “If you die, I have to find another Esper whose personality doesn’t give me hives. That sounds exhausting.”

“Are you… saying you like me?”

“I’m saying your emotional resilience is marginally less pathetic than average,” he said, adjusting your posture so your head leaned more comfortably on his shoulder. “And I don’t hate your voice.”

You sipped your juice box, trembling like a Victorian child given a warm meal for the first time.

No one had treated you like this since you joined the system. You’d been weaponized, categorized, and told to sit still and kill things on command. You were a tool. A number. A sharp object.

But Vil wasn’t afraid of your sharp edges. He looked you in the eye and said, “That’s a guide badge you’re drooling on, potato. Not a chew toy.”

And then gave you juice.

You sniffled again.

“If you sob, I will end you,” he muttered, but his hand never let go of yours.

And you knew, deep in your wrecked little Esper heart, that you would fight a thousand more gates just to be guided by him again.

Even if he bullied you the entire time.

So apparently, post-gate recovery hadn’t just been juice boxes and emotionally confusing hand-holding.

No. It turned out you had to take something called a Routine Compatibility Check for “guidance efficiency optimization.”

You hadn’t known what any of that meant, but someone had shoved a clipboard at you and told you to “go sit in the glow room and don’t touch anything,” so there you were. Sitting in a sterile white room that smelled like hand sanitizer and despair. Waiting to meet your newly assigned “guidance match.”

A door creaked open.

You turned around—and in walked a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen direct sunlight since the invention of the lightbulb. His shoulders were hunched, hoodie too big, blue glowing hair all mussed like he’d lost a fight with a hairdryer. He had eyebags for days and the posture of a raccoon caught mid-fridge-raid.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

He looked at you harder—and visibly recoiled like you’d just bit him.

“…Uhhh,” he said, voice high and trembling. “You’re the S-class?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“Oh no.”

This man looked like he was seconds from writing “HELP” on the window with a dry erase marker. His hand was already twitching toward the panic button. He was mentally Googling “what to do when assigned a battle demon.”

You opened your mouth to say something reassuring—like, “Hey, I only explode on some guides,” or “I’ve never actually flattened a building during a meltdown”—

—but the door slammed open behind you.

“Absolutely not.”

You turned around.

Vil Schoenheit stood in the doorway like the wrath of God dressed in Gucci. Impeccable coat. Sunglasses indoors. Holding a coffee cup that you knew wasn’t from the office vending machine.

He eyed the situation—your tentative shuffle toward your new guide, the way the poor guy was gripping his ID badge like a rosary—and his lip curled like someone had just handed him expired tofu.

“I’m taking them,” Vil said flatly to the Guidance Office rep standing nearby. “This is non-negotiable.”

The rep blinked. “But, Mr. Schoenheit, the match—”

“—was laughable. They’re mine.”

Your poor assigned guide looked so relieved it was almost insulting.

“Thank the stars,” he mumbled, already gathering his things like you were a bomb that’d just been safely disarmed. “No offense, but I really don’t do well with… uh… physical contact or eye contact or conflict or—”

You were too stunned to reply as Vil grabbed you by the wrist, effortlessly pivoted on his heel, and strode out of the room with you in tow like a high fashion tornado.

You stumbled after him. “Okay, hi, hello? What was that?”

“I saw your assignment,” Vil said coolly. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let that continue.”

“But—I thought you weren’t accepting new matches?”

“I’m not.”

You blinked. “So…?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, slow and deliberate, like you weren’t quite connecting the dots fast enough.

“I didn’t consider you ‘new'.”

You shut your mouth because your brain was full of static. Something about the way he said that made your knees consider filing for divorce from the rest of your body.

He guided you all the way to the elevator, in silence, while you tried to process what had just happened.

You, apparently, had been claimed.

And worst of all?

You thought you might have liked it.

It all started with a noble quest. A simple dream.

You just wanted a hoodie.

Not a fancy one. Not a designer one. Not a limited edition “inspired by the blood of fashion victims” collection. No, no. You wanted one of those oversized, marshmallow-soft hoodies that whispered “lay down and give up, my liege” every time you put it on. The kind of hoodie that could absorb emotional damage.

So there you were. Financially stable (thanks, murder gates), emotionally unstable (thanks, murder gates), and elbows-deep in a display bin labeled “3 for 2: Emotional Support Wear”, when fate struck.

Or rather, sashayed past in four-inch heels and an aura of contempt.

Vil.

You froze. He looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. Every strand of hair in place. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Cheekbones that could slice open a space-time rift. And where was he going?

Straight into a boutique so fancy it looked like it would ask you for a résumé just to step inside.

Naturally, you turned the other way. This was not your world. You were not dressed for it. You were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a questionable graphic of a goose wielding a knife. You were simply a humble raccoon-person in search of softness.

But then—

“You.”

Oh no. Oh god. Oh no god.

You turned around slowly, hoodie clutched to your chest like a shield. Vil stood there with shopping bags and the expression of someone who’d just discovered a stray in his favorite restaurant.

“Come. I need hands.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I left mine at home. Can’t help you.”

He blinked. Then, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t hear nonsense, he handed you his bags and turned around, fully expecting you to follow.

And you did. Because unfortunately, curiosity was stronger than shame.

The next hour? Was… actually kind of amazing.

Vil didn’t shop. He conquered. He moved through stores like a well-dressed storm, flinging judgment at poor fabric choices and muttering dark things about asymmetrical hemlines. Store staff parted for him like he was royalty. Other customers wilted under the weight of his gaze.

You, meanwhile, trailed after him like a high-end goblin, carrying his many, many bags, dressed like a sleep-deprived college student who had just lost a fight with a laundry machine.

It was great.

You watched him try on outfits with the kind of reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. He was graceful. Efficient. Disgustingly photogenic. You felt like you were witnessing a documentary: “The Endangered Fashion Icon in His Natural Habitat.”

And then, miraculously, he let you live.

He suggested a coffee break and even let you pay—probably out of pity. You made a mental note to deduct it as a business expense under “accidental deity encounter.”

Sitting across from him, sipping overpriced lattes, you made a joke. Something dumb. Something about a pair of jeans you'd seen that looked like they'd been personally attacked by a cheese grater.

Vil laughed.

You were not prepared.

It was real. Warm. Shockingly cute. Like, “I’ve been guiding murder monsters all week and now suddenly I believe in joy again” kind of cute.

You stared. He looked at you. You looked away, sipping your drink very intently, trying not to say “please laugh again, it heals my soul.”

You didn't say it out loud.

But you thought it really hard.

You walked into Vil's office like a responsible little murder gremlin, fully prepared for your weekly check-up guidance session.

What you were not prepared for was the sheer atmospheric rage brewing inside.

Vil was pacing like a cat who'd just realized its favorite toy was in the hands of a toddler—absolutely done with life. He was muttering to himself under his breath, phrases like, “Espers with zero gratitude... how dare they ask for guidance without a thank-you,” and, “I swear if one more person thinks my time is free like it's some kind of community resource—

He saw you, exhaled the deepest sigh known to man, and pointed at the couch like he was casting a curse. Not a word of greeting. Just The Finger of Sit.

So you sat. For about three seconds.

Then, something in your little gremlin heart said: No. He is cranky. He is suffering. This is a job for Emotional Support Esper.

You got up, walked behind him, and—without a word—started massaging his shoulders.

Vil tensed like a cat about to fight god. Then slowly—slowly—melted into it.

“This isn’t part of your session,” he grumbled, but it lacked bite. His head tilted forward, giving you better access. “You’re not guiding me, you know.”

“I’m aware,” you said, digging your thumbs in just right. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t reply. Just… breathed. It was weirdly serene. You, massaging one of the most powerful and terrifying guides in the country. Him, finally looking like he wasn’t five seconds away from incinerating someone with nothing but his glare.

Eventually, you sat back down on the couch. And then—shock of all shocks—Vil slumped down next to you.

No dramatic speech. No biting commentary. Just one very exhausted, very overworked guide leaning on your shoulder like gravity had personally betrayed him.

“…Don’t say a word about this,” he murmured, eyes already closed. He reached for your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and held it tight.

You stayed there for a long time.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

You just sat with him in silence, wondering how the hell you’d gone from emotional demolition expert to comfort pillow. And, weirdly, feeling kind of honored.

You weren’t sure how you got home, but judging by the trail of blood, sludge, and crushed energy drink cans leading up the stairs, you had clearly made the journey using sheer spite and possibly a small miracle. Your legs moved on autopilot, powered by rage, trauma, and about four remaining brain cells—none of which were cooperating.

You’d just come back from a gate that had gone so poorly, it might as well have been cursed by the gods, the devs, and your second-grade math teacher. Breach. Casualties. Screaming.

There was definitely a moment where you almost flung a monster into a building and then screamed louder when you realized it was the emergency response building. Whoops.

It wasn’t even your assigned gate. It was a last-minute scramble. You and a handful of other S-rank espers were yanked in because the gate was behaving badly. Like, “snarling, vomiting monsters that defied physics” badly. And you—foolish, heroic, caffeine-soaked gremlin that you were—ran in first like someone had dared you.

You fought. You fought so hard you forgot your own name for about two hours. And still, people died. People always died. But this time, it felt like too many. You saw a little kid’s shoe and had a breakdown mid-punch. You tried to do everything, and your body just… stopped cooperating.

You didn’t even get guided afterward.

Vil wasn't at this gate. The other guides were all assigned or recovering themselves. Some were crying. A few had fainted from strain.

And you? You looked around, felt your knees give out a little, then just muttered “okay cool” and left like a ghost clocking out after a double shift at a haunted Wendy’s.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were so dissociated you forgot how doors worked. You stood outside yours for a full minute before realizing the knob turned left. You walked in, left your boots and weapon where they fell, and didn’t even consider locking the door behind you.

Let fate come. Let a gate burst into your living room. Let some criminal wander in and steal your furniture. That was Future You’s problem. Current You was Busy.

You peeled yourself out of your battle gear like a sad, oversized fruit roll-up, leaving it in a heap that would absolutely start growing mold by tomorrow. You wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for three solid minutes, and then closed it again. There was nothing in there but expired yogurt, an empty ketchup bottle, and the overwhelming sense of despair. Just like your soul.

Your eyes landed on the couch. You made eye contact. It made eye contact back.

You didn’t go to your bed. The bed had too much hope. The couch? The couch knew. The couch had seen things. It was your emotional support furniture, and it beckoned you with lumpy cushions and the faint scent of Febreze and failure.

You collapsed into it with the grace of a dying walrus, grabbed the nearest throw blanket like a life raft, and curled up.

Your muscles throbbed. Your eyes were dry, too tired to cry. Your heart was heavy and hollow, a contradiction wrapped in fatigue.

You didn’t call the Guidance Office.

You didn’t reach for your communicator.

You didn’t even consider getting guided.

Because why would you?

You hadn’t earned it.

Guidance was for espers who did good. Who came back whole. Who saved people and feel okay about it.

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Least of all Vil—the most terrifyingly elegant guide in existence, whose soothing voice could calm a charging bull but whose judgmental stare could reduce you to ash on the spot. You could already imagine it:

“Potato, why didn’t you call?” And you’d go, “Because I sucked. And also I was busy eating my weight in sadness on my couch.”

So no. No guidance. No messages. No crying. Just you, your depression blanket, and your ever-growing collection of trauma under a mountain of emotional avoidance.

You passed out like that, too. Face-down, limbs sprawled, snoring gently, still wearing one sock and gripping the couch cushion like it owed you rent.

And in the hallway, your door remained unlocked.

Because honestly?

Let the monsters come.

You’d either sleep through it or invite them in for leftover yogurt and mutual despair.

You woke up feeling like a truck had hit you, reversed, parked on your spine, and left its high beams on just to be petty. Every bone in your body creaked like an abandoned haunted house. Your mouth tasted like regret and half a protein bar. Your blanket was half off the couch, half on the floor, and a mysterious corn chip was stuck to your elbow.

You blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Then your phone screamed.

100 missed calls.

37 texts.

All from: Vil Schoenheit.

Each message angrier than the last.

The final one simply said: “Pick. Up. Now.”

You did.

The moment the line connected, there was a beat of silence—then his voice, sharp and low like the edge of a knife:

“Address. Now.”

You mumbled something barely coherent, possibly your zip code, possibly the ingredients of a burrito. Either way, you texted him your location, dropped the phone on your chest, and passed out again like a Sims character who ignored every need bar until they collapsed.

The next time you woke up, it was to someone violently shaking you like they were trying to exorcise a demon.

“The door was wide open. Wide. Open. Are you out of your mind?! What if someone broke in?! What if something followed you?! What if—”

You cracked one eye open. Vil was kneeling beside your couch in full luxury casuals, flawless hair tied back in a silk ribbon, eyes blazing with a fury usually reserved for war crimes or off-season fashion.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” he snapped, voice wobbling between fury and panic.

You sat up slowly. Your limbs felt like wet noodles. You looked at him—actually looked at him—and saw the edges of worry in his perfect posture. You didn’t think. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his surprisingly warm, cologne-scented form like a soggy baby koala.

He froze.

Then he hugged you back, one arm sliding firmly around your waist, the other hand smoothing over your hair with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.

“You didn’t respond,” he murmured, voice much softer now, like he’d deflated the moment you touched him. “I was at a gate, and you—you should’ve called me. You idiot.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you croaked, still clinging. “I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t—”

THWACK.

He flicked you so hard on the forehead you saw colors. You yelped and recoiled, holding your skull like he’d smacked you with a frying pan.

“OW—what the hell, Vil?!”

“Use your brain,” he snapped. “You don’t have to earn guidance. You lived. You fought. You made it back. That’s enough.”

You stared at him, stunned and blinking. Your brain, which had been curled in a ball screaming failure failure failure, screeched to a halt. It didn’t know what to do with this information. It flailed.

“...but—”

“No.” He pressed two fingers to your temple. “Quiet.”

And just like that, warmth bloomed across your skin. Calm, grounding, steady. His presence wrapped around your rattled mind like a weighted blanket.

You hadn’t realized how loud your thoughts had been until everything went quiet.

You slumped forward again, forehead on his shoulder.

“…thank you,” you whispered.

He made a soft, exasperated noise and squeezed your hand.

“Next time,” he muttered, “if you don’t call me, I will drag you to a spa against your will and lock you in a bathhouse for six hours.”

Honestly?

That sounded kind of nice.

You nodded into his shoulder and let the warmth pull you under again.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment. There was no dramatic gasp, no heart-skipping beat, no rom-com soundtrack swelling in the background.

No. It happened while Vil was in the middle of passionately criticizing your instant ramen consumption.

“You don’t even check the sodium levels, do you? Of course not. Why would you? That would require basic self-preservation instincts, which you clearly lack,—are you even listening to me?”

You were, actually. Kind of. Mostly you were just watching the way his eyes flashed when he got worked up, how his voice lilted, how his hair caught the light like he had a personal filter on at all times. His hands moved a lot when he was mad—elegant, precise little gestures like he was conducting an orchestra of outrage.

And somewhere in the middle of him saying something about how your body was “not a landfill for factory-processed poison,” you thought:

Wow. He’s perfect.

There was a pause.

A silence that felt loud in your own brain.

Not because he noticed—no, he was still going. But you did. You noticed. And you felt your entire emotional infrastructure collapse like a badly built IKEA table.

You sat there, nodding along, eyes wide and empty like a man realizing he’d dropped his phone into lava. Because you knew exactly what this meant.

You were so, so screwed.

You didn’t even try to deny it. You were too tired for that. Too experienced in emotional disasters to think, “maybe it’s just a crush!”

Nah. You liked him. For real. In the "I’d wear sunscreen just to impress him" kind of way. In the "he could tell me I look homeless and I’d say thank you" kind of way.

So, you just accepted your fate.

You nodded solemnly while Vil insulted your meal plan and thought:

Well. I guess this is my life now. Time to emotionally implode in private.

You weren’t going to tell him. Absolutely not. The man had standards higher than Mount Everest. You were a gremlin in sweatpants. He guided you out of what had to be some misplaced sense of moral responsibility, not because he liked you.

So, your plan was simple: keep it quiet. Let the crush rot in your chest. Maybe it would fade. Maybe Vil would never find out. Maybe you’d survive.

…Maybe.

“Are you even paying attention?” Vil snapped, snapping his fingers in your face.

You jolted back to reality. “Yes! Yes. Sodium bad. Body temple. I got it.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I’m always weird,” you said quickly. “That’s my brand. Very consistent.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopeless.”

You watched him for a second longer and thought, God, I’m doomed.

And then you smiled and said, “Yeah. But at least I’m charming about it.”

He rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t deny it.

You were just trying to survive. That’s all.

Because being around Vil Schoenheit every other day, breathing the same air as him while he guided you while scolding you, was no longer tenable. Your heart was staging a full-blown coup against your sanity.

Every smirk he threw your way shaved years off your life. Every time he flicked your forehead for being “reckless” or “insufferable” or “a walking cautionary tale,” you internally swooned like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.

So, you did what any emotionally fragile raccoon-person would do when faced with unattainable love and regular exposure to flawless cheekbones: you fled.

To the Guidance Office.

You kept your voice steady when you asked for your previous guide’s contact. The poor intern looked like he’d rather explode than question you, especially once he realized who your current guide was.

Still, he handed over the transfer form and you sat down, heart racing, tapping your pen like a death drum. You were halfway through scribbling your tragic little freedom request when—

A shadow loomed.

Perfume wafted.

And the temperature dropped ten degrees.

You didn’t even have time to look up before the form was snatched from your hands with all the grace of a man committing a stylish crime.

“Up. Now.”

Vil’s voice was frost and fury and every hair on your body stood up like soldiers called to war.

You stumbled after him, too stunned to protest, as he marched you through the hallways with terrifying grace. You passed several people who were clearly wondering if they were witnessing a kidnapping, but no one dared interfere.

His office door slammed shut behind you, and he turned on you like a beautifully irate weather phenomenon.

Then—rip.

Your transfer form disintegrated in his hands.

“OUT,” he snapped, voice tight, angry. “If you’re going to be a complete and utter fool, then get out of my sight.”

You blinked. “What—why are you mad? I’m doing you a favor!”

“A favor?” he repeated, like you’d just spat in a glass of Château Margaux.

You held your ground, though you were 97% sure he could kill you with a single sigh. “You didn’t want to guide me in the first place! I’m—look, I’m making it easier for both of us. No more clingy potato energy. No more… emotional spirals. You can guide someone who isn’t a complete mess.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and then he—kissed you.

No warning. No build-up. Just lips crashing against yours like your poor little romantic delusions had summoned it from the abyss. His hands cupped your face, tilting it just right, and you—froze.

You opened your mouth to say something.

He kissed you again.

This time, slower. Angrier. Like he was trying to shove every word you weren’t letting him say directly into your bloodstream.

“I love you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away, chest heaving. “You stupid, overthinking potato.”

You blinked. “I—wait, what?”

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” he snapped, pacing. “You think I guide you because it’s convenient? You think I chose to rip you away from that quivering ball of social anxiety just to be charitable? I don’t have to guide anyone. I chose you.”

You were still stuck on the part where he said “I love you” and hadn’t immediately revoked it.

He pointed at you. “Sit down.”

You sat. Immediately.

He sat next to you, crossed one leg over the other, and glared. “We’re going to talk about this. Then you’re going to delete the idea of transferring from your thick, tragically underutilized brain. Understood?”

“…Yes?”

“Good. And drink some water. You look like you’re about to combust.”

You obeyed. Because frankly? You were.

“You’re serious?” you asked, voice a little cracked around the edges, sitting on his plush office chair like you were squatting in a throne you had absolutely no right to. “You love me?”

Vil stared at you with the exhausted patience of a man who had been in love with a rock for three years. “Yes. I’ve loved you for a while, and you—” he poked you in the forehead again, harder this time, “—have been blissfully, astoundingly oblivious.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, already sweating. “You’re very hard to read!”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “You’re just emotionally illiterate.”

“Give me one example.”

“Oh, one?” He tilted his head and actually laughed, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s start small, then. Remember the time I brought you a silk-lined weighted blanket because you said you liked ‘being squished by fabric’ and your apartment ‘felt like a haunted fridge?’”

You blinked. “I thought that was just you mocking me with luxury.”

“I custom-ordered it in your favorite color and personally dropped it off.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

“And what about the emergency juice box I carry around exclusively for you, because you tend to spiral into a puddle after difficult gates and refuse to ask for help?”

“…You said that was because I’m ‘emotionally six.’”

“That was a joke.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at you again. “What about when I held your hand during guidance and you told me, ‘This is wildly intimate,’ and I said, ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ and you laughed and said, ‘Ha ha good one,’ and proceeded to talk about raccoons for twenty minutes?”

Your face was hot. Like boiling kettle hot. You were being roasted over the open flames of your own idiocy.

Vil, now fully in his villain origin arc, stood up, arms crossed. “Or the time I made you lunch because you skipped breakfast three days in a row and you cried a little, and I wiped your tears, and you said, ‘You’d make such a good husband, wow,’ and then called me bro.”

“I was tired that day,” you whispered.

He paced. “I took a personal day to guide you after that one breach because you refused post-gate care. I showed up at your house! You were curled up like a soggy blanket and told me you didn’t deserve comfort, and I guided you anyway! I even brought snacks!”

You were holding your head in your hands now, processing. “Oh my god. I’m the clown. I’m the whole circus.”

Vil sighed and came to kneel beside you again, gentler now. He pulled your hands from your face and took them in his, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “I assumed you didn't like me. But this?” He smiled a little. “This is honestly worse.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter now, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want you to change guides. I want you to stay.”

You looked down at your joined hands. Then up at his face, soft and real and so, so stupidly beautiful.

“...Can I kiss you again?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

And he did. And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t freeze or black out or say anything about raccoons. You just held him closer and kissed him back, trying very hard not to think about how many brain cells you’d wasted missing the obvious.

(But you did apologize to him later. After the third kiss. And after asking if he’d consider writing a “Vil Schoenheit’s Guide to Realizing Your Guide is Flirting” manual for future dumbasses like yourself.)

The first time Vil met you was… unfortunate.

You'd collapsed on him like a sandbag flung from the heavens by a god with no taste.

He'd been called in to assist after a gate breach—nothing unusual, really, just a high-stress emergency with far too many untrained espers and not enough functioning brain cells among them. His job was to stabilize, guide, and keep anyone from combusting mentally or emotionally, preferably both. It was clinical, routine, and efficient.

Until you.

You stumbled out of the smoke and screaming with wild eyes and your uniform half-burnt, looking like you’d just gone twelve rounds with the concept of mortality. You locked eyes with him—briefly, like a bird recognizing glass mid-flight—and then passed out straight into his arms.

Correction: onto him.

He wasn’t sure how you managed to fall with such inconvenient geometry, but one moment he was standing, perfectly composed, and the next he had an unconscious stranger face-planting onto him, limbs sprawled like a freshly felled tree.

His first thought was: Excuse you?

His second: Do they not know who I am?

Honestly, the offense was justified. People didn’t usually touch Vil without permission, let alone treat him like a fainting couch. And yet when the medics arrived to assist, he waved them off with a sigh, brushing soot out of your hair and stabilizing your exhausted psyche with the practiced ease of someone too annoyed to be fazed. You were just another Esper, he told himself. Another mess to be cleaned up.

Then you woke up.

You blinked at him. Groggy. Confused. Soft in the eyes in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Sorry. My bad.”

No recognition. No fawning. No demands for priority guidance.

Just that—thanks—like he was your local neighborhood guide and not one of the most in-demand SSS-ranks in the country.

And that was when it happened: the first crack.

A hairline fracture in his perfectly sculpted composure. Something warm and startlingly gentle wedged itself in his chest. The faint, whispering thought: They’re not like the others.

He'd left soon after and that should've been the end of it.

But the next day, you came to his office. Not to request a partnership. Not to ask for more guidance sessions. Not even to praise his skill, as most did when they finally found out who he was.

No.

You walked in with a slightly bent energy drink and said, “Hi. Just wanted to thank you again. For yesterday. And, like, if you want anything—coffee, or uh, a meal, or maybe a really good nap on my couch—I can return the favor.”

He blinked. “You're offering me compensation?”

“Yeah,” you said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Also, you helped me not die. That deserves at least a smoothie.”

He stared at you. You stared back, unbothered and vaguely hopeful, like someone trying to barter with a raccoon they’d wronged in a past life.

And that’s when the thought struck him:

I wish more Espers were like this.

Earnest. Direct. Not wrapped in ego or desperation. You treated him like a person and not a tool or a celebrity. Like someone who deserved appreciation, not worship.

He didn’t say yes to your offer.

And later that evening, sipping the mango smoothie you left on his desk with a sticky note that said “Thanks again, Your Highness,” Vil caught himself smiling.

Disaster or not, you had… made an impression.

And for better or worse, that impression was starting to stick.

Soon, he found himself buying your favorite juice on the way to work.

He told himself it was to bribe you into being less reckless. That he just “happened” to know your favorite. That it was a coincidence.

He also started carrying headache meds. And bandaids. And snacks. And spare gloves because you kept losing yours and pretending you didn’t need them.

A week later, he spotted you in the hallway again. You were coming out of a gate looking like you’d been mugged by gravity and a brick. But what truly horrified Vil was not your appearance (which was a hate crime against fashion), but the fact that you were about to be guided by someone else.

Some junior Guide with too much gel in his hair and the audacity to step away from you.

Vil's soul left his body.

He didn’t even think. He stomped across the hallway, yanked you away like a cat stealing laundry, and declared, “Absolutely not.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Guiding you. Sit down. Shut up.”

“...Okay?”

He’d never been so professionally compromised. He gave you the most aggressive, possessive, emotionally repressed guiding session in history. It was like channeling affection through gritted teeth.

He was doomed.

Vil Schoenheit was a man of control. Precision. Elegance. He kept his calendar color-coded, his wardrobe steamed, and his guiding sessions timed to the minute.

So when he heard through the grapevine that you were about to be reassigned to another Guide—because of some nonsense about “compatibility tests” and “emotional interference” (rude)—he did not react well.

No, he did not pout.

He did not sulk.

He marched directly to the Guidance Office, pulled rank in that way that only Vil could—part charm, part cold-blooded menace—and made it very clear that you were off the market.

“This Esper is mine,” he said, crisp and cool like a glacier in a fur coat. “Officially. Put it in writing.”

The poor intern at the desk blinked up at him, then at the screen.

“Um… you mean, you want to—?”

“Yes. I want to take full responsibility for their guiding.”

“Sir, do you mean romantically—?”

“Professionally.” A beat. “For now.”

Vil was shopping for seasonal essentials, which of course required strategic planning, multiple fitting rooms, and approximately seventeen judgmental head tilts. He saw you wandering out of a soft-clothes store with a hoodie that looked like a blanket and a dream.

You saw him.

You tried to leave.

He grabbed your wrist.

“I need hands,” he said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

And then he handed you a bag and moved on like a model on a mission.

You carried his bags for hours. You offered no complaints, just commentary like, “That color makes your cheekbones illegal,” and “If I try that on I’ll look like a deflated beanbag.” You actually enjoyed yourself.

And then—then—when you ended up in a café and he reluctantly allowed you to buy his coffee, you sat there, sipping from your little cup, and made some stupid joke about luxury couture and cheese graters.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t polite or dismissive. It was the kind of laugh that knocked loose something in his ribcage. The kind that made him stare at you over the rim of his drink and realize, with full-body horror:

I’m doomed.

Because he liked you.

He really, really liked you.

Not in the “you’re tolerable and I guess I won’t smite you” way. In the “I want to wring your neck for not wearing gloves but also maybe hold your hand” way. The “I will destroy that junior Guide if he even looks at you again” way. The “please stop getting injured or I will cry and then deny it until the sun explodes” way.

And you had no idea.

You were still out here calling yourself “emotionally bulletproof” and stealing his granola bars like it was normal. Still calling him “Vilbo Baggins” and poking his forehead like you weren’t holding the shreds of his dignity in your little chaos-stained hands.

So yes. Vil was doomed.

And he couldn’t even blame you.

Because of all the Espers in the world, it had to be you—you with your messy hair and shiny eyes and stupid brave heart.

Fast-forward to a Tuesday. Or maybe Thursday. Vil had lost track. It had been a day full of Espers with no manners, no boundaries, and one who tried to touch his hair mid-guiding.

By the time you wandered into his office, he was one broken string away from full violin villainy.

And for once, you didn’t joke.

No "What’s up, Guidezilla?"

No "Did your skincare try to abandon you too?"

You just took one look at him, walked over, and—gently—placed your hands on his shoulders.

Vil froze.

You kneaded the tight muscles there with surprising skill. Still no words. Just the quiet press of your thumbs, the steady warmth of your touch. And when he exhaled—shaky, involuntary—you didn’t tease him for it.

You just said, softly, “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know.”

And that was when he broke a little.

Not obviously. But his posture slumped just slightly. His head tilted just enough to rest against your shoulder. Not even for a minute—maybe twenty seconds.

But it was enough.

Enough to make him realize: This is the safest I’ve felt all day.

And the fact that it was you—you, with your chaos and your grin and your glitter stickers stuck to your ID badge—that was terrifying. And comforting. And utterly, stupidly addicting.

He didn’t say thank you. Not out loud.

But later, when you weren’t looking, he moved your next few guiding sessions to the prime slot on his calendar. The one reserved for important things.

And in his fridge?

There was already more of your favorite juice.

He told himself it was just being thorough.

He was a liar.

It had started like any other deployment day. You and he had both been assigned to different gates, which wasn’t uncommon anymore. It was annoying—yes, he preferred to keep you in arm’s reach like a chaotic, overly affectionate pet raccoon—but manageable. You hadn’t called, hadn’t messaged, so he assumed it was fine. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you’d just fallen asleep.

But then he heard the reports.

Talk around the guidance center was that your gate had gone bad. A breach. Casualties. They'd barely managed to contain it. The kind of mission that rattled even the seasoned Espers.

Vil had frozen mid-conversation, a pen slipping from his hand and clattering onto his desk.

“Did they get guided after?” he asked, voice sharp.

The other Guide had shrugged. “Apparently not. Took off the moment debrief ended.”

And that was when the spiral started.

He called you. Once. Twice. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.

Pacing his office like a man possessed, he left increasingly deranged voicemails.

—"Pick up your phone, I swear to the God, if you are ghosting me because you’re feeling ‘emotionally crunchy’ again—"

—“If you're hurt, I need to know. If you're not hurt, I'm going to kill you myself.”

—“Potato, I’m serious. Answer the phone.”

When you finally picked up, sounding groggy and like someone had drop-kicked your soul, all you said was:

“…Vil?”

And that was enough.

“Address. Now.”

You sent him a dropped pin and then promptly passed out again.

He’d never gotten to your place so fast in his life. Nearly crashed into two pedestrians, scared a delivery driver into a full existential crisis, and parked in a tow zone without blinking.

The front door was unlocked.

He burst in like divine judgment, only to find you curled up on your couch like a sad, emotionally fried ferret.

“You left the door open. What if someone had—?! You didn’t even—! I called you a hundred times! Why didn’t you—!?”

You blinked up at him, slow and a little disoriented. “Vil?”

He was kneeling next to the couch before he realized it, shaking you like an overcaffeinated nurse trying to keep a patient conscious. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

Something in Vil's chest cracked with a soundless, incandescent rage. Not at you. Never at you.

At the situation. At himself. At the idiocy of a world where someone like you—who put yourself on the line for people who didn’t know your name—could think for one second you didn’t deserve comfort.

You sat up and hugged him before he could speak. And Vil, for all his pride and poise, let you.

He guided you right there on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you like he could anchor all your scattered pieces back into place with sheer force of will. His fingers were steady against your temple, his voice low and soothing.

You didn't fight it this time. Not really. You were too tired. Too raw.

But later, when you were dozing against him and he felt the weight of your breathing even out, he looked at you and thought:

If I ever lose them, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

And he realized, with an unflinching kind of horror, that this wasn’t just fondness anymore.

This was love. Stupid, all-consuming, feral love.

Oh, when Vil saw the transfer form in your hands—his potato, his utterly chaotic, absurdly self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated Esper—filling out a request to switch Guides?

He saw red. No, scratch that. He saw every shade of fury on the spectrum. He didn’t even remember walking; one moment he was across the hallway, the next he had the form in his fist and you in his office, the door slammed shut behind you with enough force to rattle the entire floor.

“What. Is. This.”

You blinked at him like a cat caught stealing food, caught between guilt and indifference. “A transfer form? I—uh. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a—” Vil looked genuinely scandalized. If he wore pearls, he would’ve clutched them. “Do you think I’m running a halfway house for wayward Espers?! I have been guiding you, carrying juice boxes for you, putting up with your ridiculous snacks, and you think this isn’t a big deal?!”

You stared at him, flustered and slightly confused. “I—I just thought maybe it’d be easier for both of us if I wasn’t—like—around all the time, you know? I’m not exactly low maintenance—”

Vil’s brain short-circuited.

He kissed you.

No thought. Just lips. Panic. Longing. Rage. Chapstick.

Your sentence died like a bug on a windshield.

Vil pulled back just long enough to snarl, “I love you, you stupid overthinking potato.”

You blinked.

“I—what—”

He kissed you again. You weren’t going to ruin this with words. Not today.

When he finally let you breathe, you looked dizzy. In love. Slightly offended. Vil understood.

“You’ve been in love with me?” you asked, voice very much in the ‘I missed every single sign like a blind NPC in a dating sim’ zone.

“Oh finally,” Vil groaned. “Yes. For ages. Do you think I just carry juice boxes for anyone? I had to go to a wholesaler to find your weird imported apple-lychee thing. I do not do that for strangers.”

You looked like the Earth had tilted sideways. “Oh my god. I thought you were just—like that.”

“‘Like that?!’” he cried. “I forced you to carry my shopping bags through an entire mall and called it a bonding experience! I let you pay for my coffee! I let you touch me when I was emotionally unbalanced! Me!”

“Oh my god,” you said again, very softly. “I am Stupid.”

Vil sighed like he was asking the universe for strength. “Yes. But you’re mine now. So unless you want to see what a real tantrum looks like, stop trying to fill out transfer forms like we’re in some tragic rom-com and just stay.”

You looked at him for a moment, soft and stunned and still processing the part where he said “I love you” more than once.

Then you reached for him, and he let you pull him into a hug, and despite everything—despite the rage, the confusion, the two destroyed pens on his desk and the emotional whiplash—you smiled into his shoulder like you couldn’t quite believe your luck.

Vil closed his eyes.

And all he could think was:

If I have to live in this ridiculous, broken world... let it be with you.

You didn’t expect it to come up like this.

You were lying on Vil’s fancy designer couch, head on his lap, while he scrolled through his tablet like he wasn’t also playing with your hair and ruining your heart. It was a quiet kind of peace, the kind you didn’t get often, the kind you didn’t want to jinx.

Which is exactly why he jinxed it.

“I want to permanently bond,” he said, tone casual in the way a gun cocking across the room is casual.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked down at you like you were the idiot for not reading his mind faster.

“I don’t want to guide anyone else,” he said. “You’re mine.”

Your heart made a sound like a microwave short-circuiting.

“You’re sure?” you asked, because you had to—because you needed him to say it again, to look you in the eye and confirm this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment emotion, or drama, or guilt, or—

Vil gave you a glare so sharp it could slice through reinforced glass. You didn’t even need to hear him speak. The look alone said: If you ask that again I will end you and then raise you from the ashes just to scold you properly.

So naturally, you pulled him closer.

He kissed you like you’d insulted him and he was trying to forgive you with his entire mouth. And then he pushed you down onto the couch with all the grace and pent-up need of someone who’d waited far too long to do this.

There was nothing dramatic about the bond itself—it was warmth, deep and golden, spreading between your minds like a whispered promise. Familiar, grounding, and so right it made you dizzy. You felt him in a way that no one else could ever match—his feelings humming beneath your skin, threaded through your heartbeat, echoing in your thoughts.

It felt like falling and landing and being caught all at once.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just pressed his forehead against yours and held you close, letting the bond settle between your chests like a vow.

Then, quietly:

“Finally.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah,” you said, hugging him tighter. “Finally.”

Life was still mildly cursed. You weren’t about to tempt fate by saying otherwise. The gates still opened at the worst times, your body still ached in places that didn’t make sense, and someone still managed to microwave metal in the guidance office kitchen every single week.

But—

You had Vil. And that made it survivable.

He had finally, finally reprogrammed you out of your self-destructive nonsense, though it had been a war. You were talking metaphorical trench warfare. It took a thousand forehead flicks, an aggressively color-coded sleep schedule, and a terrifying PowerPoint presentation titled “If You Die, I Will Be Very Upset (And Also Kill You) – A Visual Threat.”

And in return, you had managed to make Vil Schoenheit loosen up. The man who once flinched at the idea of touching door handles with his bare hands now shared hoodies with you and let you kiss him with gate-dust still in your hair.

It was progress.

So when the door to your shared home clicked shut behind you both after another long day, you let out a sigh and slumped like a corpse released from its mortal coil. Vil caught you by the collar before you hit the floor like “absolutely not, we are not breaking furniture today.”

You peeled off your jacket, dropped your bag, and turned to him, still stuck in your boots. “Is it bad I want to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes,” he replied instantly. “Go shower, you reeking gremlin. I’ll order dinner.”

You blinked. “Will it be salad?”

“No. I’m ordering dumplings.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachieving nutrient-balanced microgreens–”

Vil shoved you gently toward the bathroom. “Shoo. I’ll be waiting here with your emotional support carbs when you’re done.”

And that was it.

You went to shower, and he ordered dinner. And maybe life was cursed and weird and exhausting—but it had given you Vil. And now, the worst thing he threatened you with was hydration reminders and forehead kisses.

Honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil #twst vil x reader #twst vil #guideverse x reader #guideverse

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kooppss · 3 months ago

Text

lost

Jungkook's POV from thirsty.

Sexy Disasters With Feelings series masterlist

warnings: male masturbation. mention of sex and female masturbation. Jungkook is a fuckboy. This is his inner monologue, zero dialog.

word count: 2.1K

Jungkook chose you as his roommate because you're hot.

He thought that, worst case, you’d fuck, and he’ll have to find a new roommate. Returning to where he was.

He was sure it would be a treat to have a pretty little thing like you wandering around the apartment. He did ask you some questions about your cleaning habits and shit like that. But frankly, you could live like a raccoon, and he’d still choose you.

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

You are a treat when you walk around in your pajama shorts or your slutty going out outfits. Not to mention the thin tank tops with no bra. He likes to imagine you put in extra effort for him to enjoy.

Earlier today, you were a vision—your too-tight, too-short sports set clinging to your body, messy hair stuck to the sweat on your skin. Jungkook hopes he managed to fool you with his cool act when you talked to him. For the life of him, he has no idea what you were talking about. The final straw was the flush on your cheeks—a look he’d imagined on you more times than he’d like to admit.

It’s not his fault. He swears!

What can he do when the walls in your apartment are so thin that he can hear you being fucked in your adjoining room? When he can hear every beautiful sound you make?

He loves how loud you are.

Sometimes, it was just your beautiful moans and whines.

Sometimes, he could hear choking sounds. He imagined it’s him in there. That you’re choking on his dick.

Sometimes, he could hear the guy’s name spill from you. He preferred it when you didn’t. It ruined the vibe for him.

He didn’t mind when you moved in and started bringing your hookups to the apartment. Like, free porn, right? Who would complain?

And he isn’t a hypocrite. He does his fair share of bringing people to the apartment. And you never nudged him about it, unlike his previous roommate.

Was it weird of him to touch himself to the sound of his roommate fucking in the next room?

Maybe.

It’s not like he could do anything else when all the blood in his body traveled south.

So why has he stopped enjoying your little shows for him lately?

Why did he go to the gym when he heard a guy’s voice from your room?

It’s not like he’s jealous or something stupid like that. No way.

It was just annoying that they got to have what he couldn’t.

Why weren’t the two of you fucking to begin with?

Wasn't it the original plan?

Do you not find him attractive?

What do they have that he doesn’t? He can fuck you better. He knows it.

So Jungkook tried to stop bringing girls when you’re at home. He thought that maybe it’ll make you stop as well.

He hasn’t stopped fucking around, obviously. No need to be radical.

But now he has a new problem. He misses hearing you. He wants to hear more of you. He wished you’d make those sounds for him, but until then, he’ll take whatever he could get.

And fuck. You looked so hot earlier. You’re not making it easy for him.

You returned from your yoga class, or whatever hot girls' workout you’re doing. With the way you looked; he couldn’t stop thinking this is exactly how he imagined you. Usually, in his head, you’re wearing way fewer clothes and you’re sprawled on his bed. But close enough.

Shit. You’re driving him insane.

He’d usually just fuck you out of his system. But you don’t seem to be affected by him like he expects you would. He needs to do something about it.

So Jungkook finds himself is lying in bed, trying to think what he could do.

He has been lying for a little while now, hand lazily stroking his length under his boxer. It doesn't seem to be evolving anywhere, but he’s too bothered to just fall asleep like that. A sound from your room snaps him out of his dazing state. It sounded like you dropped something. Maybe it was the water bottle you always take back to your room.

It doesn't matter; the noise is a reminder that you’re right there, on the other side of the wall. He really wishes he could hear you right now. That’s always helped him get going in no time.

He wonders, did you also touch yourself when he brought girls home? He wants to think that you did. He always tried to recall if he heard you, but it’s hard to notice when he’s balls-deep into someone else.

He never heard you when you’re alone. Are you quieter when you masturbate? Do you use your fingers? He bet they’re not enough—not like he could use his fingers on you. Maybe you need battery-powered help? He never heard a buzzing sound. He could help you use it.

Fuck.

Jungkook sits up in his bed, pushing his boxer down to free his dick. He spits in his hand and spreads it over his length. The smoother glide of his hand makes him groan.

He wishes it was your hand on him.

Would you act shy, or would you grab him with confidence? Would you be a good girl for him or a little brat? He’d know how to put you in place. He’ll do it gladly.

He thinks about all the ways he’d take you. How he’d utilize every surface of this apartment.

A louder moan slips out of him, and he halts for a second.

Do you hear him right now?

God, he hopes you do.

The thought pushes him further towards the edge. He increases his pace, thinking about you listening to him in your room. That cute flush of your cheeks spreads as you lie in bed.

And with that image, he comes.

Fuck. He needs to get a grip.

Or get you.

__________________________________________

Jungkook had a good day. He slept like a baby last night and hit a new PR at the gym.

He’s just out of the kitchen on his way to his room when you decide to ruin his day.

Seriously, where the fuck do they sell skirts this short?

Because he wants to buy you a hundred more.

You look amazing. You really do. Why do you have to do this to him?

And it’s not even 24 hours since you made him lose his cool over you.

You didn’t see him, and you fully bumped into him. You look all flustered and cute. Blushing and stuttering.

Well, now it’s his time to shine.

He gives you his best nonchalant grin and teases you until you walk out of the room. He knows the fact that he’s shirtless and a little sweaty works to his advantage. He caught you snicking looks.

Good. He should do this more.

He can’t lose.

Later that night, after he showered and made dinner, Jungkook is sprawled on the couch, mindlessly zipping through Netflix.

Nothing catches his attention; he just chooses something as a background noise while he scrolls on his phone. He goes through stories on Instagram when something is catching his eye.

It's you, in your little teasing outfit from earlier, sitting on a high chair at some bat with a drink in hand.

You look fucking hot. If he’d meet you there, he’d 100% try his luck with you.

Stupid random guys have a chance with you, yet he doesn’t get one.

He clicks on your profile without much of a thought. Scrolling down your photos. He’s stuck on one from your last vacation; you went to a beach house with your friends. You sit on the sand next to the water, a beautiful smile on your face. And you’re wearing one of the smallest bikinis known to mankind.

He barely processes that his hand is already inside his sweatpants. And if he weren't fully hard by now, the next photo would have done it. You stand with your back to the camera, still in the same location, same deviled-creation bikini, ass cheeks on display, covered with sand. Your ass looks fucking amazing.

Before Jungkook even finishes thinking about all the things he’d do to it, he’s already coming in his hand.

He sighs; you make him act like a teenage boy. Cuming in his hand from a photo of you in a bikini. Fucking embarrassing.

He reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table and grabs some to clean the mess before cleaning himself better and washing his hands in the bathroom.

When he returns to the living room, you’re there. He takes his spot on the couch, and before sliding his phone into his pocket, he realizes it’s still open on your Instagram. He knows how it looks. He assumes you can piece together to some degree what has happened here. He expects you to call him out, maybe to lash out. But instead, you look… shy? Could it be? He never pegged you for the shy type.

And you’re blushing now? Oh, Jungkook likes this game.

He looks at you, waiting for you to say something. To make your move. But you fold first. Saying goodbye and turning away.

Jungkook has won this round.

A slow grin spreads across his face as he watches you walk to your room, knowing this won’t be the last time you’ll play.

Hours later, Jungkook is still thinking about what happened. He feels like he should make a move, take advantage of the momentum. He has a proof that he’s had some effect on you; now he just needs to break through your walls. He’ll keep up the teasing, building this tension between you two. He saw an opening, and he should go for it—

Even if it’s just to see you blush more because of him.

__________________________________________

Jungkook pulls the headset down to rest on his neck. They just had a win, and now he’s waiting for Taehyung to come back after taking a piss. He grabs his phone and scrolls through it almost automatically.

Until he sees it.

WTF.

Holly fucking shit.

He mumbles into the microphone, “start without me,” and tosses the headphones away.

He stares at the photo; he can physically feel all the blood in his body traveling directly into his penis. It’s so intense he almost feels lightheaded.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

So this is it. After days of him teasing you and trying to catch you off guard, you finally played your move. And what a fucking move it is.

You fucking tease.

Oh, you think you’re so smart with that. You want him to collapse? To fold down? No problem. You’ll get a front-row seat to him burning in hell. He’ll drag you down with him.

You little devil.

Jungkook head spins with the image of you; he’s going to come embarrassingly fast.

Fucking hell, you caused this problem; you should be the one fixing it.

He can’t figure you out. You act all shy and flustered, and then you pull this? Why the hell did you even take that photo? Did you know you’ll need to torture him?

Jungkook doesn’t know if to bless you or to curse you. He doesn't know if he hates what you do to him or if he can't get enough of you.

He thought he had the upper hand, that he was about to win. But you’re all-consuming. He thought he was the one hunting you, yet he feels like your prey. It’s so good and so sinful, this little game you play.

He’s a player, and he’s addicted to the game.

He comes loudly. He doesn’t care if you hear him. You need to know the extent of your effect on him. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

He leans back in his gaming chair, head tilting back, trying to cool down.

Even with his mind fucked up, Jungkook knows what it means for him. He’s at the gate. He’s almost at his destination. The game is about to end. And honestly, he doesn’t care who wins or loses at this point—as long as he gets you.

After a few more rounds, they finally call it a night. Jungkook shuts down his computer and sets the headset aside. He pulls off his sweatpants and tosses them into the laundry bin. He’s about to get into bed when he hears noises from outside his room. He glances at his phone—it's already past 2 AM. You should be asleep. He grabs his phone and heads to investigate the source of the noise.

It’s you. You catch him off guard again. He finds you bending down in front of the fridge, reaching for a water bottle from the bottom shelf. You’re wearing nothing but a shirt and simple white cotton underwear. Cute. You look even better in real life. That ass looks better.

You turn around, startled by him.

And even though it’s too dark to see it, he knows it’s there.

He knows you’re blushing.

Yeah.

He lost.

Back to series masterlist

#lost #thirsty.#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fic #jungkook pov #you’ve cat to be kitten me right meow

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spaceyaemonds · 18 days ago

Text

pairing: evan buckley x reader

sum.: evan buckley loves nothing more than spending time in between your thighs.

warnings: MDNI. smut. literally like 99% smut. plot? don’t know her. oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstimulation, implied that buck cums in his pants, implied p in v sex, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: requested by a lovely anon, anon, i apologize for slightly drifting from the request. i started and then the ending just came out of nowhere but felt right. no one look at me, idk what came over me. unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, especially reblogs/asks!

wc: 941

Evan Buckley loves nothing more than coming home to you still in bed, wearing nothing but one of his LAFD t-shirts and pretty pink lace panties.

He’s exhausted. But he hasn’t seen you in over 24 hours. Hasn’t tasted you in over 24 hours.

Evan could live and die in between your thighs. And most days, he tries. Not that you let him most days, citing that the two of you have far more important things to do than spend the day in bed.

You’re off today. Probably scheduled a hot yoga or pilates class for around noon, but you shouldn’t have any real plans today.

Which means he can spend his morning in his favorite place.

Evan makes quick work of stripping himself down to his boxers and crawling into bed next to you.

He wastes no time kissing you awake, quickly and greedily placing his hands on your jaw and bringing his mouth to yours.

You moan into his mouth and kiss him back, waking back up.

“Evan,” You bite your lip as he kisses his way down your neck, making sure to bite down sharply at the junction where your neck and shoulder meet.

“I have, oh fuck, a class in like 20 minutes,” You moan out, and feel him grin against your skin.

“I’ll pay your no show fee, again,”

You roll your eyes when you feel his greedy hands play with the waistband of the frilly pink lace you call panties that he knows you put on when he texted you that he was on his way home.

“They’re going to just cancel my membership at this rate,” Your fingernails dig into his bare shoulders, his mouth finding yours as he starts yanking at your underwear.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing there’s about twelve other pilates studios in a five-mile radius,”

Cheeky bastard.

“And are you going to be paying for my membership to one of these nicer studios?”

He finally pulls away from you to practically rip the t-shirt you're wearing off of your body, one hand immediately pinching at one of your nipples.

“If you want to go to the most expensive pilates studio in LA, I’ll make it happen baby,”

Smirking, you grab his free hand and place it right at your pussy.

“Well then, big boy, you better get your money’s worth,”

Not needing to be told twice, he quickly rips your panties off, kissing your hip bone where one side of the lace dug in harshly.

Blue eyes quickly meet yours, gleaming slightly at the pout on your pretty mouth, “I’ll, uh, replace those too,”

“I know you will, baby,”

Wasting no more time, his tongue licks from the bottom of your cunt to your clit, lightly sucking on your bundle of nerves.

“Oh my god,” Hands finding purchase in his hair and tugging sharply, causing him to groan deeply.

He feels his cock harden, between your whiny moans, the feeling of your fingers tugging at his scalp, and the taste of you on his tongue, he imagines he’ll be cumming in his pants before you have your first orgasm.

Well, he can’t have that.

Tugging your thighs over his shoulders, he tugs you closer to his mouth, tongue making quick work of your clit.

Your grips on his hair tightens along with your core, thighs shaking lightly as you cum with a sharp moan.

Light whimpers leave your mouth as he continues to lightly lick at you, groaning as he grinds his own hips into the bed searching for some sort of relief at the hardness in his boxers.

You push lightly at his forehead, and his lips pull away from you with a light pop.

“You can give me one more,” It’s not a question. Your heart races at the gleam in his eyes

Four orgasms later, you’re hyperventilating and all your limbs are shaking.

Evan’s mouth, and now fingers, have yet to relent their assault on your poor pussy, eyes rolled back in pleasure despite the wet, sticky feeling coming from his boxers.

“E-evan I, oh god,” Tears are streaming down your face as you feel yourself clench down on his fingers, signaling your fifth orgasm of the morning.

“I can’t, oh fuck, oh fuck. Evan, I can’t cum again,”

He pulls his mouth away, but his fingers continue curling up against that spot inside you just right.

“Oh more, please, please. Gimme one more,”

If you didn’t feel so overwhelmed, you’d make fun of him. Looking at you like a puppy begging for scraps.

You’re surprised you can even cum again, you’re less surprised when Evan quickly pulls his fingers from your twitching hole to replace it with his tongue, desperate to drink what your body gives him.

His tongue is kind as it fucks you through your orgasm, hands rubbing your thighs gently to ease the shaking when he finally pulls away from you.

His mouth is on yours just as fast, both of you whimpering when his, somehow, still hard cock grindes against your overstimulated pussy. The sticky wetness of his cum seeping through his boxers and slick of your own cum making your toes curl.

You chase his mouth when he pulls away from you, both of you taking deep breaths.

He looks desperate for you still, puppy eyes shining brightly.

A sadistic feeling climbs up his spine at the tears filling your eyes when he starts grinding just a little harder.

“You did such a good job for me baby,” He sighs, closing his eyes, exhaustion from work slowly starting to creep in, “but can you give me just one more?

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley smut #911 x reader #9-1-1 x reader #911 smut #9-1-1 smut #🐝 writes #🐝 writes: 9-1-1

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eroticnekoisa · 3 months ago

Text

Beginner Yoga Class

M!Reader x Aespa Karina

Around 2,750 words

tags: sex, blowjob, titfuck, cumshot, reader has big dick, little bit of fluff, my first smut so don't judge me too harshly please

Recently, you decided to commit to a healthier lifestyle and to try new things. So you thought "Why not do both at once?" and began pondering what kind of activities you could do.

After pondering and searching for a few days, you ultimately decided to sign up for a yoga class. You haven't tried yoga before, plus, it would bring both the healthier lifestyle and new experience you desired. So why not?

When looking at the class options, you found a 1:1 class. Considering you have never done yoga before, you find it more appealing to be alone with the teacher. More focus on you and fewer people around to notice your mistakes, also leading to much less embarrassment from your cluelessness on the subject.

Just you and the teacher. No one else around.

You happily sign up and wait for the days to pass.

Entering the building, you instantly notice the atmosphere change. You proceed as you normally would, the receptionist greeting you before guiding you to your destination, it seems her nametag displays the name "Minjeong". As you enter the room, the receptionist let's you know that you can take one of the candies on her counter when you leave, as she returns to her place. How nice of her!

The kind receptionist shuts the door for you. You notice a dark haired woman standing next to a chair on the opposite side of the room, she appears to be fixing her hair in one of the mirrors on the wall. She doesn't seem to notice you. You approach her and greet her.

"Hello?"

startled by your voice, she quickly turns. "Oh! You're here for the class? You're early." Until now, you didn't notice that you are actually about 10 minutes early. I guess you didn't check the time.

"Sorry, I guess I didn't check the time."

"No, no. It's fine!" she says, "We can start early, just give me a minute. You can sit if you'd like" she offers with a kind smile on her face as she does something in the corner. You can't quite see what she's doing since her back is turned towards you.

You sat on the chair just as she suggested you do. You let her do what she's doing in peace, so you don't talk to her until she's ready. Your eyes wander around the room, eventually focusing on your yoga teacher. You admire her healthy looking hair, her pale skin…You begin to look at her clothing, wearing a fitted tank top, mildly baggy sweatpants, though not baggy enough to hide the curves of her hips and shape of her round ass.

You aren't looking at her with lust, just learning her features. Right? Your eyes seemed to have stopped caring about the room once you saw her ass. She turns around and smiles at you, raising one finger to tell you that she will only be one more minute! You quickly look at her face, hoping she didn't notice you staring at her ass.

She didn't notice anything when looking back at you. However, you did notice something. You noticed her large breasts held by her tank top. You couldn't help it, your thoughts were beginning to go exactly where they shouldn't. You began to think about what her body looks like underneath her clothes, how soft her skin would be, you even wondered what her pussy looks like for a few brief seconds. How dirty of you.

Your thoughts turned you on so much you could practically feel the blood rushing downward, you feel your cock getting harder, bigger, thicker. It's such a bad time to be turned on. You remain sitting in the chair (almost) successfully hiding the bulge in your pants.

"Okay. Can you move the chair now?" Karina says, with her back still turned toward you.

"Fuck." you thought. Just as you stand up, Karina turns around and drops a pen and her phone.

She gasps from seeing her phone separate from its case, she instantly bends over to pick up the items she dropped.

You can now see directly down her top, getting an almost complete view of her large, soft, breasts. Moving slightly as she moves her arms to gather the items she dropped.

Now standing up, you feel your cock firmly pressing against your pants. You can't possibly hide it now, especially considering your size. You hear Karina talking, but you don't seem to be listening. You just continue staring at her big tits, with endless sexual thoughts racing through your mind.

Smiling, Karina quickly stands up to finally get started with the class. She was excited to teach someone new.

"I'm sorry, I'm clumsy!" she says with a laugh, while looking at your face.

Just as you try to gain composure and act natural, she looks down at the chair beside you, but something else caught her attention.

"I really think I-I-" her jaw drops for a few seconds as she stares at the large bulge in your pants before realizing what she was doing, looking up to speak to you. "U-um-heh. Um. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

You turn your back to her, apologizing out of embarrassment. Though her directly looking at it turned you on even more.

"No, I'm sorry. Give me a minute, it's just-"

She interrupts you, saying "It's fine! It's totally fine!" trying to silence her awkward giggle. Now her thoughts were racing.

Awkward silence fills the room for what feels like forever. Karina looking at the floor, trying not to make you feel embarrassed. You don't notice, but she occasionally glances at you in the mirror, trying to get another look at your big cock print.

You hear her walking towards you, you feel a hand on your back and another hand on the side of your arm. She breaks the silence with her pretty voice and says,

"Can…….Can I see it..again?"

You feel so shocked to hear these words come from her mouth, you instantly turn around to look at her. Accidentally giving her exactly what she asked for. "What?!" you exclaim.

The second you face her, she looks directly at the bulge in your pants and covers her mouth in awe. Her eyes focusing on your cock made it twitch, bringing a very sexy looking smile to her face as she bites her lip.

She gets very close, putting one hand on your chest and the fingers of her other hand on the band of your sweatpants. Her face inches away from your own, her tits touching your chest as she leans in. She whispers,

"I want to see more. I….want..I want to touch it…"

You are completely lost and overwhelmed by the situation, you didn't believe it was actually happening. Karina was shy, but she was also very, very horny in this moment. She looked into your eyes, biting her lip even harder as she started gently tugging your pants downward.

You nod to give her permission. She smiles and puts both of her hands on your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear.

Your cock finally released, springing upwards. You feel your heart beating hard, just like your cock that Karina is staring at. She stares with a look of yearning on her face.

She slowly and gently grips the center of your cock with her small, soft, hand. The sight and feel of your cock turned her on so much, she couldn't stop there. She needed to stroke it, suck it, feel it deep inside her.

"Oh my god…it's so….big.." she said slowly, feeling how hard you are, she playfully asks "What got you so excited? Huh?" still holding your cock.

You smile and chuckle, not knowing what to say. She seems to have an idea, but she still wanted to tease you.

She begins stroking your cock, slowly pulling your foreskin back and forward, back and forward. The expression displayed on her gorgeous face clearly shows how aroused she is. It feels so good, you start to breath heavier. She likes the sound of that.

She lets go of your cock and with a devious look on her face, asks "Do you want to sit in the chair now?" hoping you understood what she was hinting at. You understood, but were in disbelief. You sat down in the chair, bringing her much joy.

She gets on her knees in front of you, putting her hands on each of your thighs. You don't believe what's happening, but that's okay. She doesn't mind.

You see Karina staring at your big, hard cock sticking straight up towards the ceiling. Now only inches away from her small, delicate face.

She grabs your cock, pressing it against her face and feeling how hard she made you. You both love the fact that your cock looks huge on her face, making both of you even hornier.

You feel her breath on your cock as she exhales with a soft moan, "Ahhh~"

She holds your cock still as she gives the tip a deep kiss, wetting her lips with your precum before she begins to open her mouth wide to take your sensitive tip in her mouth. You feel her wet, glossy lips sliding down your cock as it glides across her tongue.

You moan as she sucks and licks your cock, feeling her fingers start caressing and massaging your balls. She takes your cock deeper and deeper into her warm, wet mouth, sucking harder and harder. Feeling her saliva mixing with your precum, running down your cock from her lips. She tries to take it deep into her throat, but she can only handle the head entering her throat before she needs to stop.

She lifts her head up, looking at you while breathing heavily. Her lips and chin wet with your fluids. You feel frustrated, since you were right at the edge before she stopped all stimulation. But that's only because you didn't know what else she was planning in that pretty little head of hers.

Still on her knees, she smiles and slides her hands up your shirt, feeling your chest and stomach, brushing your nipples with her soft fingers. "How did my mouth feel?"

"Amazing…I can't believe this. We shouldn't-" you respond as she denies your logic.

"Shhh~ Babyy~" she says, "We have plenty of time, relax~" as she briefly stands up to give you a kiss before returning to her knees.

"I know what you want…" she teases as she removes her top, exposing her black bra. "Right?"

You respond with a "Yes…." and hear a cute yet sexy chuckle. She removes her bra, fully displaying her big, gorgeous tits you were peeping at earlier. Her nipples hard with excitement, as she caresses and softly squeezes her tits for you. Biting her lip at the pleasure and the sight of you.

She moans softly as she pinches her nipples, "And what about this?~"

She moves closer to you again, this time positioning your cock between her tits, pushing them together. She loves the feeling of her large tits surrounding your big cock, sliding up and down, making her swear.

"Fuck….is this what you wanted?" she asks, as if she wasn't the one to take your pants off.

"God…you're so pretty. It feels so good" you couldn't get any harder, the contrast of your hard cock and her soft tits turned you on even more.

Again, as you begin to feel like you'll cum any second, she stops touching you and stands up. Your cock begging for more as she ignores it, moving her body closer to your face. She puts her arms around your head, putting her beautiful tits in your face.

You begin to feel her breasts with your hands, squeezing, kneading, rubbing. She breathes in and out softly, yet heavily. She feels you begin to lick and suck on her sensitive nipples, bringing an involuntary moan out of her.

She continues to make lovely sounds as you play with her perfect tits, before putting her hand on your head and saying the following words

"St-stop….okay.."

You stop, thinking she has had enough and your luck ran out. She takes a moment before speaking again, as if her shyness returned.

"I need….I need more.."

She removes her pants completely, revealing her black panties.

"Please…….stand up.."

She couldn't take it anymore, she needed you to fuck her. She needed to feel your cock inside her pussy. She's been thinking about it since she first saw you.

You stand up as she removes her panties, you can't help but stare when you finally see her shaved pussy. It was a beautiful sight, even more beautiful than you imagined. You take a look at her panties that now lie on the floor, noticing the inside completely soaked with her fluids.

"Come on…" shyly encouraging you as she gets on the chair, her knees on the seat and her arms resting on the back. Bending over, giving you a complete view of her ass and pussy. She was so turned on, even her inner thighs were wet. It was a heavenly sight. The chair was positioned in a way that you can both see each other's faces in the mirrors on the wall.

You rest your cock on her ass and lower back, caressing her upper back with your hands, moving down to her waist as she watches in the mirror. Moving her hips back, pressing her ass onto you, she says "Please.."

Now that she was the desperately horny one, you decide to tease her. "Please what? What do you want?"

"I want it…"

"You want what? I want you to say it"

She looks at you from behind her shoulder, saying exactly what was on her mind "I want you to fuck me with your big, sexy cock. I need to feel your cock deep in my pussy. Please, please, fuck.."

You feel a wave of extreme desire flow through your body, hearing her speak those words. You have no choice but to give her exactly what she wants, after all, it's exactly what you want too.

As you prepare to penetrate her, you see her fingers already rubbing her clit, making her breath shaky. She couldn't resist, and now you can't resist either.

You slowly penetrate her warm, tight, wet pussy, it feels heavenly. Karina moans loudly as your cock travels deeper inside her, stretching her pussy. Her tits moving as you speed up, hitting her hips with your own, her ass jiggling subtly.

"It feels…fuck…so good.." she says between her moans and whimpers, rubbing her clit faster, causing her to arch her back.

"Harder….please!"

You give in and fuck her tight pussy even harder. You feel it squeezing your cock, she's in complete ecstasy. She physically cannot stop making noises.

"I'm so close…fuck. I'm-I'm gonna-ah!" she says loudly, before her legs begin to shake. Hearing those words brought you close once again. However, you were in control this time. You start fucking her faster, preparing to cum, just as you hear Karina loudly exclaim..

"I'M CUMMING"

She breathes heavily, moaning and shaking. You her pussy tightening and contracting around your cock, with her juices flowing out of her. You feel your orgasm approaching, it feels unbelievable.

As Karina watches in the mirror, you almost fail pull out of her perfect pussy as you cum, shooting large, thick ropes of cum on her ass and lower back. She softly moans, as she feels your hot cum covering her.

You both take a moment of silence to catch your breath, before you speak.

"That was…..insane."

Her shyness returns, she answers in a nod, hiding her face "Mmhmm.."

You grab towels to clean her up, and gather your clothes. Wondering about the actual yoga class, you ask her "Can I….still come again for yoga?"

Getting dressed, she answers with a giggle "Yes, next week."

"This was the weirdest class I've ever done, but…."

"…Yeah?" you ask, curious about what she was going to say.

"Um…nothing. It's time for you to leave, class is over!"

She awkwardly chases you back into the lobby, shutting the door. The receptionist glances at you as you walk by, her face very red. She asks,

"Is…uh….everything okay?", with a weird expression on her face.

A little embarrassed, you respond "Yeah, it went great!"

You don't stop walking to save yourself from the awkward and confusing situation that remained in the building. You proceed to travel home, realizing that you did not take the free candy offered by the kind, blonde receptionist.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far~

#aespa #karina #gg smut #karina smut #aespa smut

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simmerkate · 4 months ago

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Xtra Interactions Mod v3

Take your Sims' social lives to the next level with the Xtra Interactions Mod, now updated to Version 3! This mod introduces a variety of unique, thought-provoking, and entertaining social interactions that bring more depth, realism, and storytelling opportunities to your game. Whether your Sims are debating ethical topics, bonding over family discussions, or simply sharing their love for food, this mod offers something for everyone.

What’s New in Version 3?

New Pie Menu: Family A dedicated Family Pie Menu has been added, offering unique interactions for children, teens, parents, and siblings to enhance family relationships and dynamics. These include:

Child Interactions: Ask for a new sibling, show a birthday gift list, share future dreams, ask about the family tree, or request a new pet.

Teen to Parent Interactions: Discuss college plans, ask to increase allowance, express annoyance at siblings, talk about romances, request prom outfit payments, or confess to skipping school.

Sibling Interactions: Argue over clothes or bathroom time, ask for crush advice, gossip about parents, share concerns about friends, or simply express sibling love.

New Health and Wellness Interactions Expand your Sims' self-care conversations with interactions like:

Share anti-aging tips

Compare morning routines

Discuss the benefits of hydration

Talk about vaccinations

Encourage therapy

Express love for yoga

Talk about "turkey teeth" (cosmetic dental work)

New Activism Interactions (Pie Menu) Help your Sims champion causes they care about with socially-conscious interactions:

Debate animal testing

Debate wage equality

Talk about cleaning the oceans

Discuss saving the turtles

Explore AI ethics

Share wacky water-saving tips

Debate paper vs. plastic

Discuss protesting

Expanded Foodies Talk (Pie Menu) Food-loving Sims can now engage in even more culinary-themed conversations:

Talk about cooking classes

Swap recipes

Debate food trends

Discuss favorite cheeses

Loads of New Buffs Every interaction comes with its own unique positive or negative buffs, bringing a variety of emotional outcomes to your Sims’ social lives. These buffs add depth and unpredictability to gameplay, from joyous moments to tension-filled disagreements.

Why Download the Xtra Interactions Mod?

This mod adds depth and personality to your Sims, making every social interaction meaningful and engaging. It offers:

Diverse Topics: From health and wellness to activism and family dynamics, your Sims can discuss contemporary and relatable topics.

Unique Buffs: Many interactions come with positive or negative emotional buffs, adding variety to outcomes and enriching gameplay.

Enhanced Storytelling: Create richer narratives with dynamic social interactions that impact relationships and moods.

Perfect For

Players who love storytelling and want deeper relationships between Sims.

Simmers looking for new and exciting interactions that add realism and complexity to the game.

Families, foodies, and activists looking for a new way to express their Sims' personalities.

Public Release - 3rd February Download (xx) ad-free

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4cc #skcc #thesims4cc #thesims4 #the sims cc #the sims 4 cc #the sims 4 mods #sims 4 mods

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angel-dustspo · 4 months ago

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My guide to˚⊹.⋆𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋. romanticising life ⋆.ೃ࿔*

Life is truly the most important gift of all and I feel like too many people don't actually take it seriously enough or are just afraid of what anybody else might say if they choose to live the way they have always wanted to. Wasting the only opportunity to cherish this gift of life that we have been blessed with is the worst thing you could ever do for yourself. Imagine yourself 40 years from now, regretting that you wasted your teenage and adulthood years worrying about your looks, not enjoying good food, not taking care of yourself or being too careful of your budget and never getting the things you truly wanted. That's surely NOT how I'd like to spend my old age, and my ultimate goal is to think back and be happy that I lived my life exactly the way I wanted!

Romanticising life is all about turning every. little. moment. into something that makes YOU happy, no matter what society might think about it. It's a form of self expression that I fondly believe can help you become happy and at peace with your own self.

Here are some ways to romanticise your life:

ׂ╰┈➤ Stop consuming harmful media. Tiktok, for example, is such a bad place for your mental health and is constantly ruining your attention span and productivity, image of self but, most importantly, your HEALTH AND BEAUTY STANDARDS. It is also one of the causes of many mental health problems such as depression, eds, self h@rming or negative addictions, so try and avoid harmful social media as much as possible.

ׂ╰┈➤ Establish a morning and night routine. I promise this will make you feel so productive and in control of your life. Nothing fancy is necessary, just basic hygiene and skincare, having breakfast, maybe reading or journaling to wind down at night.

ׂ╰┈➤ Consistently work out. "Well Lynna how am I supposed to work out if you said to enjoy life??" Enjoying does not mean that you shouldn't take care of your body too. Find what works best for you and what makes you happy, don't jump into the youtube advanced workouts and then complain that you hate moving your body. Yoga and walks are such a good place to start, or 10 minute workouts a few times per week will make such a difference in both your mind and body. With just a bit of discipline and consistency you will start to love working out and move your body and tend to do it out of habit.

ׂ╰┈➤ Take yourself out for coffee or a pastry! Solo dates can be just as fun as normal ones.

ׂ╰┈➤ Spend more time with family and friends. Humans will not be with you forever and enjoying every moment with them is such an important thing in life.

ׂ╰┈➤ Buy pretty pajamas, light a candle, take long bubble baths, do a face mask, listen to calm music, read, paint, express yourself in any way you want.

ׂ╰┈➤ Clean your environment and surround yourself with the colors and furniture that you love.

ׂ╰┈➤ Dress the way you want to, not how everybody expects you to.

ׂ╰┈➤ Always try new things: that yoga class you heard from your friend, a new pastry that looked so good in the shop window, some book you saw online.

ׂ╰┈➤ Be open minded and present in your life. Live in the present and you will become happy with your past and future.

Although aesthetics do play a big part in romanticising, you can do it without spending a lot of money, effort or time. The need of making everything "aesthetic" is just as consuming and bad for you as not doing anything at all.

Learn to enjoy and cherish every little moment and that will bring you on the path of happiness. Please take good care of yourself, good luck on your wellness journey and thank you so much for reading this post!!

Love, L

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nerdlvr · 5 months ago

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why did this chair have to be so damn loud.

donghyuck winced as he pulled out the desk chair, a loud screech making his classmates turn their heads. he muttered out a small sorry his cheeks burning bright red as he set his notebooks down before awkwardly settling into the seat next to you.

"hi hyuckie."

he swallowed hard, slowly turning his head to face you.

"hi- hey kitty."

he raised his hand in an awkward wave, quickly putting it away as he realized how uncool he must look, idiot.

you looked so fucking pretty, like unbelievably pretty. your hair was styled in soft waves, a cute bow pulling the loose strands away from your face. your cheeks were dusted with a soft pink blush, your lips plump and glossy. you wore your usual outfit, a matching yoga set, this one was a light grey, your curves accentuated from every angle. did you do yoga? or maybe pilates? you had to do something, your body was just so toned, so plump, so-

"earth to donghyuck?"

you waved your hand in his face, a cheeky smile spreading on your lips,

"hi there baby, kinda zoned out on me for a sec. i was asking about your notes, i can't see too well from back here-"

you pointed towards the board at the front of the lecture hall,

"the professor's handwriting is kind of small."

he nodded quickly, passing you his notebook. he muttered out a small maybe if you just sat closer to the front. he couldn't help himself, student's only struggled in school because they didn't try enough. he just cared because you were his kitty, he just wanted you to succeed of course.

"what was that hyuck?"

you lifted your head towards him a confused look on your face,

"i said um- that-"

the rest of his sentence was mumbled, his voice low and his words jumbled together. you reached for his chin, turning his head to face you,

"say that again?"

your touch was hot against his skin, goosebumps rising along his body. the room suddenly felt small, his chest tightening at the sight of you so close,

"i said- that- i said that- that maybe if you sat closer to the front then maybe you wouldn't struggle so much."

you clicked your tongue at him, a small smirk on your lips,

"nerd boy has a smart mouth on him, how fitting."

his cheeks were bright pink now, his eyes wide and sparkly,

"no- i- i just- i meant like- it just-"

you giggled at him, pushing his glasses a little bit further up the bridge of his nose. your free hand joined your other against his face, now holding his jaw softly,

"don't you think sitting in the back is so much more fun though? i could kiss you right now and no one would notice."

his eyes darted towards the rest of the lecture hall, your classmates typing away on their computers or distracted by their phones. only a weak mhm was all donghyuck could muster out.

"you like the idea of that don't you dirty boy?"

you looked down towards his jeans, his hardening length pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. your eyes trailed up his body before meeting his again. he licked his lips tentatively, brain foggy with lust.

"can you kiss me. please. just one kiss."

a soft whine escaped his lips as you brushed them gently with your finger. he parted his lips slightly, eyes fluttering shut as you slipped your thumb past the plump muscle.

he moaned as you pressed on his tongue, a little chuckle leaving your lips at the sound,

"shhh hyuck, we're in class, remember?"

he nodded quickly, lips wrapping around your finger to muffle his moans. you brought your other hand down to grab his, bringing it to touch in between your thighs. his eyes got impossibly wider, your core hot against his fingers.

"feel that hyuckie?"

that was enough to set donghyuck off. his mouth falling open into a silent moan, your finger slipping out of his lips. you watched as he pulled his hand away from yours, instead deciding to place them on your thighs gripping tightly. he hunched forward, glasses falling off of his face and onto your lap.

you picked up his glasses, waiting for him to finish... literally. he got back up, quickly releasing the death grip he had on your thighs. his hands scrambled to cover the wet patch that had formed on his jeans. his cheeks were flushed, sweat building on his hairline,

"i- i have to use the bathroom."

he stumbled to get out of his seat, hands still firmly covering his crotch.

"hyuckie wait- look-"

he stopped his fumbling, breath shaky as you got out of your seat to place his glasses on his face. you gently wiped the lenses with your sleeve, leaning back to get a good look at him,

"there we go, perfect. now go ahead go clean yourself up baby."

you gave his chest a light pat before he was scurrying out of the lecture hall.

⋆₊˚⊹.𖥔 zoom, click, panic ! -> 11. the king of dancehall

previous -> masterlist -> next

notes : sungchan's tryna flip it like a flipagram if yk what i mean haha. idk if dancehall is something everyone knows... but you can google it the musics rlly good. are we fw the nut in the pants or is it too soon... i mean technically she hasn't even kissed him yet so... also i'm brainstorming for the next smau (i need to have idea before they shut down tiktok i'm gonna lose my brainrot)

taglist : @sunghoonsgfreal , @hizhu , @axo-l0tl , @strawberrysavi , @hyucktion , @4yunogf , @jakesbubu , @gacktsa , @iheartjayke , @annoyednblax , @luvvhaechan , @dudekiss3r , @nanaxwi , @yesohhsehun , @soobinbunnie5 , @hyucksunset , @peterm4rker , @byeonwooseokabs , @kodasity , @hyuckmoon , @catdonut657 , @lionzyon , @luvandletter , @defzcl , @nneteyamss , @222brainrot , @1lovejinki , @zzurao , @catpjimin , @multifandomania , @docilismo , @cyjzzl , @livingdoll-hara , @this-is-lowkey-a-hyuck-fanpage , @ohwowzersthatscool , @babyjenono , @wonswondrland , @jenoleeaesthetic , @bananinhazz , @hyuckna25 , @doejaejung , @angeliqueiguess , @mymartiniblue , @aerivrs , @heyitsbreeeeee , @choizzn , @jae-n0 , @hyuckshinee , @whothefvckami , @snoopyjimin

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rinnstars · 5 months ago

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soulmates!

matching puzzle pieces: mimicking you unconsciously away from home

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble, pro!player rin (after nel arc), long distance relationship, yearning/longing, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated!

one thing rin has learnt whilst overseas is that you and him might really be connected by souls, by ribs, and by heart perhaps too.

strict routines he’s stuck to since he was just fourteen — wake up, open the windows, take deep breaths, stretching, yoga, mediation shifted in its own ways to accommodate you back when he had first gotten together with you: to waking up and looking at you with the light outside from the windows shining perfectly at your face that makes him gulp a little, staring hard and long whilst tracing your face as gently as possible, indulging in the sugary-sweet moment before returning back to his routine like a robot. its what he’s used to, what he’s comfortable enough, what he knows. and recently, he’s been mimicking you, he thinks: closing his eyes immediately at the bright light in his room the same way you bury your face in his face when you first wake up away from the “bright” lights in his room, drinking a cup of coffee that he swore he wouldn’t drink despite making it for you every morning like clockwork albeit with much less sugar than you would have added, and opening his phone the first thing he does right after it all the same way you open your phone and flash him essentially in his bedroom with your bright phone screen that illuminates the now matching photo of you and him beaming at the camera the day he left.

maybe its rin’s way of feeling your presence in his life now that its back to before he met you — just him and football, wearing a different but similarly stuffy and claustrophobic football jersey that marks his name at the back of it. bitter coffee that still smells like the kitchen that brings him back memories of you and him attempting to fix the coffee machine whilst laughing together, your smile imprinted in his mind, phone screen that still makes him unconsciously grin even though its been months since he’s left japan of that selfie with yours and his cheeks squished against each other, beaming at the camera as though it would be the last time right before he enters the gate to somewhere else that he wonders if you too look at it a little longer before you enter your phone, or hand sanitizer that smells exactly like the one you used to use, and gave to him whenever you two were out together that reminds him of home, reminds him of you.

and he’s sure his teammates dont miss the subtle changes to him. how his diet has changed strangely — desserts that fill his meal and sweets that he munches on in the dorm room that he used to buy from the convenience store for you to eat together in class and then in his room that tastes a little less sweet now that its not from your mouth to his, hotter food that you’ve made him grown used to in contrast to his old days eating leftovers and microwaveable meals from the fridge that still burns his tongue a little, sticking out his tongue as though he’s on field at the temperature even now the same way you do too, picking at his vegetable unconsciously the same way you do before pushing it onto his plate whilst smiling, each pickled vegetable even now resembling you in his mind as he pushes it around his plate. how he’s behaving all strangely too in contrast to the rin who they met just a few weeks ago at neo egoist league — how he’s more accustomed to laughing in the same tone you do, having to cup his mouth at the realisation, looking away awkwardly before being tackled by shidou (that broke out into half a fight), how he fiddles even more with his things than before as though they were your hands that he finds comfort in interlocking and fiddling with whilst lying right beside yours, how he looks a little longer at his phone screen that almost made shidou grab his phone (to his luck, he managed to dodge the attack and not get into a fight whilst in it: messaging you that as though expecting a praise). or even just the way he talks now — the tone and accent melting and merging into yours and his own mid sentence, your catchphrases popping out of his mouth unconsciously like bubblegum that draws strange looks (they dont understand it, he thinks), references to yours and by extension his favourite games and shows that flies by everyone else’s head that he misses your laugh that should ring along with his lame jokes.

and rin’s even more sure that the media doesnt miss how he’s changed from just that few weeks. how his closet doesn’t quite fit him right — sanrio and chikawa sweaters that are both a little too tight to have belonged to him and a little uncharacteristic for him to sport on his day out, silver necklaces that they just cant see the heart of, chalking it up to a new impulsive purchase despite him never wearing any in his winning match, silly keychains on the bag he brings out that catches the camera flash just right into the newspapers. how his last interview went even: seeming more nervous whilst attempting to make eye contact with the camera (knowing youre watching him live), stuttering a little too much whilst answering a question about romantic relationship, how his glued up paper ring catches the whole internet. how his internet presence (without PR) reflects something the internet wants to dig a little more — from his instagram stories about another game win whether that be on valorant or league of legends with a duo with a censored tag (of yours), screenshots of movies and shows he’s watching with the side of facetime featuring your face censored with colour brushes from the tools section, outfit pictures that are first vetted by you and then posted with a uncharacteristically cute water bottle you bought for him as a joke that he still uses to this very day.

its now that he can’t be fully with you that rin wonders if he’s taken advantage of all these years you’ve been there for him, each memory haunts him through his own unconscious movements, speech and thoughts: as though you’ve fully melted yourself on him, your soul and his intertwined and ribs replacing each others: becoming one another. missing, longing is not a strong enough word for it all — heartache when he lies in his bed all alone yearning for your warmth hands that lingers on his body, cuddling him at night that makes him dream of days long after his career in a small apartment all decorated by whatever you want living a life with just you and him, that tightening of his heart whenever he sees you in his everyday life: those red roses that he used to buy from the school shop, any song form the playlist you and him collated that he plays everyday, every second he can, things you’ve bought for him that he’s brought along this practically eons long trip to france, the dryness in his mouth when he looks at your face through facetime: noting every single changes from the way your fringe has gotten longer, to the small leftover seaweed bites form the corner of your mouth, wondering how you were just so perfect in his eyes. its not human he feels: this hunger and craving he feels deep in his ribs, in his guts, in his very bone and blood, every second he counts, every day he strikes off from his calendar, every football match he wins just for a chance for you and him to reunite.

and this time, he’s sure of one thing, no matter what his PR agency thinks, no matter what fans thinks, no matter what the world thinks: rin wants to kiss you, melting his lips against yours as he holds up the winning world cup trophy, in front of the whole field, in front of the whole audience, in front of the whole world — because if there’s anything he knows now is that you and him are one matching puzzle piece, you and him are one soul merged together dictated by the universe, you and him are meant to be: and he’ll love you for the rest of eternity.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin fluff #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #rin.<3 #SAVEME. i’ve been o busy its school and my work starts tomorrow IMSOSOSOSOSO SORRY FOR NOT REPLYING TO ANY ASKS OR WRITING AT ALL… just know #i’m fighting for my life rn I LOVE U GUYS last fic before i explode :((((( ]#im literally the picture that’s like PLS DONT LET ME GET EMPLOYED #but here i am tmr…. going to work……#this is so sad…. let me rinmaxx and write for rin…….. T___T

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mcrdvcks · 3 months ago

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i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ logan (2017) - push and pull

chapter summary: After living in Mexico for one year to take care of Charles, a young girl enters your lives and brings about a new set of problems.

word count: 19.6k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: so this is a two parter, not a oneshot. this first part covers the logan movie, and the second part covers 'deadpool and wolverine'

anyways, i've always wanted to write a black widow!reader x logan fic and when thinking of how i was going to write the logan movie in this alternate universe, i realized i was finally given the chance!! so while she is a black widow, she still has her time manipulation mutation.

warnings/tags: canon to 'logan (2017)', logan and reader are married, black widow!reader, violence, blood, angst, character death

series masterlist - part 2

The women gathered their things and made their way out of the studio, their yoga mats under their arms and big bottle of water in their other hand.

One of the women, Theresa, stopped by you and spoke, “I- I think you have something on you. Blood? Or red paint?”

“Shit,” you muttered. “Where?”

Theresa pointed at your wrist, where a few small splatters of red lay. You murmured a thanks before adding, “our dog got into the paint last night. Took me hours to clean it off the floor. Thought I washed it all away in the shower.”

Theresa gave you a skeptical look but didn’t push further, instead giving you a polite smile. “Dogs can be such troublemakers, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s a handful,” you lied smoothly, returning the smile as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “I’ll see you next week?”

Theresa nodded. “Of course. Have a good weekend, Y/N.”

“You too.” You watched her leave before exhaling, running a hand over your face. The blood on your wrist wasn’t from paint or any overly energetic dog. It was from the hit last night, the one Logan didn’t know about yet—and you weren’t exactly looking forward to that conversation.

As you walked out of the studio into the dry, hot air of El Paso, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You had wiped the blood off your hands and face last night, scrubbed until your skin felt raw, but somehow you’d missed the small spatters on your wrist.

He’s going to notice. He always notices.

You got into your car and drove past the border to make it to the place you called ‘home’. At least for now.

Logan’s beat up ’24 Chrysler was in front, and you noticed a few bullet marks on one side of the car door.

By the time you exited your car, lugging out your yoga mat and small bag, Logan stepped out of the smelting plant. His usual scowl was set in place, his sharp eyes scanning the area like he was expecting trouble.

When he saw you, his gaze softened just enough to be noticeable. “You’re late, darlin’. Class run long, or were you out savin’ the world again?”

You forced a laugh, locking your car. “Class ran over. Some of us have to work to keep this circus running.”

He narrowed his eyes, catching the hint of deflection. Logan could always tell when you were holding something back, but for now, he didn’t press. Instead, he jerked his head toward the plant. “Charles had a bad day. Might wanna check on him before he starts up again.”

“I will.” You adjusted the strap of your bag and walked toward him, stopping just short of the door. “You get any sleep last night?”

Logan snorted. “What do you think?”

“Figured not,” you said with a wry smile. “You should let me drive for a few shifts. Give you a break.”

“You know how I feel about that.” He crossed his arms, his tone making it clear the subject was closed.

You bit back a retort and nodded instead. “Alright, tough guy. I’ll go check on Charles.”

As you started to pass him, Logan reached out and gently caught your wrist. His thumb brushed over the faint red stain you’d missed. His grip tightened slightly, his voice dropping to a growl. “What the hell is this?”

“Paint,” you said quickly. “From class.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not paint. That’s blood. Start talkin’, sweetheart.”

You sighed, pulling your wrist free. “It’s nothing, Logan. Just a small job—"

“A job?” He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You mean one of those jobs? Goddammit, Y/N, we talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it,” you snapped, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t need your permission to take work. We need the money, and you know it.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. “There’s other ways to get money. Safer ways. Ways that don’t get you killed.”

“Like what?” you shot back. “Driving drunk assholes around all night? Scraping by, waiting for the next disaster? You think this life is safe? None of this is safe, Logan.”

“That doesn’t mean you throw yourself into danger for a damn paycheck,” he barked.

You flinched at his words, but you refused to back down. “It paid $3000, Logan. We both know that we need the money. Me working at the yoga studio and you drivin’ around isn’t enough.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the lines on his face deeper than usual. He looked away for a moment, shaking his head. “Darlin’, $3000 ain’t worth your life. You know that.”

“My life wasn’t on the line,” you argued, your tone sharper than you intended. “It was simple. In and out. No complications.”

“No complications, huh?” He turned back to you, eyes dark with frustration. “Then what the hell’s that blood doin’ on your wrist?”

You let out a huff, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t mine.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Logan snapped. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into that gruff, almost pleading tone that always made your resolve waver. “You promised me you’d leave that shit behind. We’ve been through too much for you to keep riskin’ everything like this.”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” you shot back, holding his gaze. “I said I’d try. But look around, Logan. We’re barely holding it together. Charles needs his meds, Caliban’s sick, and your goddamn limo’s one flat tire away from falling apart. We can’t afford to play it safe anymore.”

Logan scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Damn it, Y/N. I’m tryin’ to keep you alive.”

“And I’m trying to keep us alive!” Your voice cracked, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “Do you think I want to do this? To go back to the shit I worked so hard to leave behind? But what choice do we have? You can’t carry this alone, Logan, and I won’t let you.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Logan’s shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a mix of anger and worry. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered. “Every time you walk out that door, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you stood firm. “And you think I don’t feel the same every time you leave? I know what you’re doing out there, Logan. You think driving a limo’s any safer when half the people you pick up are armed or drunk off their asses?”

“That’s different,” he growled.

“How?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it’s you? Because you’re the one taking the risks instead of me? You’re not the only one who gets to decide what’s worth it.”

Logan clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw working as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a damn pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you love me anyway.”

He sighed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the anger simmering between you moments ago. “I do,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with this.”

You leaned into his touch, letting the moment stretch between you. “I know,” you murmured. “But I’m not okay with watching you tear yourself apart trying to keep everything together. We’re in this together, Logan. Like it or not.”

He huffed, his lips twitching in a reluctant smirk. “You’re stubborn as hell.”

“Takes one to know one,” you quipped, earning a low chuckle from him.

Logan dropped his hand, his gaze softening just enough to remind you of the man underneath all the rough edges. “You’re cleanin’ up, right?”

“Already did,” you said. “Missed a spot, obviously, but I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

“Not if you’re the death of me first,” you teased, though the words carried a bittersweet weight. You reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Imma go check on Charles. Then we can argue about this some more later.”

Logan squeezed your hand back before letting it go. “I have a job. I should only be gone for a few days. Then we should have enough for the Sunseeker.”

“Great,” you replied with a small smile, though your stomach twisted at his words. Jobs always meant danger—especially for him. “Just don’t take too long. You know how Charles gets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already turning toward the car. “You keep an eye on him while I’m gone, alright?”

“I always do,” you said softly, watching as he walked toward the beat-up Chrysler. His shoulders were hunched, weighed down by the years and everything they’d taken from him.

Before he got in, Logan paused, glancing back at you. “Darlin’... stay outta trouble while I’m gone.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m serious,” he grumbled, pointing a finger at you. “No more jobs. No more blood.”

“Fine, fine,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender. “No more jobs. Promise.”

Logan didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go. He climbed into the Chrysler, the engine sputtering to life before roaring as he pulled away. You stood there for a moment, watching the dust settle before heading into the smelting plant.

---

You knew things were bad when in the morning Logan was already back. And even worse when after your morning shower, he rushed you and Charles into the Chrysler.

Charles kept going on about ‘the girl’ and ‘Laura’ while Logan tried to get out of the property, only to end up cornered from all ends with tens of military Jeeps, and men, surrounding you.

“Logan.” Charles said.

“Yeah, I’m thinking,” he responded.

“The child. Logan, we mustn’t forget Laura.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Logan.”

Logan’s eyes followed a man with a bionic hand, until he leaned against the open passenger window where you sat.

“Huh. Charles Xavier.”

“Where’s Caliban?” Logan questioned.

The man looked in the back, “America’s most wanted octogenarian.”

“I’m a nonagenarian, actually.” Charles replied.

You and Logan shared a quick look until he opened the car door, slamming one man, before closing the door. “Where’s Caliban?” Logan asked again.

The man walked around the car to in front of Logan, “why don’t you tell me where the girl is first? Or I could ask Cue Ball. He seems quite friendly.”

“I told you, she’s not here. Where’s Caliban, motherfucker?” Logan hissed.

“Well, I left him in the same ditch he was gonna leave me in.”

Logan grasped Caliban’s collar and raised a fist with his other hand, his claws sliding out with a growl as a few men pulled him back and slammed him against the car.

You finally opened the car door, slamming it into the nearest man, who stumbled back before hitting the ground. Without missing a beat, you kicked out the legs of another, his grunt of surprise cut short as he hit the dirt. You darted forward, sliding across the hood of the Chrysler in a fluid motion, your boot connecting with the head of a man Logan had just tossed aside.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Logan barked, his claws dripping red as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “I told you to stay in the car!”

“Yeah, well,” you shot back, landing lightly on your feet, “I don’t take orders well, kotik. Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

Before Logan could reply, another soldier lunged at him. He ducked, the man’s momentum sending him straight into your waiting fist. You followed with a knee to his gut, sending him sprawling. Logan spared you a glance, his frustration mixed with a reluctant flicker of admiration.

The fight raged on, chaotic and brutal, until you caught sight of a man aiming a rifle in Logan’s direction. Reacting instinctively, you shoved Logan out of the way just as the soldier swung his weapon toward you. Before you could react, a sharp, heavy blow struck the side of your head, and you crumpled to the ground with a grunt.

“Y/N!” Logan snarled, turning toward you, only to be met with the butt of a rifle to his face. The impact sent him staggering, his claws retracting as he fell to his knees. Another blow came, this time to his temple, dropping him fully to the ground beside you, before being turned onto his back.

The world spun, the sound of boots crunching against gravel and harsh voices blending into a dull roar. Through the haze, you heard a voice above you—mocking, taunting.

“Jesus, Wolverine,” Donald Pierce drawled as he stood over Logan, his bionic hand flexing with a metallic whine. “Seeing you like this just breaks my damn heart.”

Logan groaned, “as soon as I rip it out of your chest, fuck-stick.”

Pierce smirked, unfazed. “Cute.” Then, with a swift kick, he sent Logan’s face back into the dirt. He turned to the men surrounding the Chrysler, jerking his head toward the smelting plant. “Go get her.”

Her? You blinked through the pain, trying to focus. Laura. Charles had been talking about her—the girl. You struggled to move, but the sharp ache in your head made it feel impossible. Beside you, Logan let out a low growl, his hand twitching toward the claws that refused to come out fast enough.

“Stay down, sweetheart,” Logan muttered, his voice rough but laced with concern. “Don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

You shot him a glare, your lip curling despite the pounding in your skull. “Too late for that.”

---

Before one of the men could put the cuffs on Laura, Logan came behind and stabbed his claws through the man’s chest, before taking down the other two on Laura’s sides with two quick swipes.

Laura sat up and pulled the grappling arrow out of her chest, cutting the connecting string off before getting grabbed by two other men pulling her away.

Logan threw the man over his shoulder, the soldier hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Blood dripped from the bullet wound in his arm, but Logan didn’t slow down. His eyes darted toward Laura as she let out a feral scream, her small form writhing as two soldiers attempted to haul her away.

One man dropped her immediately, clutching his stomach where Logan’s claws had torn through. Laura took the opening, stabbing her foot claw into the other soldier’s shin. His scream echoed as she yanked the claw free, following up with a vicious kick to his jaw that sent him sprawling.

“Darlin’, get in the car!” Logan barked at you as he tore another soldier off his feet. The crunch of bones beneath his claws was drowned out by gunfire and shouts.

“Not a chance!” you shouted back, ducking behind a nearby Jeep to avoid a spray of bullets. Your head still pounded from earlier, but adrenaline pushed the pain aside. You grabbed a tire iron from the Jeep, spun out from cover, and swung it into the ribs of the nearest soldier. He crumpled with a groan, and you turned just in time to dodge another attacker’s baton.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, sweetheart!” Logan growled, swiping at a soldier who had tried to sneak up on him.

You rolled your eyes, blocking the next blow with the tire iron. “Like you’re doing any better, kotik!”

Laura scrambled toward you, her face streaked with blood and dirt. “Get her in the car!” Logan yelled as he blocked another punch, his claws slicing upward in a clean, brutal motion.

“C’mere, kid,” you muttered, grabbing Laura’s arm and pulling her behind you. “We’ve got to—”

A metallic hand grabbed your shoulder, yanking you back with inhuman strength. You twisted, but Donald was already leering down at you. “Aren’t you a fiery one?” he sneered, tightening his grip. “Let’s see how well you fight without—”

“Wrong move, asshole,” you spat, slamming the tire iron into the side of his head. He staggered, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Logan took a glance at the Chrysler, where more soldiers surrounded the car and back at you, who used your widow bites and knocked two men down.

Yeah, you could handle yourself. For now.

He took off running to the car to protect Charles as you grabbed a gun from one of the men’s halter and shot him in the head with it.

Logan sprinted toward the Chrysler, dodging a flurry of bullets that ricocheted off the gravel and bounced harmlessly off the car's frame. A soldier rounded the hood, his rifle aimed squarely at Logan’s chest. Logan didn’t even slow down—his claws shot out with a slick metallic hiss, and in one fluid motion, he slashed upward, sending the man sprawling with a guttural scream.

Logan climbed into the driver’s seat as Charles spoke, “as I told you, Logan, she’s a mutant like you.”

He turned the key in the ignition, “hold on!”

“Very much like you.” Charles repeated quietly.

Logan slammed the Chrysler into gear, the wheels kicking up sand and gravel as he veered toward you and Laura. His jaw tightened when he saw Laura drive her claw through a man’s throat, her small frame twisting with lethal precision as she turned to tackle another soldier behind her.

You, bloodied but standing, slammed the butt of a stolen rifle into the face of a soldier charging at Laura, dropping him before he could grab her. You turned, wiping the back of your hand across your cheek, and saw the Chrysler barreling toward you.

“Finally,” you muttered, before ducking to avoid a wild swing from a soldier. Twisting, you landed a roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him sprawling.

“Y/N! Get the kid!” Logan barked through the open driver’s window.

“I’m working on it, Logan!” you shot back, grabbing Laura’s arm and pulling her closer. “Stay with me, kid,” you told her firmly, though you knew she didn’t need the reminder.

Logan slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt just a few feet from you and Laura. “Get in!”

Before you could respond, another soldier lunged toward you, his taser crackling. Laura reacted first, leaping onto the man with a feral snarl. Her claws tore through his chest, and he crumpled.

“Nice work, but we’re out of time,” you told Laura, dragging her toward the car.

Another burst of gunfire rang out, and you ducked, pulling Laura down with you. Logan growled, “get in the damn car, now!”

You didn’t hesitate this time, shoving Laura into the backseat and diving in after her. Logan punched the gas, and the Chrysler roared forward, kicking up another wave of dust that momentarily blinded the soldiers behind you.

“You need to go to the front, Lo.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Jeeps closing in from behind. Gravel sprayed beneath the tires as he swerved to avoid a shallow ditch. “They’re blockin’ the front!” he snapped. “We’ll have to take the back road—”

His voice trailed off as you reached into the glove compartment, yanking it open. A shiny, compact pistol clattered into your hand, and you checked the chamber with practiced ease.

Logan shot you a sharp look, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “What the hell is that doin’ in there?”

“I have one everywhere,” you said casually, rolling down the passenger window.

“You what?” Logan barked, his tone somewhere between disbelief and frustration.

You gave him a quick glance, your lips twitching. “Relax, kotik. Old habits.”

“Old habits my ass,” he grumbled, but his hands tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading back toward the front of the property.

At least six jeeps and four motorcycles closed in ahead of you, their headlights cutting through the swirling dust. Behind you, Charles muttered incoherently while Laura sat silently, her wide, intense eyes fixed on the chaos outside.

Logan growled, “Darlin’, you better be damn sure you know what you’re doin’ with that.”

“Don’t worry,” you replied, leaning halfway out the window to aim at one of the motorcycles. “I’m an excellent shot.”

The first bullet hit the lead bike’s front tire, sending the rider sprawling into the dirt. You barely had time to fire again before another bike swerved to avoid the crash, losing control and smashing into the side of a Jeep.

“Two down,” you muttered, reloading swiftly.

“Would you stay in the damn car?!” Logan growled, yanking the wheel hard to the left as another Jeep cut in front of you.

“I am in the car!” you shouted back, firing at a Jeep’s windshield. The bullet cracked the glass but didn’t stop the vehicle. “Mostly!”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“Not if I kill them first!”

“Damn it, Y/N!”

Ahead, the tracks stretched out into the distance, but the flashing lights of an oncoming train appeared on the horizon.

“Logan!” you shouted, firing off another shot at a motorcycle creeping up on your side. The rider veered off course, crashing into a ditch.

“I see it!” Logan barked, slamming his foot on the gas. The Chrysler roared as it hurtled toward the crossing, the Jeeps closing in behind you.

The train’s horn blared, a deafening warning that seemed to echo in your chest.

“We’re not gonna make it!” you yelled.

“Hold on!” Logan growled, his teeth bared as he pushed the Chrysler to its limits.

The train bore down on the tracks, the massive steel engine a blur of motion.

Logan swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding another Jeep, and then back to the right. Gravel and dirt kicked up in a storm as the Chrysler rocketed over the tracks just seconds before the train thundered past.

The pursuing vehicles skidded to a halt, trapped on the other side.

Logan didn’t slow down, his focus locked on the road ahead.

You slumped back into your seat, your breath coming fast. “Nice driving, kotik.”

“Don’t start,” Logan muttered, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

In the backseat, Charles chuckled softly. “See, Logan? She’s a natural.”

Logan shot you a quick glare. “You’re both gonna be the death of me.”

You smirked, tucking the pistol into the waistband of your jeans. “Not today, honey. Not today.”

---

“My name is Gabriela Lopez. I am a nurse. And for 10 years, I worked for Transigen Research in Mexico City. Transigen is owned by an American company. What I am about to show you is illegal… in the U.S. and Canada. They told us we were part of a pharmaceutical study. But, of course, that was a lie. These children were born in Transigen. They were born here… and have never left. They have never seen the sun or the ocean… rain or snow… or any of God’s creatures. They have no birth certificates… no names… besides the ones we have given them. They were raised in the bellies of Mexican girls. Girls no one can find anymore. Their fathers are semillas geneticas… special seeds in bottles.”

“Birthday? No birth.”

“Maria. We do not dress them up for Halloween. We do not call them ‘baby’ or kiss boo-boos. Don’t think of them as children. Think of them as things… with patents and copyrights. Comprende?”

“Si, senor.”

“They thought we were too poor and stupid to understand. We’re poor, yes… but we are not stupid. This is business. They are making soldiers. Killers. These are babies of mutantes…”

The video abruptly cut off as the phone died. Logan tore off his glasses and looked out of the car at Laura, who was still riding the mechanical horse at the front of the gas station.

“North Dakota,” Charles stated. Logan hummed in response as Charles continued, “you took that woman’s money. You said you would take the child there.”

You glanced out the window, following Logan’s gaze as Laura grew angry as the machine stopped.

“What is she?” Logan asked.

“She’s your daughter, Logan. Alkali has your genetic code.” Charles answered.

“Not just mine,” Logan said, as he went to the car door and opened it.

“Logan…”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t wanna hear about it anymore.”

“Logan…”

“Just stop.”

“I have to pee.”

Logan huffed before grabbing the wheelchair out of the trunk and helping Charles into it. You got out with your wallet, unlocking the fuel cap. “I’ll get gas, you handle him and Laura,” you spoke, as Logan responded with a nod and some grumbling.

---

Logan drove to Oklahoma City, where the bright, colorful lights of the city shone brightly. Laura woke up and moved to the window, peering at them.

“Is this where we’re hiding out?” Charles asked.

“We’re not hiding out.” Logan responded, “we’re gonna get a couple of hours’ sleep… clean up, get some new clothes, get a new ride and get outta here.”

He pulled the Chrysler in front of Harrah’s Hotel and Casino. Logan walked around the limo to the valet, “hey. Hey, keep it out front, all right?”

Logan quickly got Charles settled into his wheelchair as you followed behind Laura. The four of you walked in, you and Logan quickly booking a room with the money you earned from your latest job, before heading for the elevator.

On the way to the elevator, Laura stopped in front of a display window, looking the mannequin’s, but more particularly the clothes on the smaller one.

Logan pushed Charles to the elevator while you stopped behind Laura. You pushed Laura in the direction of the two men, calling out to Logan, “I’ll get some clothes. You guys head up.”

Laura looked up at you, her stolen sunglasses still over her eyes. “I’ll buy you the unicorn shirt. Go with them.” You said in Spanish.

For a moment, Laura didn’t budge, her expression unreadable behind the shades. Then, with a small huff that might have been reluctant agreement—or just annoyance—she turned and trailed after Logan. You waited until they entered the elevator before heading back to the display.

Inside the shop, you picked up the unicorn shirt Laura had been staring at, along with a few other items. You knew she wouldn’t say it, but something about her quiet intensity made you want to do these small things for her. Maybe it was because you saw pieces of Logan in her—the stubbornness, the silence, the weight of something unspoken.

Once the purchases were made, you headed back to the room.

---

When you walked in, Logan was already pulling off his shirt, tossing it onto the armchair with a tired grunt. Charles was settled on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV while Laura sat cross-legged on the bed, the sunglasses still on her face.

“Got you something,” you said, holding up the bag.

Laura tilted her head but didn’t move. You placed the bag on the bed and took out the unicorn shirt, unfolding it to show her. “See? Told you.”

She reached out slowly, taking it from your hands, her fingers brushing the fabric like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. After a moment, she clutched it to her chest, still silent.

“Not even a thank you, huh?” Logan muttered from across the room, pulling on a clean shirt.

“Logan,” you said warningly, shooting him a look.

“What?” he grumbled, but he didn’t push it further.

Laura hopped off the bed, clutching the shirt as she headed for the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

“She likes it,” Charles said with a faint smile, still watching the TV.

“She’d like it more if it had claws,” Logan muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

You crossed the room, standing in front of him. “Not everything has to be sharp and deadly, kotik,” you teased, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

Logan glanced up at you, his features softening just slightly. “You spoil her already.”

“She deserves it,” you said simply. “And don’t start. You’re the softie between us.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, sure. Real soft.”

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You are, whether you admit it or not.”

“Mm,” Logan grunted, but his hand found your waist, tugging you closer. “You done playin’ dress-up, sweetheart?”

“For now,” you replied, stepping back before he could pull you into his lap. “You should sleep. You’re running on fumes.”

“I’m fine.”

“Logan.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah.”

Charles turned off the TV, speaking up from his spot on the bed. “You two should rest. I’ll keep an eye on Laura.”

“You sure, Chuck?” Logan asked, his voice softer.

“I’m sure.”

You placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder, nodding toward the bed in the other room. “Come on.”

Logan grumbled but followed your lead, climbing onto the mattress beside you. You stretched out next to him, his arm slipping around your waist out of habit. He exhaled heavily, the weight of the past few days evident in every line of his body.

“Get some sleep, honey,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his arm.

His grip tightened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, quietly, he said, “You too, darlin’.”

---

You walked around the room, looking for bag of clothes you had bought the night before while Charles and Laura watched some old Western in the other room.

You found the bag and pulled out a plain black tank top before tilting your head when you heard Logan’s coughing from the bathroom.

Muttering to yourself in Russian you quickly pulled it over your head. Before you were able to pull it down all the way Logan finally came out of the bathroom, dressed in the new outfit you bought him last night.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the bruises scattered across your back as you pulled your tank top into place. The sharpness in his gaze softened into something like worry, though his tone stayed gruff.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.”

You glanced over your shoulder, puzzled at first, then followed his line of sight. The darkening marks along your ribs and lower back told the story. “Didn’t feel it,” you replied, tugging the tank top all the way down before grabbing your leather jacket off the bed. “Didn’t notice until now.”

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer. “You should’ve said something. What if it’s worse than bruises?”

You shrugged, slipping the jacket on. “If it was worse, I’d know by now. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing,” he echoed with a scoff, his voice rising. “You took hits out there, Y/N. You can’t just shake that off like you used to. You’re not healing—”

“Maybe I’d heal better if you weren’t drinking yourself half-dead every damn day.” You zipped up the jacket and turned to face him, your tone sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “This ain’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” You folded your arms, meeting his glare head-on. “Your healing factor’s slowing down, Logan. You think I don’t notice how long it takes for those cuts to close? Or how you cough blood into the sink every morning?”

“That’s different,” he argued, his voice dropping to a growl.

“It’s not. You’re killing yourself, one bottle at a time, and you won’t even talk to me about it.”

His eyes narrowed, his temper simmering just below the surface. “I don’t need you to fix me, sweetheart.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you shot back. “I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re too damn stubborn to let me.”

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. His hands clenched at his sides as though he was fighting the urge to slam them into something—or pull you close and end the fight with a kiss. Instead, he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Slaboumnyy,” you said sharply, your voice low but firm as you used the Russian nickname reserved for moments like this.

The word hung in the air, loaded with meaning. Logan’s expression shifted; the fight drained out of him, replaced by something like guilt.

You grabbed your hotel key and small purse off the nightstand, your movements brisk but controlled. “I’m going to get breakfast for Charles and Laura. You can fend for yourself.”

Before he could respond, you turned on your heel and walked out the door, letting it close behind you with a heavy thud.

---

The wait for breakfast was long, a bunch of drunk middle-aged men and women in front of you ordering copious amounts of greasy, unhealthy food.

When you finally got the food an hour later, you made your way back to the elevator, noticing a few men in black walking around the casino machines.

“Shit,” you muttered, as the elevator doors opened. You pressed the touch screen button for the 12th floor and hit the door close button, closing the doors in front of a group of tourists.

You got to the room and grabbed Laura from the bed, setting her down on the floor and putting Charles in his wheelchair. “Grab everything. We need to leave—”

A gunshot cut you off, just missing Charles’ head and hitting the window in front of him. One of the men aimed at Laura, and before he shot the trigger you threw yourself on top of her, the both of you falling to the ground.

As soon as the thud of your bodies reverberated through the room, a high pitch noise sounded out in your head, freezing the men in the room. Laura tried to move against the invisible barrier, crawling towards the syringes on the floor.

You were only able to pause time in the room. Every sound, every ripple in the air froze in place as the chaos stilled to an unnatural silence. The strain was immediate—like claws digging into your skull. You bit down on a scream, the raw pressure pressing against your mind making it hard to breathe.

Laura, mid-crawl toward the syringes, was frozen along with the attackers, her small form locked in place. Even Charles was still, though the effects of his seizure were evident in the strained lines of his face. Time had stopped, but you weren’t immune to its echoes. The vibrations of the seizure pulsed against your powers, like trying to hold back an ocean with a net.

Your body trembled as you pushed yourself to your feet. The men were frozen, guns raised, expressions twisted in mid-action. You moved through them, grabbing a discarded weapon from one man’s frozen grip. A quick check confirmed it was loaded. Good.

One by one, you moved swiftly and efficiently, just like your old training taught you. Your breathing was shallow, but your movements were precise—two shots to the head, then the next target. You didn’t have the time or energy to be anything but ruthless.

When the last man fell, you dropped the weapon with a shaky exhale. Your gaze landed on the syringes scattered across the floor near Charles. Each step toward them was a battle as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. The strain of holding the room in stasis was eating away at you, but you couldn’t let go—not yet.

Kneeling, you grabbed the nearest syringe and, with trembling hands, plunged it into Charles’ arm. The effect was immediate. The tension in the air shattered as Charles stilled, the seizure abating. Time snapped back into place like a rubber band, sending a ripple through your entire body.

Laura gasped audibly as she came back to awareness, blinking rapidly as she scrambled to her feet. Charles groaned, slumping in his wheelchair, his breathing labored but improving.

Your vision swam, and you swayed dangerously, your knees buckling. Before you could hit the floor, strong hands caught you, pulling you back against a solid chest.

“Darlin’,” Logan’s gruff voice was close, his tone sharp with concern. He turned you around, his hands framing your face as his gaze searched yours. “What the hell did you just do?”

“Stopped them,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. “Stopped it.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he looked around the room, taking in the bodies of the attackers. He pulled you closer, his arms steady and grounding as he spoke low. “You’re shaking. You okay?”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence cutting through the fog of exhaustion. “I’m fine. Just… takes a lot out of me.”

Logan didn’t look convinced. His brow furrowed as he adjusted his grip, keeping you upright. “You shouldn’t push yourself like that.”

“They were going to kill us, kotik.” Your voice was firm, though your body betrayed your weakness as you sagged slightly against him. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Logan muttered a curse under his breath, his hand pressing lightly against your back, mindful of the bruises he’d noticed earlier. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” you shot back weakly, earning a faint smirk from him despite the tension.

“Yeah, yeah.” His smirk faded as his gaze flicked toward Laura and Charles, who were watching silently. “You two okay?”

Laura nodded, clutching her unicorn shirt like a shield. Charles gave a faint smile, though his face was pale.

You shook your head. “We’re not out of the woods yet. More will come.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Let ‘em. I’ll handle it.”

“We need to leave,” you insisted, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. “Now.”

Logan nodded, his grip on you tightening briefly before he helped you to stand on your own. “Let’s get out of here.”

Laura moved to your side, her small hand brushing against yours. For once, her silence felt loud, but you gave her a reassuring nod. “I’m okay,” you told her softly, though the exhaustion in your voice betrayed the truth.

Logan grabbed Charles’ wheelchair, his protective instincts on high alert. “Let’s move.”

The four of you made your way to the hallway, Logan leading the way, his senses sharp as he checked for threats. As you walked, his hand found yours briefly, giving it a firm squeeze. You squeezed back, a silent acknowledgment that, for now, you were both still standing—and still fighting.

---

“Emergency personnel are still on scene at Harrah’s Casino Hotel in Oklahoma City… where at least 400 guests were stricken with temporary paralysis yesterday. Many are noting a similarity to the Westchester incident over a year ago… that left over 600 injured and took the lives of seven mutants, including several of the X-Men.”

Charles was drifting in and out of sleep as Laura stared out the window with her sunglasses on, locking and unlocking the door.

“Knock it off,” Logan said. Laura didn’t stop. “I said, knock it off!”

“She’s a child, Logan. And, point of fact, she’s your—”

Logan cut off Charles, “how long has it been since you took your meds?” Charles exhaled, turning his head. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know! Two days.”

“You saw what happened yesterday. If that shit had gone on any longer, everyone in that casino—”

This time Charles cut off Logan. “I did what I had to do to save Laura. And Y/N.”

“What?” You said quietly, rubbing your temples.

“You didn’t do anything. You just freaked out and had a fucking seizure!” Logan exclaimed.

“I guess you prefer me pharmaceutically castrated, rambling on like a lunatic. So much easier for you.”

“Easier? Jesus!” Logan scoffed, “there is nothing easy about you, Charles, nothing!”

“Yes, yes, please be like the rest of the world… blaming someone else for your boring shit.”

“I know, Pop, I’m such a giant disappointment.”

“Logan—” you tried to comment, before Charles continued.

“You honestly derive no sense of purpose from what we’re doing?”

Logan briefly looked in the back of the truck at Charles, “okay, what are we doing? Hmm?”

“There is a young mutant sitting in our car.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And where we’re taking her, there are others. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Uh, yeah, means nothing to me. Especially since Nurse Gabriella made all that Eden shit up with fucking comic books.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles asked.

Logan gently moved your arm off the console, opening it and grabbing a bottle of pills.

“Give those to him.” He said, handing you the bottle.

Not feeling up to a fight you complied, shaking out two pills and handing them to Charles behind you with a sympathetic smile. Charles popped them in his mouth and washed it down with some of his bottled water.

“I wanna see it.” Logan commanded, looking back at Charles as he exaggeratedly stuck his tongue out. You put the pill bottle back into the console.

The truck fell into silence, until a semi-truck moved too close to your own truck.

“Motherfucking auto-trucks.” Logan said angrily.

“Language, Logan.” Charles chided. “And you’re screaming at a machine.”

Laura looked out her window to see a pick-up truck towing a horse trailer. “Oh, what? She can gut a man with her feet, she can’t hear a few naughty words, huh?” Logan replied.

“She can learn to be better.”

“You mean, better than me?” Logan questioned.

“Actually, yes.” Charles responded. “And, by the way, Laura’s foot claws are the obvious result of her gender, you know.”

“Is that a fact?”

“In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver.” Charles continued.

“Good to know.” Logan said.

“She uses her front claws for hunting and the back claws defensively.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan said, speaking sarcastically again.

“Thus, ensuring their survival.” Charles finished.

Almost right after Charles finished speaking, an auto-truck honked and began to move over to the lane that your truck was in without looking. Logan swerved quickly, driving into oncoming traffic. Laura held onto Charles to keep him steady while you grabbed the handle on the roof. Logan turned the truck when he was clear, coming to a stop.

As the four of you got your breaths back, the truck pulling a horse trailer stopped across the road. Horses ran out of the trailer and a young boy and his parents got out, rushing to try and get the horses off the road.

“We should help them,” Charles suggested.

“No, we have to keep going. Someone will come along.” Logan said.

“Someone has come along.”

Logan looked over to you as you waved your hand and sighed, giving him an affirmative. Logan drove the truck across the road and parked the truck next to the other one. Charles rolled down the window and closed his eyes, while you and Logan got out of the car. The horses all walked back to the trailer and stopped. Logan looked back at Charles who opened his eyes.

Laura had quietly exited the truck, coming to stand by you as Logan spoke, “hey, uh, you need a hand?”

---

The group got the truck and connected trailer out of the ditch as the husband patted the front of the truck. “Ah. Good, got it. Come on, let’s get home.”

“Laura!” Logan called out. You stood by Laura as she pet one of the horses in the trailer.

“Thank you so much for your help. I’m Kathryn.” She put out her hand.

“James.” Logan said as he shook her hand.

“This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi.” Nate raised a hand.

“Hey.” Logan responded.

Kathryn looked back at Laura, “that your wife and daughter?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s our daughter Laura, and my wife Y/N. And my dad, Chuck.” Logan pointed at Charles in the truck who waved back. “Come on, Laura, let’s go.”

“Well, can we show our appreciation and treat the three of you to a decent meal? We don’t live far from here.” Kathryn asked kindly.

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“That would be lovely!” Charles answered.

---

“You wanna say grace? Say grace, baby?” Kathryn told Nate.

“Uh, thank you, God, for this food… and for our new friends the Howletts.” Nate began.

“Mmm. They came to our aid.” Kathryn cut in.

“Amen.” The family said.

Will, Kathryn’s husband and Nate’s father, handed a bowl to Charles. “Here we go. Here you go, Charles.”

“Thank you, sir.” He responded.

Laura started to eat, using her fingers to eat the mashed potatoes. Logan reached over and tapped her shoulder before showing her the fork next to her plate as she took it from his hands.

Charles then handed a bowl of corn to Laura, who used the large spoon to put two big spoonful’s on her plate as Logan took the bowl from her, waiting for her to put the spoon back in.

Kathryn, who was watching the interaction, looked at Logan, “oh, there’s plenty more if she wants.”

“She’s fine. Thank you.” Logan replied.

“This is delicious.” Charles said, as Laura shoveled corn into her mouth, Nate watching her with hesitant and curious eyes.

“Oh, thank you.” Kathryn responded.

“It’s so good.” Charles added.

“Where are you all headed?” Will asked.

“Uh… Oregon.” Logan answered as Charles answered with “South Dakota” at the same time.

“Well, Oregon and then South Dakota.” Charles explained.

“Vacation?” Kathryn questioned.

“Uh… yes. Uh, long overdue. We’re city folk. Always wanted to take a road trip, see the country.” Charles paused, gesturing to the family, “and meet the people in it.”

Logan raised a brow as Kathryn replied, “that sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“Oh. If we go traipsing all over the country, who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will responded.

“Exactly. I say, let it go.”

“And live off what?”

“The Lord will provide.”

“I’m still waiting for the Lord to provide me with a new thresher.” Will said, as Nate laughed.

“All the same, I’d love to travel someday.” Kathryn finished.

Charles pointed at her, “and I bet you will.”

Nate leaned back in his chair, “I could drop out of school.”

Kathryn looked at her son, “okay, let’s not go that far.”

“I mean, I’ll do it.”

“No. No.”

“Why not?”

“You wanna travel, I wanna travel.”

“Son. Son.”

“That sounds good to you, right?” Will cut in softly.

“This is the perfect plan.” Nate replied.

“Why would you want to do that, Nate?” Charles asked.

Logan looked over at Charles and gestured with his fork, “careful, you’re speaking to a man who ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?”

Charles hummed and nodded, “yes, it was a… it was a special needs school. Um…”

A small smile was on Logan’s face, “uh-huh. That’s a good description.”

Charles pointed at Logan briefly, “these two were there, too.”

Laura looked over at Logan, a small smile on her own face. “Oh, yeah, no. Um… I got kicked out a few times.”

Nate laughed as Charles continued, “I wish I could say you were a good pupil, but the words choke me.” They all laughed, Laura a silent laugh as she looked over at Logan. “Not that you were much better,” Charles added, looking at you.

You let out a small chuckle, “yeah, I was probably worse than Logan. Wasn’t the greatest student.”

The chatter continued until everyone was done. Logan stood up, “ma’am, I can’t thank you enough for this. Uh, it was great. But, we have a long drive ahead of us, so—”

“But you need to rest, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ll find a motel somewhere.”

“The nearest one is two hours from here and it’s not even that nice.” Will said.

“We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter and you and your wife can sleep in the living room on the convertible.”

“Kathryn, it’s very, very nice of you, but we really should go.”

“We can leave early in the morning.” Charles cut in. “Break of dawn, as it were.”

Logan looked over at you as you sighed and shrugged. At least the four of you wouldn’t have to sleep in the truck.

“Okay, why don’t we wash up, Pop?” Logan pushed Charles away to the bathroom.

“Um, do you two want some dessert?” Kathryn asked.

Laura looked up at you, almost as if asking for permission. “Go ahead,” you said in Spanish. Kathryn gave the two of you a plate as the water from the sink sputtered.

“Oh, shit!”

Logan came out from the bathroom where he and Charles just were “What’s going on?”

“Nate!” Will called out. “Go fill up the tub before we lose pressure. Honey, check the sink.”

“They shut it off again.” Kathryn said, as Logan watched Nate go into the bathroom.

“They are just not going to let this thing go.” Will commented.

“Well, you might as well handle it now.”

“It can wait till the morning. We just had rain last night.”

“We got four houseguests and a sink full of dishes.”

“All right, all right.” Will whispered to his wife, before looking over at Logan. “The pump stations that supplies us is a mile and a half from here. Sometimes it gets itself shut off.”

“By assholes.” Nate said, in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Hey!” Will reprimanded.

Laura lifted the pie dish lid as Logan came over to her, “no.”

“My son is happy to go with you.” Charles added.

Logan looked over at Charles as Will spoke, “no, no, no, that’s fine. The men that do this, sometimes they can be…”

“I can go.” Nate chimed in.

“No, you got homework.” Kathryn said.

“All right, I’ll go. Just, uh, let me get my dad settled.” Logan walked over to Charles in his wheelchair and picked him up, before making his way up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

You lead Laura by the shoulders up the stairs, following Logan and Charles. Laura turned her head to Nate’s room, his door cracked open. “Be good, muñeca.” You said in Spanish, as Laura looked up at you for a few moments, holding your gaze before entering his room.

When you walked into the room, Logan had already tucked Charles into bed. “Want TV? There’s TV here.” Logan questioned.

“I’m fine.” Charles answered.

“Okay. Get some rest.” Logan went to exit when Charles spoke. You watched, and listened, from the door.

“You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. A home, people who love each other. Safe place. You should take a moment and feel it.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” Logan walked closer to the door.

“Logan. Logan!” Logan turned around to face Charles, “you still have time.”

Logan sighed, “Charles, the world is not the same as it was. We’re taking a risk hanging around here, you know that. And where we’re going, Eden… it doesn’t exist. Her nurse got it from a comic book. You understand? It’s not real.”

“It is for Laura. It is for Laura.” Charles said.

“Get some rest.” Logan responded, walking over to you as he closed the door.

You crossed your arms, standing firm in the hallway. “I know you don’t believe in Eden, but—”

Logan cut you off, his voice low but edged with frustration. “Do you believe in it, darlin’? Really?”

You paused, meeting his tired eyes. He wanted you to say no, to back him up, to give him some sort of permission to stop running. But you couldn’t do that. Not when Laura’s life was at stake. “I don’t,” you admitted softly. “But if there’s even a chance that it exists, don’t we owe it to Laura to try?”

Logan exhaled sharply, looking away as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been chasin’ ghosts, sweetheart. That nurse believed in fairy tales, and now we’re followin’ a damn map from a comic book. It’s—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It’s not real. You know it’s not.”

You stepped closer, your voice quieter but no less firm. “That video we saw... on her nurse’s phone. It reminded me of the Red Room.” You hesitated, your hands curling into fists as old memories clawed their way to the surface. “If Eden exists, it’s not just about being free from what they did to her. It’s about a place where she can finally feel safe. Like she belongs. It’s exactly the kind of place I would've dreamed of as a kid.”

Logan turned to you, his expression softening despite the frustration. “Darlin’—”

You reached out, placing a hand on his chest. “I know you don’t think it’s out there, kotik. But we’ve come this far. She’s a kid, Logan. She’s just a kid.” Your voice broke slightly. “Don’t we owe it to her to believe? Just for a little while?”

He let out another heavy sigh, his hand coming up to cover yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, the roughness of his skin grounding you. “I get it,” he muttered after a moment. “I do. But it doesn’t mean I’m not scared of what happens when we don’t find it. What do I tell her then?”

“You won’t have to,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Because we’ll find it. And if we don’t, we’ll figure something out. Together.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes lingering on you. He looked torn between wanting to argue and wanting to believe you. After a moment, he just nodded. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “That’s why we work so well together.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you into his arms. The embrace was brief, but it was enough to feel the weight he was carrying. When he pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. “All right,” he said quietly. “But we leave at first light. No more detours.”

You nodded, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “First light. Promise.”

Logan watched you for a moment longer before stepping away, muttering, “You better get some rest. It’s gonna be a long drive tomorrow.”

You smiled softly as he walked back down the hallway, his footsteps heavy but purposeful. Laura peeked out from Nate’s room, watching him go before turning to you. Her wide eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something softer—trust.

“Come on, muñeca,” you said, holding out your hand. “Let’s get you settled.”

She took your hand without hesitation, and as the two of you made your way back to the room, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of hope.

---

Kathryn set up the pull-out bed in the living room, letting you lay down while Logan was out helping Will with the water.

You knew you wouldn’t sleep, it was far too engrained in you to not sleep in a strange place, where anything, anyone, could be lurking around.

After some time, it couldn’t have been more than an hour, you heard familiar footsteps. But the closer they got to you, you started to realize that they were just a tad bit too heavy to be Logan’s.

You turned onto your back quickly, the blanket falling to your waist as you caught his wrist, the sharpened tip of his claws nearly grazing your chest. Your heart pounded as your mind registered what you were seeing—Logan. But not Logan. His features were wrong. Sharper. Colder. The dead look in his eyes made your stomach churn.

You moved to kick him, trying to dislodge his weight, but his other hand slammed into your stomach. Pain shot through you as his claws tore into your flesh. A strangled gasp escaped your lips as he twisted his wrist, retracting the blades before you could even react, and you hit the floor hard.

Blood spilled from your wound, warm and sticky against your trembling hands. Your vision blurred as you tried to sit up, but a cold wave of nausea overtook you.

Laura’s scream cut through the haze, sharp and furious, echoing from upstairs. The sound jolted you back to focus.

No. Not her. Not Charles.

Your fingers twitched, and you willed yourself to focus past the pain. The air around you shimmered faintly as you reached deep within yourself, finding the thread of time. Your powers resisted—your body already weakening—but you pushed through, rewinding the moment.

Agony gave way to an excruciating pressure, like a rubber band snapping back into place, as the wound began to heal itself. The blood receded, the pain dulled, and your breathing steadied. You gasped for air, drenched in sweat, your body trembling from the effort.

Your eyes darted to the stairs, a sense of urgency overpowering the exhaustion. Using the couch for leverage, you pulled yourself to your feet. You staggered slightly, clutching the armrest to steady yourself.

"Laura!" you called, your voice hoarse.

Another scream tore through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws clashing. You pushed yourself forward, each step heavy and unsteady, as you made your way toward the chaos.

You heard a gunshot and a scream from upstairs. You limped to the door, where the lookalike—clone—carried Laura, who let out another scream.

Grabbing the pistol from behind your back, you shot at the clone. The bullet struck his shoulder, forcing him to drop Laura. She landed hard on the ground, her hands and legs bound with mutant inhibitors. A low growl escaped the clone's throat as his attention snapped to you.

"That's right," you muttered, steadying your aim despite the pain radiating through your body. "Come and get me, asshole."

He charged toward you with feral intensity, his claws slicing through the air. You fired another shot, this time grazing his side. It slowed him down, but only for a second. Before you could fire again, he was on you, knocking the pistol from your hand.

You stumbled back, barely dodging the first swipe of his claws. The second swing caught your arm, and you cried out as the sharp pain ripped through your shoulder. Blood seeped through your shirt, but you gritted your teeth and pressed forward, using the momentum to land a hard kick to his stomach. He staggered back, giving you a split second to grab a piece of broken wood from the ground.

The clone recovered quickly, his predatory gaze locking onto you once more. He lunged, but this time you sidestepped, driving the makeshift weapon into his side. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it slowed him down.

The clone backhanded you, sending you sprawling onto the dirt. Stars danced in your vision as you struggled to get up, your body screaming in protest. He advanced on Laura, who was thrashing against her restraints, her small frame writhing like a trapped animal.

“No!” you shouted, forcing yourself to your feet. You reached deep within, pulling at the thread of time, willing it to bend. The world around you shimmered faintly, the air growing heavy with the effort. You managed to slow the clone's movements, just enough to stagger forward and position yourself between him and Laura.

Before the clone could strike again, a familiar growl pierced the air.

“Get the hell away from them!” Logan’s voice roared.

The clone barely had time to turn before Logan tackled him, the force of their collision sending both of them to the ground. The two Logans clashed in a brutal, chaotic fight, claws slashing and tearing through flesh.

“Darlin’, get her to the truck!” Logan shouted, not breaking his focus on his opponent.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Laura, you picked her up, your body protesting every movement. She screamed as she watched Logan fight the clone, but leaned into you for support, her wide eyes filled with something unspoken—trust.

“It’s okay, muñeca,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We’re almost there.”

Gunfire erupted from nearby as a group of men yelled at the clone of Logan. The distraction gave you just enough time to pull Laura toward the truck, where Charles’ lifeless body lay in the backseat.

“Stay with him,” you told Laura, grabbing your vibranium blade from your ankle holster and slashing the inhibitors off her wrists and ankles as fast as your trembling hands allowed. “You hear me? Stay with him.”

Laura nodded silently, her small hands clutching at Charles’ blanket as she climbed into the truck. Her gaze lingered on you, worried and uncertain, but she stayed put.

You grabbed a device from underneath your pant leg, throwing it at the group of men. A grenade, that only released a toxin putting them to sleep.

Only a few seconds after, the armored truck blew up, the fiery blast sending shockwaves through the night. You shielded Laura with your body, the heat of the explosion brushing against your back as debris scattered around you. The clone and Logan were still locked in a brutal struggle, their grunts and growls barely audible over the roaring fire.

You turned back just in time to see Logan thrown to the ground, the clone towering over him, claws raised for the killing blow. Logan barely rolled out of the way, the claws digging into the dirt where he had just been.

A loud roar of an engine cut through the chaos, drawing everyone’s attention. Will’s van came hurtling toward the clone, its headlights blinding against the darkened field. You held your breath as the van slammed into the clone with a sickening crunch, sending him flying back into the thresher. The metal prongs of the machine impaled him, halting his movement with a grotesque finality.

Logan staggered to his feet, breathing heavily, blood and dirt smeared across his face. You started toward him, but Will jumped out of the van first, holding his shotgun with shaking hands.

Will’s eyes darted between the impaled clone and Logan. He approached cautiously, his boots crunching against the debris-strewn ground. Raising the shotgun, Will aimed it directly at the clone’s head, his expression grim and resolute. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, the deafening blast echoing across the field.

The clone’s body went limp, his head snapping back against the metal with the force of the shot. You exhaled sharply, relief mingling with the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

Will turned toward Logan, his face a mask of fury and grief. Without a word, he raised the shotgun again, this time aiming it at Logan.

Your heart stopped.

Logan stood still, his bloodied chest heaving as he met Will’s gaze. He didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word. You could see the exhaustion in his stance, the resignation.

The trigger clicked.

Empty.

For a moment, everything was still. Then Will staggered, his knees buckling as the shotgun slipped from his hands. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his body folding into itself like a marionette with cut strings.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling your attention. He was limping toward you, his face etched with exhaustion and pain. “We need to go. Now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turned back to Laura, who was staring at Charles’ lifeless body in the bed of the truck.

---

They had buried Charles in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and some water nearby. Logan put the shovel in the ground. Laura took out her earbuds as Logan spoke quietly, “well… it’s got water, and…” Laura moved over to Logan and put her hand around his wrist, both their knuckles bloody.

Logan looked down briefly before turned his gaze towards the small pond, “it’s got water.” His voice broke as he took a deep sigh. He plunged the shovel into the ground in anger, muttering, “fuck this,” a few times while walking back to the truck, shovel still in hand.

You stood by the makeshift grave, each breath hurting worse than the last. The exhaustion wasn’t making it much easier either.

Laura walked further down the grassy field to stand by a tree as she watched Logan try to turn on the truck, only for the engine to sputter.

Logan cursed multiple times before opening the hood. Laura noticed a man and his dog leaving his parked car some distance away. She turned back to Logan, how was now hitting the truck repeatedly with the shovel.

Moments later, Logan’s body wavered as he stumbled to the ground, passing out.

You walked over to Laura, your legs heavy, your body screaming for rest, but you pushed on. "You grab him," you said quietly, your voice strained as you nodded toward Logan's crumpled form. "I’ll get that guy’s station wagon."

Laura’s expression was unreadable, but her small frame seemed to stiffen with determination. She didn’t respond—she never did—but the faint glint in her eyes told you she understood. She moved quickly toward Logan, crouching beside him and wrapping her small arms around his wrist.

You turned away, your gaze locking onto the man and his dog in the distance. Your steps were uneven, every ounce of your body protesting, but you forced yourself forward. By the time you reached the station wagon, the man was just a few feet away from his car. His dog barked as he turned to face you, startled by your sudden appearance.

"Hey!" he called out, confusion written on his face. "What are you—?"

"I’m sorry about this," you interrupted, pulling your pistol from the back of your waistband and aiming it at the ground between you. "I need your car. Now."

The man froze, his hands instinctively raised. "Look, lady, I don’t want any trouble—"

"Neither do I," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the throbbing pain in your shoulder. "Keys. Please."

His hands fumbled into his pocket as he stared at you, fear and hesitation battling on his face. "Alright, alright," he muttered, tossing the keys toward you. "Take it."

You caught them and gave him a nod. "Thank you. You can keep the dog."

The man didn’t argue. He backed away slowly, taking the dog with him, his eyes never leaving you. You slid into the driver’s seat, the car’s worn interior creaking beneath you as you started the engine. Relief washed over you when it roared to life without hesitation.

You backed the station wagon up toward where Laura was struggling to drag Logan’s unconscious body towards you. You slammed the car into park and ran over, your legs moving on pure adrenaline at this point.

"Let me," you said, crouching down to grab Logan under his arms. Laura gave a reluctant glance but let go, stepping back to give you space.

"God, kotik, you don’t make this easy," you grunted, managing to hoist him up enough to half-drag, half-carry him toward the car. Laura moved ahead, opening the backseat door for you.

With a final heave, you got Logan inside, his weight slumping awkwardly against the seat. You turned to Laura, who was already climbing in beside him, her small hands moving to check his pulse instinctively.

You nodded at her. "You keep an eye on him. I’ll… drive.” Your voice trailed off, your exhaustion hitting its peak after lifting Logan into the car. Laura grabbed the keys from your hand without a fight from you as you passed out on the floor of the car.

---

Logan groaned as he woke up, looking directly at the ceiling to see wire fish and an IV bag above him. He coughed and the doctor immediately responded.

“Welcome back. I was starting to think I was gonna have to tell that nice little girl out in the waiting room her daddy’s gone.” Logan turned his head to face the doctor as he sighed, “I’d always hoped… that I’d get the chance to meet someone like you. There’s so few of you left.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Doc.” Logan groaned as he sat up, letting out a slight moan of pain. “But I really got to get on my way.”

“No, no, don’t do that. What you and your wife need is rest and treatment. You need to check—”

“My wife, where is she?”

“The next room—”

Before the doctor could finish talking, a high-pitched scream came from the room next door. Logan’s body tensed immediately. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain that radiated through him as he forced himself up. His head swam for a second, but he powered through it, instincts driving him forward.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, pushing past the doctor as he made for the door, pulling his shirt on but not buttoning it, eyes sharp and focused.

He barged into the adjacent room, only to find you standing there, fists clenched, a wild look in your eyes. A nurse was backed into the far corner of the room, pale as a ghost and trembling, her hands raised defensively. The sharp scent of antiseptic and medical supplies filled the small room, along with the tension that was thick enough to cut through.

“Darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice a mix of relief and concern. His eyes softened slightly as he saw you, but he didn’t dare move closer yet. "It’s alright. You're okay."

You were breathing heavily, your hands shaking, but your eyes snapped to his the moment you heard his voice. The fight-or-flight instinct coursing through your veins made it hard to focus. You’d woken up surrounded by sterile equipment, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. It was too familiar—a stark reminder of things you’d tried to bury deep down. The Black Widow training. The surgeries. The loss of control.

"Where are we?" you asked through gritted teeth, not taking your eyes off the nurse. "What the hell is this place?"

Logan glanced at the nurse, then back at you. “Laura brought us here. A clinic. Some walk-in place,” he explained, his tone steady but gentle. He could see you were on edge, ready to snap at anything that moved.

Your eyes darted around the room before they landed back on Logan. The confusion and panic swirling inside you slowly began to ebb, replaced by the familiar presence of him. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to ground yourself.

"I don’t—" you swallowed hard, your voice shaky. "I don’t remember how we got here."

"Neither do I," Logan admitted, taking a step closer to you. His movements were slow, non-threatening.

The nurse, still cowering in the corner, finally spoke up, her voice trembling. “I-I was just checking her vitals… she woke up—”

“She’s fine," Logan interrupted, his gaze flickering toward the nurse. "You should go.” There was no malice in his voice, but the unspoken command was clear.

The nurse nodded frantically, not needing to be told twice. She slipped out of the room, leaving the two of you standing there, the heavy silence settling in her absence.

Logan turned his full attention back to you, his brow furrowing in concern. “Darlin’, you good?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine.” But your voice betrayed you—it was shaky, uncertain.

He stepped closer, cautiously this time, his rough hands reaching for yours. "Come here."

You didn’t resist, letting him pull you into his chest. His warmth, the steady beat of his heart, was a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions still swirling inside you. You buried your face into his uninjured shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Logan rested his chin on top of your head, holding you close. He could feel the tension slowly leaving your body as you leaned into him. "We’re safe," he murmured, his voice rough but soothing. "Just a clinic. We’ll be outta here soon."

You took a shaky breath, nodding against him. "I just… I hate waking up in places like this. Medical rooms. Makes me feel like I’m back in…" Your voice trailed off, but Logan didn’t need you to finish. He knew what you meant. He knew your past, the nightmares that clung to both of you like shadows.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his arms tightening around you just a fraction. “But you’re not there. Not anymore.”

For a moment, you stayed like that—wrapped in the safety of his embrace, the world outside falling away. The pain in your body, the chaos of the last few days, all of it faded in the warmth of his presence. Logan was your anchor, just like you had been his for so many years.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Where’s Laura?" you asked, your voice still quiet but steadier now.

Logan exhaled softly, nodding toward the door. "Out in the waiting room, apparently. She’s fine. Tough kid.”

You managed a small smile at that, despite everything. “She’s tougher than most adults I know.”

Logan huffed a small, tired laugh, but his expression softened as he looked at you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there. “You’re tough too, ya know?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, but the tension in your body had melted away for the most part. “I’ve had my moments.”

"Plenty of ‘em," Logan said, his voice gruff but affectionate. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “We’ll be outta here soon. Just gotta get you patched up.”

There were deep claw marks that dragged across the right side of his stomach, you were shocked they didn’t have stitches or gauze over it. Your hand went to hover over the wounds, only barely starting to concentrate on reversing the wounds before Logan’s hand firmly closed over your wrist.

“Stop it,” Logan’s voice was firm but laced with a quiet concern, his hand tightening slightly around your wrist as if to emphasize the point. His eyes, sharp yet weary, bore into yours.

“Logan, you’re hurt—” you protested softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but Logan was already shaking his head.

“I said stop,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ain’t worth it. You know what it does to you.”

You frowned, glancing down at his wounds again, the jagged lines cutting across his stomach. “And leaving you like this is worth it? You’re bleeding, Logan. You need stitches, or—”

“Darlin’, I heal,” he interrupted, his hand moving to cup your face, his calloused thumb brushing gently along your cheek. “You don’t. Not like this. Every time you pull that trick, it damn near takes you out. Ain’t lettin’ that happen.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. It wasn’t just concern—it was fear, buried deep but unmistakable. He’d seen you push yourself too far before, and the memory of it still lingered, raw and unyielding.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of you. “Fine,” you muttered, reluctantly pulling your hand back. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”

Logan huffed a small, almost amused breath, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifted slightly in response. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

“Old man, huh?” Logan smirked, though the teasing was short-lived as he winced, his hand instinctively moving to his side.

“Exactly my point,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Now sit your stubborn ass down before you keel over.”

He gave you a pointed look but obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed with a low grunt. You grabbed a clean towel from the counter and a bottle of disinfectant, perching on the chair next to him. As you worked, dabbing carefully at the wounds, the tension in the room began to ease, replaced by the familiar rhythm of your banter.

“You remember the last time we ended up in a place like this?” you asked, glancing up at him.

Logan snorted. “Which time? There’s been a few.”

“The one in Brazil,” you said with a small grin. “You tried to fight the entire waiting room because they were taking too long.”

“They were taking too long,” Logan grumbled, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “And that guy was lookin’ at you funny.”

“He was ninety, Logan.”

“And?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you pressed the towel against his side. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you keep me around anyway,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, the playful edge giving way to something softer.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the chaos of the past few days—the exhaustion, the pain, the fear—faded into the background. All that mattered was the man sitting in front of you, his rough edges softened in the quiet of the moment.

“I keep you around because I’m not sure what I’d do without you,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the weight of the words.

Logan’s expression shifted, the usual gruffness giving way to something raw and unguarded. He reached out, his hand settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You’ll never have to find out.”

The warmth of his words settled over you like a blanket, grounding you in a way nothing else could. You stayed like that for a moment, your breaths mingling in the small space between you, the world outside forgotten.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence, and you both turned to see Laura standing there, her dark eyes watching you with an intensity that was equal parts curiosity and concern. She didn’t say anything—she never did—but the question in her gaze was clear.

“Hey, kid,” Logan said, his voice softer than usual as he straightened up slightly. “We’re good.”

Laura tilted her head, her eyes flicking between the two of you before landing on Logan’s side. She frowned, stepping into the room and holding up a roll of gauze she’d clearly swiped from somewhere.

“Resourceful,” you said with a small smile, taking the gauze from her. “Thanks, Laura.”

She didn’t respond, just crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, her gaze never leaving Logan as you wrapped the bandage around his torso.

“She’s got your stubbornness,” you muttered under your breath, earning a huff from Logan.

The girl’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture relaxed ever so slightly. You caught the subtle shift and smiled to yourself, finishing up the bandage before sitting back with a satisfied sigh.

“There. That should hold for now,” you said, meeting Logan’s gaze. “But you’re still taking it easy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat behind it. “Let’s just get outta here.”

You nodded, glancing at Laura. “Think you can lead the way, kid?”

She gave a small nod, already turning to head back toward the waiting room. Logan pushed himself to his feet with a wince, and you quickly stepped in to steady him, earning a muttered “I’m fine” that you ignored.

The three of you made your way out of the clinic, Laura leading the way to the station wagon. She opened the driver door, throwing something to the back of the car as she climbed into the passenger seat. You got into the backseat, laying down.

“You can’t just take shit, you know.” Logan said to Laura.

“Actually, I took it. Had to threaten a guy.” You spoke from the backseat.

Logan closed the driver door, muttering an “of course” before looking at Laura. “I don’t know how you got us here… but, uh, thank you.”

“De nada.” Laura said, as Logan put the keys in the ignition.

“Yeah.” Logan looked back at Laura, “you can talk?” Laura nodded, “you can talk? What the fuck? Why in the fuck… What’s all this bullshit been for the last 2,000 fucking miles?”

Laura began to yell in Spanish, “tu espera que hable con tu cuando no mirarme? Tu espera que hable con tu cuando me insultas y tratar de dejarme atrás!?”

Your eyes widened at her words, but of course, Logan didn’t understand them. He cut Laura off, yelling at her, “shut the fuck up!”

“Logan!” You scolded, sitting up, “she’s a little kid—”

Laura kept eye contact with Logan, reciting names. “Jonah, Gideon, Rebecca, Delilah, Rictor.”

“What? Who’s that?” Laura continued as Logan yelled again, “who is that?”

She opened her backpack, saying the names again, “Jonah, Gideon, Rebecca, Delilah, and Rictor.” She grabbed the envelope of money with the coordinates written on them. “North Dakota.”

“What?”

Laura pulled the envelope away, “North Dakota, por favor.”

“Shit, okay. Look—” Logan tried to grab the envelope.

“No. Por favor.”

Logan finally reached over and grabbed it from her hands. “This place. Okay? Your nurse, she read too many stories, you understand? Too many stories!” He coughed as Laura grabbed a comic book from her backpack, which Logan snatched. “I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it, okay? This all here… None of this… No existo, okay? You understand me? This Eden does not exist. No!”

“Si! Eden!”

“No! It’s a fantasy, kid. See that? Those are the names of the people who just made this… They made this whole thing up. Okay? This whole… It happened once, and they just turned it into a big, fucking lie!” Laura yelled in Spanish again, “no!”

You opened the car door, slowly getting out, leveling Logan with a look that brooked no argument. “Logan. Out. Now.”

Logan froze, his hand still clutching the comic book, his jaw tightening. “What are you doin’, sweetheart?” His voice was low, cautious.

“Get out of the car, kotik,” you repeated, your tone firm. “Now.”

Laura was glaring daggers at him from the passenger seat, her small frame somehow radiating enough fury to match his. Logan glanced at her, then back at you, clearly torn between his simmering frustration and the realization that you weren’t going to back down.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, opening the driver’s side door and stepping out, slamming it shut behind him. “This really necessary?” he grumbled.

You didn’t answer right away, walking a few paces away from the car until you were out of earshot from Laura. Logan followed, his boots crunching against the gravel. When you finally turned to face him, the irritation in your eyes was palpable.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, your voice quiet but edged with steel. “You yelling at her like that?”

“She started it,” Logan said, gesturing vaguely toward the car, his expression defensive. “You heard her, darlin’. She’s been sittin’ on this the whole damn time, not sayin’ a word. Now she wants to throw some fantasy story at me like it’s gospel?”

“She’s a kid, Logan,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “She’s scared. She’s trying to make sense of everything, just like the rest of us.”

Logan shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I get it, okay? But this ‘Eden’ bullshit—she’s pinning her hopes on somethin’ that ain’t real. It’s a waste of time.”

“And what if it’s not?” you countered, stepping closer to him. “What if it’s real, and we’re just too jaded to believe it? You’ve been so focused on surviving, you don’t even see it anymore.”

“See what?” Logan asked, his tone tinged with exasperation.

“Hope,” you said simply, your gaze softening. “Laura’s a kid, Logan. She needs that hope, even if it feels impossible. Hell, maybe we do, too.”

Logan sighed, the tension in his shoulders sagging slightly as he looked away. “You really think it’s worth chasin’ a pipe dream?”

“I think it’s worth giving her a chance to believe in something,” you said, your voice gentler now. “If it turns out to be real, great. If not… at least we tried.”

He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working as he mulled over your words. Finally, he looked back at you, his eyes tired but not entirely unyielding. “You really think I handled that wrong, huh?”

“Like a bull in a china shop,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the tension. “She’s not just some stray you picked up, Logan. She’s… she’s family now, whether you like it or not.”

“Family,” Logan echoed, the word heavy on his tongue. He let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s a dangerous word comin’ from us.”

“Maybe,” you said, stepping closer and resting a hand on his chest, just over his heart. “But it’s true. And you’re going to apologize to her.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly. “Apologize? To her?”

“Yes, to her,” you said firmly, your hand not moving. “Because if you don’t, I’m sleeping in the backseat and you’re not getting a single damn word out of me for the rest of the trip.”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the car. “Now, go make it right.”

Logan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “pushy,” but he turned and headed back to the car. You followed a few steps behind, watching as he opened the driver’s side door and leaned in.

“Hey, kid,” Logan said, his voice gruff but softer than before. Laura turned her head to glare at him, clearly still bristling from the earlier argument. Logan sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I… I shouldn’t have yelled. Alright? That was… not cool.”

Laura’s glare didn’t waver, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“I just…” Logan paused, clearly struggling with the words. “I’m not good at this stuff. But I’m tryin’. And if you believe in this Eden thing, then… I’ll give it a shot.”

Laura blinked, her expression shifting just slightly, the anger in her eyes softening into something more guarded. She didn’t say anything, but the way she settled back in her seat, arms uncrossing, spoke volumes.

You smiled faintly, leaning on the car door. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Logan shot you a look, but there was no real heat in it. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, and you slid into the back, leaning against the window as he started the engine.

As the car rumbled to life, Laura glanced at you in the rearview mirror. For the first time, there was a hint of something like gratitude in her eyes. You gave her a small nod, a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

The station wagon pulled out onto the road, the three of you settling into an uneasy but determined silence. For better or worse, you were in this together.

---

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the car, the exhaustion still weighing heavily on you. Logan’s head tilted to the side, dozing off for a second before Laura reached over and straightened the car.

“Hey.” Logan said, pushing Laura’s hand away from the steering wheel. She said something in Spanish and Logan let out a “huh?”

“Let me drive,” she spoke.

He scoffed, “absolutely not.” Logan continued driving, fighting the urge to pass out as he felt Laura’s gaze still on him. “Quit looking at me.” Laura spoke in Spanish again and he responded with, “no comprende.”

“You are dying. Charles told me.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“To not let you,” Laura responded.

Logan’s eyes fluttered closed slowly, and once his head tilted down to his chest, Laura grabbed the wheel again, turning the car to the side of the road.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The car came to a stop.

“Rest.” Laura said simply.

---

When Logan woke up his head was in your lap, fingers gently combing through his hair that for a split second he thought things were normal. That the two of you were back in the mansion late at night, keeping quiet to not wake up anyone else.

“Hey, there.” You whispered.

“Darlin’?” He coughed, looking around to see a handful of kids surrounding the two of you. “Where are we?”

“Safe.” You replied.

Logan looked at one of the kids holding a bottle of a small green serum, “hey, what is it? Where’d you get that?”

“Where we came from,” Rictor spoke. “They gave it to us when we would fight. It makes you stronger.”

“It makes you crazy is what it does. It’ll kill you.”

You spoke up, “they only gave you a little bit. Enough to help your wounds heal.”

Logan let out a grunt, “where’s Laura?”

“Asleep.” You started to comb your fingers through his hair again, “you need to get some more rest too.”

Logan shifted slightly in your lap, his head heavy against your thighs. “I’ve been restin’,” he grumbled, his voice rough and tired.

“Not enough,” you said, your thumb brushing along the line of his jaw. “You can barely stay on your feet, kotik.”

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a low grunt of acknowledgment, but still not fully conceding. “Can’t just lay around while all this shit’s goin’ down.”

“They need you alive,” you replied softly but firmly. “We’re safe for now, and you need to heal. It’s not gonna kill you to stop for a little while.”

Logan’s lips twitched in a half-smile, his eyes still closed. “You sure about that?” he muttered, though his body seemed to sink deeper against you, the tension slowly leaving his frame.

You gave a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “I’m pretty sure. Trust me for once, okay?”

Logan opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. There was something softer there now, a vulnerability he didn’t show often. “I always trust you, darlin’. Even when I shouldn’t.”

“Good thing I’m always right, then,” you teased gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. “Now get some more rest.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes still locked with yours. Then, with a sigh, he relented, his head settling more comfortably in your lap. “Yeah, alright. But just for a little while,” he mumbled, his voice already starting to fade as exhaustion pulled at him.

“Just for a little while,” you echoed softly, your fingers still moving through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

---

Logan woke up from a nightmare, this time you were behind him, arm around his waist and chest pressed to his back.

“Pesadillas.” She said in Spanish, before continuing in English, “you had a nightmare.”

Logan paused for a second, looking at the way she held onto the wooden pole of the bed in front of him. “Do you have nightmares?” he asked softly.

She nodded, “si.” Laura briefly looked down at the floor before looking back at him. “People hurt me.”

“Mine are different.” Logan replied, his voice still quiet.

“Por que?”

“I hurt people.”

Laura got off the bed and walked over to the side of his, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a shiny silver bullet. “What is this?” She asked him in Spanish.

Logan shifted over to his side and sat up on his elbow, grunting in pain. Your arm fell down behind him. “You know what it is.” He took it out of her hand, rolling it between his fingers. He held it still, “it’s made out of Adamantium. It’s what they put inside of us. That’s why it can kill us.” He paused for a moment.

“Probably what is killing me now. Anyway… I got this a long time ago… and I kept it as a reminder of what I am. Now I keep it to, uh…” He stopped, briefly closing his eyes as he shook his head, “actually, uh… I was thinking of shooting myself with it. But I can’t do that to her… not after everythin’.”

There was a moment of silence before Laura spoke, “I’ve hurt people, too.”

“You’re gonna have to learn how to live with that.” Logan moved back down onto the bed, rolling slowly onto his back with a groan.

“They were bad people.”

“All the same.” He replied, dozing back off to sleep. Laura looked at the bullet still in his hand before taking it and putting it back in her jacket.

---

Logan drifted in and out for two days. You had slept only for one day, finally regaining your strength after overexerting yourself.

But when Logan did wake up, the kids were around him giggling. Logan pushed himself up and stumbled over to the tiny mirror on the wall.

“Not funny. That is not funny!” He scolded.

You let out a small, barely audible chuckle. “It’s a little humorous.” It wasn’t exactly like how he used to shave, but it was pretty damn close.

“How long have I been out?”

"Two days," you said, sitting on the edge of the small cot Logan had been resting on. "They’re leaving tomorrow before dawn. They’re gonna cross the border to Canada."

Logan snorted as he rubbed his face, still groggy. "Canada," he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Logan."

"What?" He leaned heavily against the mirror, scowling at his reflection. "We both know it’s just a pipe dream."

"Maybe," you said, your tone calm but firm. "But those kids believe in it. It’s not about what’s real to you, kotik. It’s about what it means to them."

Logan turned to look at you, his scowl softening just slightly when he met your eyes. "You’re startin’ to sound like Chuck," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Good," you replied. "He had a way of cutting through your bullshit."

Logan let out a low chuckle, though it ended in a cough. He pressed a hand to his side and winced. You were on your feet in an instant, steadying him. "You’re still pushing yourself too hard."

"I’m fine," he grumbled, though he didn’t pull away from your touch. "These kids… they’re not ready for what’s out there. We both know that."

"Then help them," you said softly. "Show them how to survive."

Logan shook his head, his expression torn. "I don’t even know if I’ve got it in me anymore, darlin’. Every time I think about fightin’, it feels like… like it’s just pullin’ me closer to the end."

"You’ve been saying that for decades," you countered, your hand slipping down to take his. "And yet, here you are. Still standing. Still fighting. These kids need you, Logan. And so does Laura."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "You’re too damn good at this, y’know," he said, his voice gruff. "Talkin’ me into doin’ the right thing."

You smiled faintly. "Someone’s gotta keep you in line."

Logan gave a low chuckle, but his eyes drifted toward the window, where the faint sounds of the kids preparing for their journey echoed through the quiet night. "What happens if it’s all bullshit?" he asked quietly.

"Then we’ll figure it out," you said. "Like we always do."

Logan nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he seemed to make a decision. "Alright," he said finally. "I’ll help ‘em get to the border. But after that… it’s up to them."

"That’s all anyone can ask," you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Logan let out a breath, leaning his forehead against yours for a moment. "You’re a real pain in my ass, sweetheart."

"You love me for it," you teased, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

---

Daytime melted into nighttime again, the kids enjoying one last night around the campfire chatting, laughing. You sat with them, showing off your own mutation to some of the younger kids, briefly pausing the fire before letting it roar again.

Logan watched from inside the cabin, reminding him of when things were simpler. How you and Ororo would talk in Russian so no one else could understand what you were saying. How one time you and Rogue pied Scott in the face after he dropped the hot dogs into the fire.

Laura entered the cabin as he turned to look at her, “your friends, they seem nice,” he admitted. “Kind of reminds me…”

Laura put something into her backpack, then she walked past him to go out by the fire. He grabbed her arm, stopping her and pulling her closer. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? Huh?” She ignored him, yanking her arm free from his grasp. “You’re with your pals. You made it.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

Logan considers the question for a moment, “nearest bar, for starters.” Laura absorbs his answer before turning back around, making her way to the exit. “Hey, I got you here. That’s all I signed up for. I even gave back the money.

She turned to face him, “such a nice man.” Laura said sarcastically.

“Hey, I never asked for this!” Logan started, his voice raising, “all right? Charles never asked for this. Caliban never asked for this. And they are six feet under the ground! Now, I don’t know what Charles put in your head, but I am not whatever it is you think I am, okay? I only met you, like, a week ago. You got your Rebecca, your Delilah, your blah, blah, blah, whatever. Everything you asked for, you’ve got it!”

Laura continued to look at him, a slight look of hurt across her face. He continued, “and it is better this way. Because I suck at this. Bad shit happens to people I care about. You understand me?”

She met his eyes, “then I’ll be fine.” Laura walked outside as Logan watched her exit.

---

Logan woke up to the sun streaming in through the small cabin. You were asleep behind him, hand lightly wrapped around his bicep. It was quiet, the kids and Laura were all gone.

On the table next to the bed was the green serum, and next to it a note, “not all at once. Rictor.” He walked outside to look out at rocky hills, the car still parked in the same spot it was when they got here.

Drones buzzed above him, making him look up. Logan climbed the stairs of the watch tower before limping to the binoculars. He saw military grade trucks driving through the forest, presumably following the kids.

Logan’s heart thudded as the trucks rolled through the forest, their engines a low growl against the quiet morning air.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, the sight twisting his gut into knots.

He turned and stomped back down the stairs, his limp more pronounced than usual. The pain in his legs flared, sharp and insistent, but he pushed it down. There wasn’t time for that.

Inside the cabin, you stirred as he walked in, your voice groggy but warm. “What’s all the stomping about, kotik?”

Logan grabbed the serum off the table and shoved it into his pocket. “Trouble,” he grunted, heading straight for the bag he’d left by the door.

You sat up, your brows furrowing. “Logan.”

He didn’t stop moving.

“Logan,” you said more firmly, your voice snapping him to a halt. “What kind of trouble?”

He turned to face you, his jaw tight. “The kind that’s gonna put a lot of those kids six feet under if I don’t get my ass moving.”

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, pulling on your boots as you spoke. “Then let’s go.”

“No,” he barked, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “You’re staying here.”

You froze mid-motion, your eyes locking onto his. “Like hell I am.”

“Darlin’—”

“Don’t start,” you cut him off, standing and stepping into his path. “You think I’m just gonna sit here while you throw yourself into God knows what?”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his frustration simmering. “I don’t have time to argue with you.”

“Good,” you shot back, grabbing your jacket and sliding it on. “Because I’m not arguing. I’m coming.”

Logan shook his head, his voice low and tight. “This isn’t your fight.”

You stepped closer, your voice softening but no less firm. “Logan, when have I ever let you fight alone?”

He stared at you, his chest heaving with the weight of his unspoken fears.

“I’m not leaving you to handle this on your own,” you continued, your eyes searching his. “We do this together. That’s the deal.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he muttered, “Fine. But you stay behind me. No heroics.”

You smirked faintly, your fingers brushing over his arm. “Wouldn’t dream of it, kotik.”

Logan let out a low grunt of frustration, grabbing his gear. “You ready?”

“Always,” you replied, grabbing your knives from the table and tucking them into your belt.

The two of you stepped outside, the morning air crisp and heavy with tension.

---

Logan’s breathing was ragged as he leaned heavily against the tree. You kept a hand on his shoulder, your expression torn between worry and focus. You knew he was struggling—his healing wasn’t what it used to be—but they didn’t have time to dwell on that now.

“I’m gonna find Rice,” You said quietly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I’ll stay on his trail. You focus on the kids.”

Logan nodded, his face grim. “You sure you can handle Rice on your own?”

“I’ve got this,” you said firmly, taking a deep breath before stepping away.

Logan straightened, clearly in pain but too stubborn to acknowledge it. “Be careful, Y/N.”

“I will,” you replied, already starting to move deeper into the forest.

You moved swiftly through the dense forest, the distant sounds of engines and shouts growing louder with each step. Your grip on your knife tightened, and your breath came steady despite the rush of adrenaline. Years of training kicked in, each movement calculated and silent.

Ahead, you spotted a group of men. They were clustered together, clearly guarding something—or someone. Rice had to be close. You pressed yourself against a tree, observing their movements, counting their weapons.

Slipping between the trees, you crept closer. The element of surprise was always your greatest advantage. In a swift motion, you stepped behind the nearest man, your blade slicing cleanly through the strap of his rifle before you took him down with a sharp elbow to the temple. He crumpled without a sound.

Before you could move on to the next, another guard turned, catching sight of you. “Over here!” he shouted, raising his weapon.

“Damn it,” you muttered, darting into the shadows as gunfire erupted. You took cover behind a fallen log, calculating your next move.

One by one, you picked them off, your movements fluid and precise. But as you turned to face the last of them, a sharp sting hit your neck. You reached up, pulling out a dart, the world already starting to tilt.

A sedative. Not enough to knock you out, but enough to slow you down. Your grip on the knife loosened as your knees buckled.

“Got her!” one of the men shouted, rushing toward you. You swung at him, catching him across the cheek, but your strength was fading fast.

“You’re a feisty one,” another voice drawled. Rice stepped out from the shadows, a smug grin on his face. “But even you can’t fight forever.”

Your vision blurred as they grabbed you, binding your wrists. You fought to stay upright, your head lolling to the side. “You... have no idea... who you’re dealing with,” you slurred, your voice defiant despite your state.

“Oh, I think I do,” Rice replied, stepping closer. “You’re the one he’s been running with, aren’t you? Always knew Wolverine had a soft spot. Let’s see how far that gets him.”

You snarled, trying to jerk away, but the sedative made your limbs uncooperative. They dragged you toward their truck, your heart pounding not from fear but from frustration. You weren’t scared. You knew Logan would come. He always did.

---

Donald held Rictor at gunpoint, slowly walking into the grass. “Nine o’clock.” A soldier by the children shouted, pointing their guns at Logan.

“That green juice is wearin’ off, huh? You know, for an old mute, it’s kind of a short high.” Donald said, as Rictor kneeled in the grass, Donald’s grip tight on the back of his neck. “Be hard to keep them claws out, soon.”

“Waste this dick, Logan!” Donald knocked Rictor unconscious with the butt of his gun, keeping the muzzle pointed at his head.

Rice walks forward from behind Donald, one of the military men dragging you beside him. “Please stop, Mr. Howlett. I’m gonna have to tell these men to fire on these children and your wife. You don’t want that. You can see the effects of the serum are wearing off. You will not survive further wounds. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Zander Rice. I believe you knew my father on the Weapon X Program.”

Logan’s look grew darker as he held up his bloody claws, “yeah. He’s the asshole who put this poison in me.”

Rice nodded, “yes, he was one of them.”

“I think I might have killed him.”

“I think you’re right.”

Donald spoke up, “why don’t you show some respect, mutie? You’re lookin’ at the man who wiped out your kind.”

“My friend Donald overstates.” Rice said. “He makes it sound more brutal than intended. The goal was not to end mutant kind… but to control it. I realized we needn’t stop perfecting what we eat and drink. That we could use those products to perfect ourselves. To distribute gene therapy discreetly through everything from sweet drinks to breakfast cereals. And it worked. Random mutancy went the way of polio. We embarked on our next endeavor.”

“Growing mutants of your own.” Logan growled out, his breathing still choppy.

“Precisely.” Rice responded.

“Dangerous times, James. You can’t- ”

Logan shot his gun at Donald, hitting his bionic arm. You acted quickly, kicking down the man’s legs while grabbing a dagger from your thigh holster, stabbing him in the gut before doing a kip-up to stab Rice directly in the throat. As you pulled your dagger out, Rice fell to the ground, dead.

You glanced over at Logan, who was still fighting against the effects of the serum, his movements becoming increasingly labored.

The soldiers around them were momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in power. Laura, who was waiting for Logan’s signal, started to attack the soldiers who stood by her friends.

Donald quickly got up and walked to one of the vans, opening the back door. “Showtime, boy!”

The clone of Logan jumped out of the back, tackling him to the ground. You ran over to the group of kids, hurriedly taking off the large metal handcuffs. Once you were finished, you watched as Logan was thrown into one of the van’s heavily armored doors, knocking it off.

The clone tried to jump on him but Logan used the door as a shield, pushing the clone to the ground. The clone tried to get up but Logan hit him with the door again, before pushing the door down against the clone’s neck.

“Get up, boy. Get up, boy!” Donald called out. The clone looked behind him at the dead body of Rice, “they did that. Get up!”

The clone slashed the bottom of the door with his claws before kicking Logan away, who landed next to Laura. The young girl screamed before running to the clone, jumping onto his back.

“Laura! No!” Rictor yelled.

Rictor’s shout barely reached your ears as everything moved in a blur of violence and chaos. Laura was already on the clone, her small body attacking with the same viciousness as Logan, her claws slashing at his back, her teeth bared in fury.

“Laura!” You called out, but it was too late. The girl was locked into the fight now, claws sinking into flesh. The clone grunted, his expression a twisted mix of pain and rage. He threw Laura off with a brutal force that sent her flying into a nearby tree.

You looked at the young kids and at Donald, still by the van. “You want revenge? Go get it.” You said, as the kids nodded and walked over to the man—their former captor.

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Their eyes were filled with a combination of fear, anger, and a desire for revenge. One by one, they stepped toward Donald, who was still on his feet, though his bionic arm was sparking from Logan’s earlier shot. He raised his remaining good hand, trying to shield himself as the children advanced.

“Wait—wait, listen—” Donald stammered, but the children weren’t interested in his pleas.

With a primal scream, the first child reached out, his hands glowing with energy, and sent a shockwave directly at Donald, slamming him back against the van. The others followed, each unleashing their own abilities—one sent vines up from the ground to entangle him, while another froze the air around him, leaving frost on his skin.

Logan and Laura were both on the ground, the clone limping away as Rictor lifted the control van into the air before dropping it onto the clone.

“Go.” Logan heaved out before coughing. “Let’s go. Go.” He continued to tell Laura. Laura started to walk to the other children, Logan behind her gently guiding her. “Go, go, go! Go! Get out of here! Go!”

A metallic creak came from the control van, the clone underneath pushing it off of him. “Go. Go, go, go!” Logan continued ordering the kids, turning around momentarily to look in the direction of the van, seeing his clone run over. “Go, go!”

Before the clone could claw Logan again, you shoved him out of the way, throwing him to the ground as the clone’s claws tore through your shoulder. You gasped, the searing pain ripping through your body, but you bit it back, locking eyes with Logan.

“Logan, move!” you shouted, pushing him away as the clone yanked his claws free, sending blood spraying onto the grass. The clone let out a guttural growl, his feral eyes narrowing on you. His claws glistened, dripping crimson as he lunged again.

Logan scrambled to his feet, his breathing ragged, the strain evident in every movement. “Darlin’, don’t—”

The clone spun, his massive frame colliding with Logan. He roared as he grabbed him, his claws plunging into Logan’s torso before he lifted him off the ground.

“Logan!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you struggled to get up. Blood poured from your wound, but you forced yourself forward, adrenaline propelling you.

The clone hauled Logan onto the jagged stump of a fallen tree. The wood speared through Logan’s body with a sickening crunch, and he let out a choked cry of pain. Blood bubbled at his lips as the clone twisted his claws deeper, stabbing him again.

“Logan!” you cried out, your heart twisting at the sight of him impaled, struggling.

The clone raised his arm for another strike, his claws gleaming, but before he could bring it down, a gunshot rang out. The clone’s head snapped back violently, and a fine mist of blood sprayed into the air as the bullet struck him square between the eyes. His body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

Your head whipped toward the source of the shot. Laura stood there, clutching the fallen gun, her small chest heaving with adrenaline. The smoking barrel glinted in the sunlight. She dropped the gun immediately, her expression shattering as she rushed toward Logan.

“No, no, no,” she mumbled, her voice shaking as she reached him. Her hands trembled as she began hacking at the jagged stump with her claws, splintering the wood with every furious strike.

You stumbled over, the pain in your shoulder nearly blinding, but nothing mattered except getting to Logan. Dropping to your knees beside him, you cupped his bloodied face in your hands. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and his breaths came in ragged gasps.

“Kotik, stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you pressed your forehead to his. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, a faint, pained attempt at a smirk. “Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Guess… I’m finally... gonna get some rest.”

“Shut up,” you choked out, tears blurring your vision. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re not.”

Laura let out a frustrated scream as she finally splintered enough of the stump to free Logan. He slid off the wood with a groan, collapsing into your arms. His weight was heavy, his strength all but gone, but you held him tightly, your fingers curling into his bloodied shirt.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re okay.”

Laura crouched beside you, her face streaked with tears. “He’s not okay,” she sobbed, her small hands clutching his arm. “He’s not.”

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, barely. He looked at Laura, then at you, his gaze softening despite the pain. “You two…” he breathed, his voice weak but steady. “You’re my girls.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you said firmly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “We’re getting you out of here. We’re gonna fix this.”

“Take them, and run.” He said hoarsely.

Laura shook her head, “no.”

“Run. They’ll keep coming and coming. Listen, you don’t have to fight anymore.” Laura found Logan’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Go, go.” Laura’s tears fell down in a steady stream. “Don’t be what they made you.” Logan whispered. He continued, “Laura… Laura…”

"Daddy," Laura whispered, her voice barely audible as tears streamed down her face. Her small hand gripped Logan's tightly, as if trying to keep him anchored to life.

Logan’s eyes flickered to her, the faintest smile pulling at his cracked lips.

“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, your voice cracking as you leaned closer to him. “Don’t talk like this, kotik. You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get you somewhere safe, patch you up. You’ve been through worse.”

His gaze shifted to you, soft despite the agony written all over his face. “Darlin’… you know better.”

“No!” Your voice rose as tears burned hot trails down your cheeks. You cupped his face again, leaning down so your forehead pressed against his. “No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to leave us.”

Laura’s sobs grew louder as she clung to his arm, her claws retracting as if she couldn’t bear to see them anymore. “We need you,” she choked out. “I need you.”

Logan chuckled softly, a faint, pained sound that broke what was left of your composure. “Nah… you don’t, kid. You’re strong. Stronger than me, stronger than… anyone.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t let this be it, Logan.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand brushing your cheek. “You’ve always been stubborn,” he murmured. “That’s why I love you.”

“Then fight,” you pleaded. “Fight for us. For her. For me.”

His eyes opened again, and for a moment, it was like he saw everything—every lifetime, every moment you’d ever shared, every tragedy and every fleeting happiness. “I have, darlin’… I fought long enough.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice breaking into a sob. “No, Logan, please—”

“I’ll… always find you,” he whispered, his words halting and labored. His gaze moved to Laura one last time. “Don’t… let them make you… what they made me.”

Laura let out a broken cry, clutching his hand tighter as his body slackened against you. “Daddy,” she whispered again, shaking her head in denial. “No, no, no!”

“Logan!” you screamed, gripping his face, trying to shake him awake. But his body was still, his head tilting slightly to the side. The faint, pained smirk on his lips remained as the last breath left his body.

“No!” Laura screamed, pounding her small fists into the dirt beside him. “No, no, no!”

Your hands shook as you held his face, your forehead resting against his as sobs racked your body. He was gone. The realization was like a knife twisting in your chest, carving out a piece of your soul.

Laura crawled closer, pressing herself into Logan’s side as her sobs filled the air. You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close even as your own tears refused to stop. The two of you clung to him, unwilling to let go, unwilling to believe he was truly gone.

In the distance, the wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the echoes of your grief.

i'm so sorry😭i totally didn't cry while writing the ending...

anyways, there is a part 2 to this which is 'deadpool and wolverine' so thank you ryan reynolds for giving us a canon why to fix things and give our characters a happy ending😊

i'm not sure when the part 2 is going to be done, so it might be a while

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #old man logan x reader #old man logan #i love you in every time #i love you in every life

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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 1 month ago

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Saxon x girlfriend!reader where reader is basically the girl everyone wants that Saxon chased after not because he liked her but because he had to have what no one else could. They start dating and Saxon genuinely falls in love with her and dose everything he can to impress her but she’s very “whatever” about his efforts because she’s just satisfied with having a boyfriend with money and she was willing to turn a blind eye if he cheated but then he starts telling her how much he loves her and she’s just like “yeah right” and expects him to cheat any minute. It turns into this pathetic chase that his family witnesses first hand when they go to the white lotus. Maybe it even gets to the point where she avoids him during the trip like running off with his siblings or doing activities on her own. You can decide the rest.

Fools Gold

Pairing: Saxon Ratliff x Girlfriend!Reader

Saxon was never supposed to fall in love with you.

You were just a status symbol, the most sought-after girl in his world, the one everyone wanted but only he got to have. That was the point—why he asked you out in the first place. You were untouchable, a trophy to be won, and he was the guy who won you.

And you? You thought he was cute. He was rich, not as insufferable as the other trust-fund losers that constantly threw themselves at you, and—most importantly—dating him made life easier.

So you said yes.

And somewhere along the way, he fell in love for real.

If Saxon thought this vacation was going to bring you closer, he was a fucking idiot.

You spent most of your time avoiding him, filling your days with spa treatments, yoga classes, and endless glasses of overpriced rosé with Piper while he chased you like some lovesick puppy.

At dinner, you barely spoke to him, more focused on your wine than whatever conversation his family was pretending to have. When the night wound down, you’d finally give him your attention—dragging him to bed, letting him have you, but only when you wanted.

It was just enough to keep things smooth.

And yet, he wouldn’t stop trying.

More gifts. More attention. More effort.

At first, you ignored it—thinking it was just a game, the way rich boys got obsessive when something they owned started slipping from their grasp. But the way he watched you, the way he kept pushing to spend more time together, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered…

It felt real.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but somewhere between another overpriced dinner and another bottle of wine, you found yourself alone with him on the villa’s balcony—the air thick with something unspoken, the glow of the infinity pool casting blue light against his skin.

He was nervous. You could tell.

“You know,” he started, turning a half-full glass in his hand, “I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.”

You raised a brow, lazily sipping your wine. “What way?”

Saxon looked at you then, really looked at you, and the vulnerability in his eyes made something uncomfortable stir in your chest.

“I love you.”

You laughed. A quiet, disbelieving breath of laughter, because that was the last thing you ever expected to hear.

“You don’t,” you said simply, shaking your head, because how could he?

“I do.” He leaned forward, setting his glass down, his voice softer now, but certain. “You think you don’t have anything to offer me but your looks, but you don’t even see yourself the way I do.”

You froze.

Because that was the part that got you.

Not the “I love you.” Not the romantic confession.

But the fact that he saw right through you.

That he knew. That he understood.

And that scared you more than anything else ever had.

#saxon ratliff #saxon ratliff x reader #saxon ratliff imagine #saxon ratliff fanfic #the white lotus fanfic #the white lotus

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luvinghanni · 9 months ago

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────୨ৎ──────୨ৎ──────୨ৎ────

!Ex-HusbandToji! who insists on flirting with you by the door whenever he gets the chance to at your weekly Megumi drop-offs.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who brings you a fresh bouquet of your favourite flowers every time he drops off your son at yours, his iconic sickeningly sweet smile plastered on his face as he presents them to you. Despite your eye rolls and annoyed facade he knows how much you really appreciate them, thanks to your son who just loves to tell his dad all about what happened at his mom's.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who can't get enough of talking to you so he memorises your schedule off by heart so he just "happens" to run into you during your daily errands. Your morning yoga classes, your nail appointments, your mindless "self-care" shopping? Trust him to be there perfectly timed.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who still yearns for you, pumping his cock at the thought of you in those tight gym shorts and matching sports bra he happened to catch you in that morning, unable to refrain from calling out your name as he finishes all over himself. Despite being divorced for almost 2 years he still wishes it was your hand around his cock instead of his.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who pretends he doesn't notice your frequent glances at his muscles and your batting eyelashes every time he comes to drop off Megumi, purposely leaning in the doorway to tower over you to get you going- just like it would in your marriage.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who decides to surprise you one day by showing up to your house unannounced while Megumi's at a sleepover, happily surprised when you suddenly decide to invite him in for a glass of wine.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who's lips are on yours the second he enters your home, hands re-finding their long lost place on your hips. God he missed you and it seemed you missed him too.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who missed the feeling of your walls clamping down around him at every rough thrust he makes, who missed your sugary sweet voice moaning out his name and little else, who missed your freshly manicured nails scraping down his back marking him as yours.

!Ex-HusbandToji! who finishes inside of you like he always used to with a groan before pulling out and landing beside you, pulling you tight into his strong arms, planning on when would be the best time to ask you to marry him again.

────୨ৎ──────୨ৎ──────୨ৎ────

I can't stop thinking about Toji OMLLLL 😮‍💨 size difference goes crazy

i hope you enjoyed lovelies x

comments + requests are always welcome 💕

#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji smut #x reader smut #smut #black writers #blacklivesmatter #x reader #anime #luvinghanni #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #home page #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi

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a-d-nox · 3 months ago

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how can you glow up: your 6h - daily habits, health, and self-discipline.

seems like everyone started 75 days hard, medium, or soft as soon as the new year hit on my social media feeds... so here's the next hypothesis of how you can glow up using your venus persona. take a close look at your 6h!

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

6h libra (7°, 19°), 6h venus, and/or venus aspecting 6h ruler

daily habits

curate a routine: use aesthetically pleasing tools like a cute planner, matching workout gear, etc.

prioritize work-life balance: libra thrives on harmony, so create clear boundaries between work and relaxation.

partner up: work with an accountability buddy or engage in social routines like walking with a friend or coworker.

mindful decision-making: your indecisive tendencies may slow you down. use tools like a pros-and-cons list or time limits/blocking to streamline daily choices.

health

gentle fitness: choose workouts that emphasize balance and flow, like yoga, pilates, and/or barre.

balanced diet: focus on a diet that incorporates variety and moderation. think colorful, well-plated meals that appeal to both the eyes and the palate.

skin & body care: libra’s beauty-conscious vibe thrives with self-care rituals. pamper yourself with skincare routines and/or regular relaxing massages.

avoid extremes: libra energy prefers moderation. skip overly intense regimens and opt for sustainable, enjoyable routines instead (HITT and 75 hard would not be for these people).

self-discipline

create beauty in discipline: you need something functional but aesthetically pleasing. for instance, a thoughtful made habit tracker and/or color-coded calendars.

balance hard work with reward: keep yourself motivated by celebrating small wins with little indulgences - a favorite snack or a self-care day.

social accountability: let friends or groups hold you accountable for fitness, projects, and/or self-improvement goals.

glow-up activities

beautify your workspace: add plants, art, or calming colors to create a productive yet serene environment.

join a wellness class: try group pilates and/or yoga for a social and balanced approach to fitness.

revamp your closet: create a capsule wardrobe and/or organize your clothing to reflect the polished libra vibe.

relaxing evening routine: end the day with candlelight, soothing music, and/or a luxurious skincare ritual.

6h sagittarius (9°, 21°), 6h jupiter, and/or jupiter aspecting 6h ruler

daily habits

growth-oriented routines: you thrive when your habits are designed for personal expansion. focus on routines that encourage learning, travel, and/or exploring new perspectives.

positive productivity: you have a sense of optimism where daily tasks are concerned, making it easier to stay motivated. infuse fun into your day - listen to uplifting podcasts and/or explore creative approaches to mundane chores.

consistency through belief: jupiter’s influence inspires faith in your ability to improve. use affirmations or gratitude journaling to reinforce your positive mindset.

health

holistic wellness: approaches to health that integrate body, mind, and spirit. practices like yoga, meditation, and/or exploring global wellness traditions are ideal.

moderation matters: while jupiter brings abundance, it can also lead to overindulgence. focus on balance in diet and exercise to avoid extremes.

fitness with freedom: jupiter encourages movement and exploration - choose outdoor activities, group classes, and/or fitness routines that feel expansive and exciting.

self-discipline

long-term vision: jupiter encourages you to see the big picture. tie your daily routines to a larger goal and/or purpose, like personal growth or job advancement, to stay motivated.

positive reinforcement: this aspect makes self-discipline easier when you focus on what you gain rather than what you restrict. celebrate milestones to maintain enthusiasm.

glow-up activities

expand your knowledge: dedicate time daily to learning, whether through books, podcasts, and/or courses. growth fuels your glow-up.

practice gratitude: a daily gratitude practice strengthens your positive mindset and attracts even more opportunities for success.

travel for wellness: plan a retreat or adventure centered on self-care, like hiking in a new location or joining a wellness retreat.

abundant self-care: invest in inspiring, luxurious self-care practices that make you feel expansive - think spa treatments, aromatherapy, and/or beautifully curated meal prep.

6h pisces (12°, 24°), 6h neptune, and/or neptune aspecting 6h ruler

habits

keep a flexible routine: allow your day to flow rather than sticking to a rigid schedule (challenges like the examples i gave above are unlikely to stick for - if anything 75 soft would be the extent). create loose frameworks that prioritizes how you feel over having a rigid to-do lists.

mindful mornings: begin your day with introspection - try morning journaling, meditation, and/or pulling a tarot card for insight.

artistic productivity: incorporate creative outlets into your day, like doodling, painting, or writing, to keep your imagination active.

acts of service: integrate kindness into your habits, such as volunteering, caring for a pet, and/or small acts of service for others, as they bring you fulfillment.

health

holistic wellness: experiment with yoga, energy healing (like reiki), and/or sound baths.

hydration & water therapy: water signs should prioritize drinking plenty of water and explore water-based activities like swimming, water aerobics, and/or baths with epsom salts.

gentle fitness: opt for activities that connect your body and soul, like tai chi, restorative yoga, and/or even dancing (pin point on ballet) to release pent-up emotions.

boundaries & emotional detox: you can absorb emotions easily. protect your mental health with grounding techniques like breath work or journaling to process feelings.

self-discipline

embrace compassionate self-discipline: treat yourself with kindness when working on new habits. you thrives with gentle, supportive approaches rather than self-criticism.

work with intuition: let your intuition guide your priorities for the day. trust yourself (and your body) to know what needs attention rather than over-planning.

visualize success: use visualization techniques to imagine the outcomes you want to achieve, helping you stay aligned with your dreams.

glow-up activities

spiritual self-care: create rituals that connect you to your higher self, such as lighting candles or practicing gratitude during moon phases.

creative cooking: experiment with nourishing recipes inspired by your mood. incorporate calming herbs like chamomile or lavender.

start a dream journal: keep a journal to explore patterns or creative inspiration.

declutter with intention: you can feel scattered with too much “stuff.” declutter your space; imbue it with meaning - donate items with a small thank-you ritual (kon mari method moment).

6h ruler in 1h and/or aspecting asc

daily habits

habits reflect identity: your routines easily align with your self-image. you’re drawn to habits that make you feel like your best self and naturally express your personality.

ease in routine building: you find it relatively easy to incorporate healthy practices into your life because they naturally support your sense of self and purpose.

public accountability: your habits impact how others perceive you, you might enjoy sharing your journey (documenting fitness progress or sharing meal prep ideas on social media).

health

health as confidence: feeling healthy and balanced boosts your self-esteem and how you show up in the world. prioritizing self-care becomes a natural extension of your personal growth.

fitness for presence: activities like yoga, strength training, and/or posture-focused exercises can improve not just your health but also the way you physically carry yourself.

self-discipline

natural motivation: you’re disciplined when routines reinforce who you want to be. so choose habits that align with your personal goals and values.

self-expression through action: your productivity and organization reflect your identity. for example, creating a workspace or routine that feels uniquely you enhances your efficiency.

authenticity in structure: avoid overly rigid plans - opt for routines that feel natural and authentic to your lifestyle.

glow-up activities

morning rituals: start your day with habits that energize and align you with your desired identity (skincare, affirmations, or a power breakfast).

fitness for confidence: focus on activities that enhance your posture, strength, and presence. pilates or dance could be great options.

style your routine: create a lifestyle that feels polished and reflective of your personality. whether it’s stylish activewear or a bullet journal, let your habits express your unique energy.

public progress: share your self-discipline journey if it feels aligned - whether through social media, conversations, or mentorship of others.

6h ruler in 4h

daily habits

home-centered routines: your most effective habits begin and thrive at home. create structured, calming rituals like morning journaling, home cooked meals, and/or home workouts to build consistency.

comfort and productivity: design a home space that supports both relaxation and focus. dedicated, cozy workspaces and/or exercise corners can encourage discipline. stepisodes might be your thing - invest in a walk pad or stepper!

family-inspired practices: if you can make it happen, routines that involve or are inspired by family, ancestry, and/or tradition (e.g., cooking family recipes or practicing shared wellness habits) will often feel the most fulfilling.

health

emotional health comes first: your physical health is tied to your emotional state. make time for self-reflection and grounding practices like breathwork or gratitude journaling to stabilize your mood.

restorative practices: focus on health routines that feel nurturing, such as gentle stretching, restorative yoga, and/or relaxing baths.

nutritious comfort food: preparing home-cooked meals with fresh, wholesome ingredients ties in both physical and emotional care.

self-discipline

consistency through comfort: you work best when routines feel safe and familiar. create systems that integrate naturally into your environment rather than forcing external structures.

emotional accountability: self-discipline improves when you feel emotionally supported. lean into family, close friends, or personal affirmations to motivate yourself.

balance work & rest: avoid overloading yourself. create rhythms in your day that balances effort and rejuvenation - like rewarding productive periods with cozy downtime.

glow-up activities

declutter your space: a tidy, peaceful home supports clear thinking and productivity.

home fitness: explore at-home workouts that feel grounding and enjoyable.

emotional check-ins: incorporate a nightly reflection routine to release stress and process the day.

6h ruler in 9h

daily habits

incorporate learning: your routines thrive when they involve intellectual or spiritual growth. start your day with reading, journaling, or studying something meaningful to you.

seek variety: break up monotony by incorporating new activities into your routine, like trying different workouts or exploring diverse cuisines in meal prep.

travel-inspired practices: bring elements of travel or culture into your habits, such as practicing yoga from another tradition, using mindfulness techniques, or exploring global wellness trends.

health

holistic health: look into ayurveda, meditation, and/or breathwork.

outdoor activities: you benefit from outdoor workouts, hikes, and/or activities that connect you to nature and broaden your horizons.

mind-body connection: physical health is tied to mental and spiritual alignment. journaling or practicing gratitude can help release stress and keep you grounded.

self-discipline

purpose-driven routines: you’re more disciplined when your habits align with your goals or ideals. anchor your daily tasks to a “why” that feels meaningful.

long-term perspective: focus on how daily consistency contributes to larger aspirations like personal growth and/or job to career development.

educational structure: incorporate study or skill-building into your routine, such as learning a new language, taking online courses, and/or reading topics of interest.

glow-up activities

morning philosophy practice: start your day with a mantra, affirmation, or inspirational reading.

explore wellness abroad: try fitness or health practices inspired by different cultures, like tai chi, capoeira, and/or mediterranean-inspired cooking. watch the show down to earth with zac efron to catch the vibe.

expand through movement: take your fitness outside - hiking, running, or yoga in open spaces align with this placement’s expansive energy.

set vision-oriented goals: create a vision board or journal about how your daily habits bring you closer to your dreams.

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

return to nox’s guide to metaphysics

return to nox's hypotheses

#astrology chart #astrology readings #astro #astrology signs #astrology tumblr #astrology stuff #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro community #astroblr #astro placements #glow up #6h #libra #sagittarius #pisces #1h #9h

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queenshelby · 4 months ago

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The Peaky Role (Part 12)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Smut

Please comment and engage! Sorry this part is super long!

"Come in," you said as you opened the door to your father's apartment, sensing a hint of reluctance from Cillian's body language.

He hesitated at the threshold, his deep blue eyes scanning the cozy living space filled with mismatched furniture, which he already knew too well.

Your father and Cillian had been friends for many years so he could practically feel Dermont’s presence lingering in the air and it was your father's presence that made him a little uncomfortable.

"Sure," he mumbled, stepping inside and shedding his jacket, which you quickly took from him, hanging it on the back of the door.

“Wine?" you then asked before gesturing towards the sofa, indicating for him to take a seat.

"Yeah, thanks," he replied, his voice low and thoughtful as he sank into the cushions. "But only if you have some too."

"Of course I will," you smiled before you stepped into the kitchen, the clinking of the wine glasses echoing softly as you reached for them from one of the tall cabinets.

You then poured two glasses and returned to the living room, handing him one with a slight tremor in your fingers.

“There you go," you said as he took it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, causing an electric connection that sent a shiver of uncertainty through you before, finally, silence wrapped around you like a hug, heavy and charged.

Cillian took a sip, his gaze lingering on the wine as if searching for answers in its dark depths while, at the same time and without words, you settled on the couch next to him, searching for casualness in the way you crossed your legs.

"So, uhm," Cillian said, breaking the silence, his voice drenched in discomfort. “Your dad took a trip to Kilkenny with Linda I hear? For the whole weekend?" he asked, attempting to lead the conversation away from the heavier matters you had discussed with each other earlier that night.

“Yeah,” you replied, a hint of amusement creeping into your words. “I guess. He didn’t really say much," you continued, unsure what else to say while Cillian casually raised an eyebrow at you.

"Do you like her?" he asked, clearly trying to be casual but failing to hide the tension that was creeping back into his voice. “Linda, I mean?” he clarified.

“Uhm, yeah, she's… interesting,” you said carefully, recalling the awkward dinner just a few days ago with your father and his new partner where she spent most of the time talking about her vegetable garden and the hybrid tomatoes she was trying to cultivate.

Cillian arched an eyebrow again, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Interesting how?” he asked, and you took a moment to think about her quirks, those peculiarities that seemed to straddle the line between charming and bizarre.

"Well, she talks a lot," you began, your lips twitching into a smirk. "And she seems a bit… eccentric,” you admitted, a smile breaking through despite yourself. “But she is nice enough. Just a little... much sometimes, you know?" you told Cillian before giggling at the thought of your father's latest romantic endeavours with her where he was trying to cook organic vegan meals and attending yoga classes with her at the crack of dawn.

Cillian chuckled in response, his laughter a warm sound that filled the space between you.

“I get that,” he said, his tension easing for a moment. “I have met her a few times and, whilst I thank that she might be a handful, I also believe that your dad likes that about her,” he said, shaking his head as if contemplating your father’s decision and reaching his approval.

“Yeah, definitely,” you agreed, a hint of affection woven into your tone. “I think he likes the excitement she brings to the table. It’s refreshing for him after everything he has been through with mum” you explained, thinking back to when they got divorced.

Cillian nodded, his gaze drifting out the window, where the Dublin sky had painted itself in hues of dusk , the colours a blend of deep indigos and fiery oranges.

"He seems happy," he then observed, realization dancing in his eyes, a flash of something tender yet wistful. “And it’s good to see him like that,” he furthermore observed, to which you nodded slowly, tracing the rim of your glass.

"I think so too and, for me, it's all that matters," you said, meeting his gaze. "I don't really have to like her, so long as he is happy, you know?" you added, feeling a surge of emotion as the weight of family dynamics slipped for a moment.

"That’s really big of you," Cillian replied, his tone carrying a blend of admiration and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“It's not really," you shrugged, exhaling softly. “He is my dad. I love him and I just want him to move on, to have a life beyond the past. It's time and, to be honest with you, I think that it is time for you too…to move on I mean," you said, your heart racing as you inadvertently shifted the conversation back into uncharted territory.

Cillian’s gaze hardened slightly, reality settling back into the room like an unwelcome guest. "Y/N, it's not that simple," he replied, the depth of his voice underscoring the tension that hung in the air.

He set down his glass with a quiet thud, a small ripple of unease moving through the quiet atmosphere as you noticed the tension etched across his features.

“I know it’s not that simple, but you deserve to be happy too and, from what I have seen over the past few weeks, you are not," you continued as your breath caught at the sight of his blue eyes, those endless depths that made conversations feel dangerously intimate.

“It's -," he murmured, the weight of his voice heavy with unvoiced burdens as his eyes flicked up, searching yours, and something in the air thickened. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees. "How?" you challenged him to which Cillian sighed, shaking his head slowly as he weighed the words like stones in his mind.

"Danielle and I... we've tried everything," he finally confessed, his voice a low murmur as he looked away, the lines around his eyes deepening with fatigue. “Marriage counselling, taking breaks… none of it seems to make a difference. We’re always at each other’s throats," he admitted, the frustration seeping through his words as he rubbed the back of his neck, a telltale sign of the stress he carried.

“Then have you considered leaving her?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the intensity of your gaze not wavering as you searched his face for answers.

His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Many times," he admitted, his voice low and weary. "But when I took a break, things got worse. My youngest struggled in school. My son became insufferable, trying to play both sides. I had to come back; leaving just wasn’t an option,” he explained and you absorbed his words, your heart a heavy weight in your chest as you felt that familiar mix of empathy and concern.

"I know that it's a lot to carry, Cillian,” you said quietly, your gaze locked on his, tracing the deepening lines on his brow. “But, you staying in a marriage that has clearly failed, doesn’t seem fair to you and your children are old enough to understand that," you then continued, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you like a heavy fog. “Trust me, I have been there, caught up in the middle of it all as a teen and, in the end, the divorce between my parents was a blessing because I could see that my mum and dad were happier after it all went through,” you tried to reason.

Cillian leaned back, running a hand over his face as if to wipe away the burden lingering there. “I know, I know,” he sighed, his voice thick with frustration and desire. “And perhaps it is wrong that I am telling myself that I should just hang in there for a little while longer, purely for my children’s sake, but they are just not coping with me not being there for them, you know?" he said as you observed the conflict playing across his features, the deep creases of worry etched into his skin.

“Cillian,” you started, softening your voice, “They see the tension. They aren’t blind to that, especially not at their age, or my age even. Living in a house filled with unresolved arguments isn’t fair to them either. You being around but unhappy only makes things harder,” you argued gently, feeling warmth flush through your veins as you leaned even closer.

Cillian's gaze dropped, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “Maybe,” he muttered, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his glass again, the swirling wine reflecting the tumult in his mind. “It’s just that every time I think I can leave for good, Danielle makes up a new excuse so that I would come right back to her. Last time, it was the kids' grades slipping and, of course, she blamed me for it," he vented, frustration tightening his voice. “And then there comes her nagging, reminding me of every single moment she felt wronged and every choice that led us to this point,” he sighed heavily, the frustration lacing his voice as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s like a loop that never ends, Y/N. I can't seem to find a way out," he admitted, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he raked a hand through his hair and a heavy pause filled the space.

You leaned in closer, compelled to ease the weight draping over him like a shroud. “Cillian, you’re not trapped,” you said, your voice firm yet gentle, coaxing him to meet your gaze. “You have the power to choose your path. It’s daunting, I get that, but living in dissatisfaction isn’t life, it’s merely existing and your children should not think that this is normal either, because it’s not,” you told him and Cillian stared at you, his expression a storm of conflicting feelings.

“How on earth are you so mature for your age?” he asked, his voice almost incredulous, as if he was seeing you for the first time through a lens of clarity.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I guess I just grew up fast," you then said before silence enveloped you both, thick with unspoken emotions as Cillian's deep blue gaze bore into yours, reading between the lines.

“Can I ask you something?” you eventually asked, breaking the silence first and Cillian nodded slowly, his gaze still locked on yours, sharp and intent.

“Sure,” he replied, curiosity flaring in the depths of his blue eyes.

“Did you ever cheat on Danielle?” you questioned him, almost out of breath as you leaned back slightly, gauging his reaction. Cillian's expression shifted, a flash of irritation sparking in his eyes.

"What makes you ask that?" he wanted to know as his voice took on a sharper edge, fingers clutching his glass tightly.

“I just heard some rumours, I guess,” you replied carefully, gauging his response.

“Rumours?” he echoed, disbelief etching his features and you knew that you had to tell him the truth.

"Nina may have mentioned something about it. She overheard it somewhere and it got back to me," you confessed cautiously without revealing too much of what your friend had told you.

To your surprise, however, Cillian shook his head and he sighed. "Those rumours are just that—rumours,” he said simply, but looked at him as if you wanted to hear more, some sort of explanation or reasoning behind this statement.

“Danielle always had a tendency to stir the pot, especially when she felt threatened,” he thus eventually said, his voice clipped, the tension tightening around his frown.

“Threatened by what?” you pressed causing Cillian's expression to shift again, revealing a deeper layer of hurt beneath the surface.

“By the industry, by the actresses I work with, by the constant attention that comes with my job,” he confessed, frustration lacing his voice. “I’ve never stepped out on her—never even kissed anyone off-screen before last week when I really fucked up," he admitted, his voice thick with regret, a heaviness lingering in the air.

“You mean the kiss we shared?” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them, a tremor in your voice reflecting the weight of the moment.

Cillian’s gaze bore into yours, searching for truth in the depths of your eyes. “Yes," he admitted, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “The kiss we shared,” he confirmed, causing you to sigh.

"Like I said before, Cillian," you responded with urgency rising in your chest. “It was me who kissed you. Not the other way around. So, it shouldn’t count against you. You weren’t the one initiating it so you shouldn't feel guilty about it," you continued, your heartbeat quickening.

“Yes, I should," he said firmly, shaking his head as if to dispel the illusion with each word. "I enjoyed it too much, Y/N. That counts for something and, to tell you the truth, that evening, I wanted more," he admitted, the and the weight of that admission hung between you, a magnetic pull drawing you closer together.

"You wanted more?" you whispered, your heart racing as you dared to hold his gaze, searching his expression for sincerity. "But you pulled away?" you questioned, your breath hitching at the weight of his confession, trying to make sense of it all.

“Because I had to,” he said, the rawness of his voice sending a shiver through the quiet room. “It was wrong, and I knew that it couldn’t lead anywhere good," he finished softly, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the implications of his words.

"For what it's worth, I wanted more too," you whispered, your breath escaping in a soft rush before you continued. "I wanted to sleep with you that night and, to be honest with you, I still do," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, the confession unravelling between you like delicate thread winding through the fabric of the moment.

Cillian's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise glowing in the depths of his blue gaze.

"Y/N…" he started, his voice low and cautious, laced with an urgency that reverberated in the space between you.

“Cillian, I know that we shouldn’t -, ” you began, your heart hammering in your chest, “- and I know that I shouldn’t feel attracted to you like this, but I do,” you managed, your voice trembling under the weight of confession as you searched his eyes, begging for understanding.

“Why?" His question hung in the air like a delicate thread, weaving around the tension swirling between you, begging for an answer that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

"Why what?" you stammered, the intensity of his gaze piercing through your uncertainty.

"Why me?" Cillian pressed, his voice low and serious, the weight of your admission shifting the atmosphere as he leaned closer, demanding answers. "I mean, I am your friend's father. I am almost fifty, and you are in your twenties, so I don't understand how -," he began but you cut him off, a rush of emotion surging as you leaned in, the distance between you shrinking like the space left for hesitation.

"How I could be attracted to a 48-year old man?" you asked, your voice steadying with a slight chuckle as you leaned forward, heart racing.

Cillian nodded slowly, the weight of your words settling between you as he looked at you, his eyes full of questions..

"It's quite easy actually," you replied, a teasing smile lighting your face as his curiosity deepened.

“You are intelligent, kind and incredibly handsome," you finished, holding his gaze without flinching.

Cillian’s breath caught for a moment, surprise flitting across his features as a slow smile crept onto his lips. "Handsome? Right..." he echoed, a blend of incredulity and amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

"Well, it’s true," you replied, daring a smirk as you leaned back, crossing your arms defiantly. "And I never paid too much attention to it before. I mean, I always thought that you were a good looking man and all, but when we filmed that intense but somewhat awkward sex scene together the other week I realised just how attracted I am to you," you said, your voice steadying, remembering the rush of adrenaline mingled with desire in those stolen moments on set. "I had to try hard not to stare too much, you know?" you confessed, the heat creeping into your cheeks as you recalled the way your gaze had traced the contours of his face, every freckle and line before focusing on the patch of grey hair on his chest.

"Oh please," he laughed, shaking his head slightly, yet the corners of his lips betraying him, lifting ever so slightly with amusement.

"I am dead serious," you insisted, leaning in closer, the air thick with tension as the sincerity in your words turned his teasing tone into something far more lingering. "I think you are incredibly sexy Cillian and I know many other women my age do too,” you whispered, your heart pounding as the honesty rolled off your tongue, each word infused with a daring edge, thanks to the amount of liquor you had consumed that night.

Cillian's breath hitched, the open vulnerability shining in his blue eyes eliciting a warmth that filled the space between you both. You saw the flicker of something deeper within him, a released tension that seemed to weave around the lingering uncertainty until his defences finally broke down.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian murmured, the weight of your words settling around you like a warm, heavy blanket. "We can't," he then began as he ran a hand through his hair, visibly grappling with the storm of emotions swirling within him. But, before he could even finish his sentence, you spoke up again.

“But,” you said, your voice soft yet firm, leaning even closer as your heart hammered against your ribcage. “What if we just… let this happen? Just for a moment, to see where it takes us? Even just that once,” you whispered, the words hanging in the air like the promise of a storm.

Cillian’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for something palpable in your eyes.

His brows furrowed, and you could see the internal battle raging behind those blue depths, the weight of desire warring with his sense of responsibility.

A moment stretched between you, thick with unspoken possibilities, swirling emotions creating a tempest in the stillness of the apartment.

“I shouldn’t even be considering it,” Cillian said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, jagged with a mix of longing and guilt. “But there is something about you Y/N, something that makes it so hard to resist,” he confessed, his breath hitching as he leaned in closer, the warmth emanating from his body a magnetic pull that ignited something deep within you.

"Then don't resist," you whispered, your heart racing as you leaned even closer, the space between you practically non-existent now.

Cillian met your gaze, his blue eyes fierce and stormy as he caressed your cheek gently, his thumb grazing your skin with a featherlight touch that sent sparks of warmth coursing through you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at your heart as he leaned even closer, your breath mingling in the charged air between you.

“Shh," you murmured, closing the distance by leaning in further, your lips barely a breath away from his and it was in that very moment that his defences crumbled like dust in the wind.

With a low hum, Cillian's mouth brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he was testing the waters.

Your breaths mingled, the warmth of his exhale mingling with your own before, finally, your lips parted, inviting him to explore, to take what he had been craving.

Cillian's fingers, which had been tracing the line of your jaw, now delved into your hair, his palm cupping the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, a low groan escaping him.

The taste of wine lingered on his tongue, mixed with something much more primal and intoxicating. You let out a soft, needful sound, your body pressing closer to his as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even deeper into the kiss. His hands, meanwhile, roamed, exploring the curves of your body as if to catch up for lost time, each touch igniting a spark of desire that spread like wildfire through your veins.

The heat between you was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of your mutual attraction.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, the war he was waging with himself as his hands moved from your hair to your back, his fingers tracing the outline of your spine through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was a dance of sorts, a push and pull between desire and virtue, each touch a question without an answer.

Cillian pulled back slightly, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes, searching for a sign, a permission he wasn't sure he had.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the almost non existing stubble on his jaw. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please, don't stop."

Cillian's eyes darkened, the battle in them finally surrendering to the storm of desire that had been brewing between you both. He captured your mouth once more, his lips demanding and hungry now, and you met his intensity with your own, your hands fisting in his hair as you deepened the kiss.

You felt the weight of his body shift, pushing you back onto the couch, his hands roaming your body, tracing the curve of your hip, the small of your back, before settling on the hem of your shirt. With a swift movement, he pulled it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to tear the fabric over your head and toss it aside.

"You are beautiful," he groaned, his gaze roving over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

His hands moved to cup your breasts, the heat of his palms searing through the thin fabric of your bra. You arched into his touch, a low moan escaping your lips as he teased your nipples through the lace, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"God, Cillian..." you murmured, your voice a ragged whisper, your hips lifting off the couch in a plea for more. "I can't believe this is fucking happening," you gasped, looking down at his hands, at the way they cupped your breasts, at the way his thumbs teased your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure straight between your legs.

"Me neither," Cillian growled, the sound low and primal before spotting the clasp of your lace bra, conveniently located at the front . He expertly unclasped it with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours, as he slowly revealed you to him, inch by agonizing inch.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he gasped, his gaze drinking you in as he peeled the bra away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way you hadn't felt in a long time, not even with your ex. But there was something different about Cillian, a raw intensity that made you feel alive, every nerve ending on fire and you wanted more. So much more.

As if he had caught your cues, Cillian quickly removed his own t-shirt, leaving you with a view of his freckled chest, peppered with grey hair that you had admired so many times during that scene.

"So are you ," you whispered, your gaze tracing the contours of his chest, the lines and curves that told the story of a man who had lived and loved.

Cillian's hands moved to the button of your jeans, his fingers deftly undoing them before sliding the zipper down. You lifted your hips to help him, a shiver running down your spine as he peeled the denim away, leaving you clad only in a black lace thong.

"Jesus Y/N," he groaned, his voice thick with desire as he took in the sight of you, his eyes lingering on the small scrap of fabric that covered your most intimate area. "You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned himself between your legs.

You could feel the heat of him through his jeans, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your core, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, grinding against him in a silent plea for more.

"I think I do have some idea, seeing how hard you are right now," you whispered, your voice laced with a smoky sensuality that you had never known you possessed until now.

Cillian groaned in response, his hips moving against yours as your lips collided once more, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you. But then, he leaned back slightly and his gaze locked onto yours as he began to trail kisses down your neck.

"Fuck this feels nice," you whispered, your head falling back, exposing your delicate flesh to his eager mouth.

He nipped and sucked at your skin, his stubble scratching against your softness, sending shivers down your spine as, within less than a minute, he reached your right breast. He took that hardened nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before sucking hard, eliciting a moan from deep within you.

“Oh god,” you cried out, arching your back, offering him more of yourself.

He switched to the other breast, showing it the same attention, his hands roaming, groping your ass, pulling you against him, before changing direction and slowly sliding beneath your thong.

You wanted to be touched there, by him, but me made a point of teasing you. His fingers were inches away from your soaked core, yet he took his time, tracing the line of your thigh, sending shivers through your body.

"Cillian, please," you begged, your hips lifting in a silent plea, desperate for more.

"Please what?" he murmured, his voice a low growl against your skin as he continued his slow, torturous journey towards your centre, his fingers teasingly close, yet agonizingly far. "You need to tell me," he whispered, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh, making your body tremble with anticipation.

"I need you to touch me," you gasped, your voice barely more than a ragged plea. "I need you to fucking touch me, Cillian. Right fucking now."

He chuckled, a dark, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine before he finally brushed against your clit, the touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

You let out a small cry, your eyes fluttering closed as your head fell back against the couch.

"Yes, there," you moaned, your hips lifting as you ground against his hand, desperate for more pressure, more friction.

Cillian's fingers moved with precision, tracing the slick folds of your pussy, teasing your clit before dipping lower, pressing against your entrance. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard length of his cock straining against his jeans, desperate to be set free.

"Better now?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble, as he began to slowly push a finger inside you, his thumb continuing to rub your clit in small, circular motions.

"Yes," you moaned, your hips lifting to meet his hand, your body begging for more. "Oh god yes!"

Cillian complied with your silent pleas, his finger sliding deeper inside you, filling you in a way that made you gasp with pleasure. He then added a second finger, stretching you, preparing you for what was to come, suprised by just how tight you were.

"Fuck, you're so tight Y/N," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "And so fucking wet," he observed, and you could only moan in response, your head thrashing from side to side, your body on fire with need.

His fingers moved inside you, curling, searching for that spot that would make you see stars. When he found it, you cried out, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.

"Oh god, right there," you gasped, your eyes fluttering open to meet his as you never experienced this before. "Right fucking there, Cillian. Don't stop," you begged and, of course, he didn't stop.

His fingers worked you skillfully, mercilessly, their movements slick with your desire as he relentlessly stroked that spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Your moans filled the room, a symphony of need and ecstasy, as you rocked your hips against his hand, chasing the sensation, desperate for more.

"Cillian," you gasped, breathless, your eyes locked onto his. "Please, please, oh my god!"

Cillian's jaw clenched, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

He could feel the pressure building within you, the tension coiling like a spring ready to snap. He knew exactly what you needed, what you were begging for.

"Let go for me," he commanded, his voice a low growl, his fingers relentless as they stroked that spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. "Come for me, Y/N. Let me feel you come all over my hand."

His words, so filthy and so fucking perfect, sent you over the edge. Your body tensed, your back arching off the couch as you cried out his name, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity you had never felt before.

"Oh my god! Fuck!" you screamed, drenching Cillian's hand with your release as you bucked against his fingers, clenching and unclenching around them, your muscles clamping down as waves of pleasure rolled through you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

Cillian watched, mesmerized, as you came undone before him, your back arching, your breasts heaving, your eyes wild with ecstasy, squirting. He could feel your cum on his hand, slick and hot, and it drove him wild. He wanted more. He wanted all of you.

Intoxicated by your orgasm, Cillian's fingers were soaked in your release, a sight that made his cock throb with need. He reluctantly pulled his fingers from your warmth, bringing them to his lips, tasting you for the first time.

"Fuck, you taste amazing," he groaned, his voice laced with primal desire. He looked down at you, his eyes wild with hunger, and then at his hand, glistening with your arousal. "But I want to taste you properly," he said, his voice thick with lust.

He pushed himself to his knees on the floor, pulling you towards him, removing your soaked thong and spreading your legs wider.

You could feel the cool air against your heated flesh, making your skin prickle with anticipation as you completely ignored the wet puddle beneath you on the couch. Your brain was mush, and you felt almost disoriented from the pleasure you had just felt.

Cillian's eyes locked onto your pussy, now glistening with your release. He leaned forward, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh, sending shivers through your body.

"Oh fuck," you gasped as his tongue darted out, licking you from bottom to top, his stubble scratching against your skin.

"Mmm," he hummed, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through you as he savored the remands of your cum on his tongue. "You taste so fucking perfect."

You groaned, your hands fisting in his hair as you pressed him closer, desperate for more. "Please, Cillian," you begged, your voice a ragged whisper. "Don't tease me."

He chuckled, the sound low and dirty as he dove back in, his tongue lapping at your clit, drawing out moans that you could barely control. He sucked and nipped, his mouth working you in a way that made your vision blur and your body tingle.

You could feel the pressure building inside you again, even faster than before. You were so fucking sensitive, every touch, every lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

You spread your legs wider, giving him better access, your hips lifting to meet his mouth. "Fuck, Cillian, don't stop. Please don't stop," you begged, your voice ragged with need. Your hands clutched at the cushions, your knuckles white as you gripped them tight, desperate for something to anchor you to reality.

Cillian was relentless, his tongue and teeth working in perfect harmony, driving you insane with pleasure.

You couldn't believe how good he was at this, how he seemed to know exactly what to do, how to touch you, how to make you feel everything all at once. It was almost too much, way too much to bear and yet, you wanted even more.

"I can't...I can't fucking take it anymore," you panted, your body writhing under Cillian's expert ministrations. "Please Cillian, I need you inside me. I need your fucking cock inside me, right now."

Cillian groaned, his breath hot against your pussy, sending shivers down your spine. He looked up, his blue eyes locked onto yours, wild with desire as he listened to the filth spill from your mouth. The raw, unbridled want in your voice made his cock throb even harder, the pressure heightening until it was almost painful.

"Fuck," he thus growled, his voice low and primal as he too could not take it anymore.

He stood up abruptly, pushing his jeans down his legs, bringing his black briefs into view. You could see the outline of his cock through the fabric, hard and ready, a wet spot at the tip indicating his desire.

"Please , Cillian," you begged again, your voice thick with need, your gaze locked onto his cock desperate for him to free it from its confinement. "I want to see all of you, and I want to feel you inside me," you begged and Cillian groaned, the sound low and guttural as he finally pushed his briefs down, freeing his cock.

It sprang out, hard and heavy, the thick shaft pulsing with need.

"Fuck," you gasped, your eyes widening at the sight of him, your pussy clenching with anticipation. He was larger than you had expected, with thick veins running along his shaft, and the sight of him like that, so hard and ready for you, sent a surge of fresh desire coursing through your veins.

Cillian kicked off his jeans and briefs, standing before you completely naked, his cock standing to attention and a bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip, before he kneeled down again, crawling onto the couch and positioning himself between your legs.

"Fuck, I don't have a condom," he said, his voice thick with desire, his eyes never leaving yours as reality came crashing back into your mind—the reality that neither of you were prepared for this moment.

"I'm on the pill," you replied, your voice a breathless whisper. "It's fine," you assured him, your eyes locked onto his as he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock just barely teasing your slick folds.

Cillian's gaze darkened, desire and need swirling in the depths of his blue eyes as he looked down at you, poised and ready to take you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, the words low and primal. “You have no idea how much I want to be inside you, ever since that fucking kiss," he then added, his cock twitching in anticipation, the pre-cum leaking from his tip against your folds, the sight of it making your mouth water in the most inappropriate way.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your arousal, the wetness a testament to your desire. You let out a ragged breath, your hips lifting to meet his, desperate to feel him inside you.

“Cillian, please,” you begged, your voice a low moan. “I need you. I need your cock inside me.”

He didn't need further encouragement.

With a groan, Cillian pushed the head of his cock into your tight, wet heat, filling you inch by inch. You gasped at the sensation of him stretching you, your body adjusting to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly sank deeper into you. "You feel so fucking good, Y/N."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you had never felt like this before. The heat and pressure of him inside you made your head spin.

"Fuck, Cillian," you gasped, your nails digging into his back as you felt him sink deeper, inch by agonizing inch. You could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock, pulsing inside you, sending shivers down your spine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he ground out, his hips moving slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. You let out a soft moan, your body humming with pleasure, the sensation overwhelming as he began to move inside you.

He had only been the second man you had ever been with, but you knew already that it would be hard for anyone else to compete with what he made you feel.

The slow, deliberate pace of his thrusts drove you wild, a beautiful, agonizing torture.

"More," you gasped, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. "Please," you begged, knowing that he was teasing you again.

"God, you are impatient," he chuckled, his voice tight with restraint. "You feel too fucking good for me to rush this."

"Fuck, Cillian, please!" you pleaded, your hips rising to meet his slow, deliberate thrusts.

Cillian's eyes flickered with intensity, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control. "You're going to have to be patient," he growled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips, and you moaned against his lips, your body aching for more.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, and his eyes locked onto yours. "But god, you're beautiful like this, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he began to thrust all the way in, finally. "I love hearing you beg and feeling you clench around me."

You gasped, your hips meeting his thrusts, your body adjusted to his size now, the pleasure building once again. "Yes," you cried out, your nails raking across his shoulders. "Oh god yes!" you almost screamed as the head of his cock hit your cervix over and over again. It was a sensation you had never experienced before. You were on fire, your body consumed by the heat of his touches, the sound of his voice, the taste of his skin. You were lost in the moment, in the feeling of him, and you never wanted it to end.

"Don't stop! Don't fucking stop!" you cried out, your nails digging deeper into his back as you felt him start to pick up his pace, his hips slamming against yours with a force that sent your breath hitching and your body arching off the couch.

Cillian's eyes were fixed on yours, his gaze intense and hungry as he watched you take him, watched you lose yourself in the pleasure he was giving you. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire and a hint of dominance. "You like it when I fuck you hard."

You couldn't respond, couldn't find the words to answer him.

All you could do was nod your head, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he continued to pound into you, his hips slamming against yours. You could feel the pleasure coiling inside you, tight and intense, ready to explode at any second.

Cillian must have seen it in your eyes, must have felt it in your body, because he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Come for me, Y/N," he groaned, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me feel you come all over my cock."

His dirty words were your undoing again and your body began to shudder as the orgasm built inside you, ready to explode. You could feel it, like a dam ready to burst, the pressure building and building until you thought you might explode from the sheer intensity of it.

"Cillian," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back, your body writhing beneath him. "I'm going to come. Oh god, I'm going to come," you cried out, your voice ragged with need.

"That's it, baby," Cillian growled, his voice low and primal. "Come for me. Come all over my fucking cock," he growled into your ear, his words sending electric bolts of pleasure through your body.

You could feel it building, the pressure inside you ready to explode. You clenched around him, your inner muscles tightening as your body prepared to shatter.

"Cillian!" you screamed, your voice high and breathless as the orgasm slammed into you, your back arching off the couch as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Your nails dug deeper into his back, your body convulsing as you came, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock, milking him for everything he had.

Cillian groaned, his hips moving in rapid, shallow thrusts as he chased his own release, his body straining with the effort.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick with lust and exertion. "You feel so fucking good. You're so tight, so wet. I can't get enough of you," he panted, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

You moaned, your body still trembling from the force of your orgasm as you felt him begin to swell inside you, his cock throbbing with the impending release.

"Do you want me to pull out?" Cillian asked, his voice a low growl as he felt his cock pulsing, ready to explode.

You shook your head, your eyes locked onto his. "No," you whispered, your voice still ragged with pleasure. "I want you to come inside me, Cillian. I want to feel it. I want to feel all of you."

Cillian groaned, his hips quickening, his cock throbbing with the force of his impending release. You could feel him, deep inside you, swelling and pulsing, ready to fill you with his cum.

The thought of it sent a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, and you clenched around him, your inner muscles milking him, urging him on.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian groaned, his hips moving faster now, his thrusts shallow and rapid as he chased his release. "You're going to make me come so hard," he panted, his voice thick with desire and exertion. "But I want to make you come again first. I want to feel you come all over my cock one more time."

His words sent a fresh jolt of pleasure through your body, your nerves still humming from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but when he pulled out, you couldn't help but whimper in protest.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your hips lifting in a silent plea for him to fill you again.

"Turn around and lean against the back of the couch," Cillian instructed, his voice a low growl, thick with desire.

You complied, your body still humming with pleasure as you shifted your position, leaning against the back of the couch with your ass presented to him. You looked at him over your shoulder, your eyes dark with need and anticipation.

Cillian stood for a moment, his gaze roving over your body, taking in every curve and line before he stepped forward, his cock hard and ready still. He grasped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he positioned himself behind you.

You could feel the heat of his cock against your ass, the dampness of your arousal coating his shaft. You bit your lip, anticipation coursing through your veins as you awaited his next move.

"Spread your legs wider," he commanded, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. You complied, your body eager to please him, to feel him inside you again. You spread your legs, exposing yourself to him completely, your pussy slick and ready for him.

Cillian groaned, the sound low and primal as he rubbed the head of his cock against your entrance again before kissing your neck from behind. "You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look like this," he murmured, his cock twitching with anticipation as he traced the shell of your ear with his tongue. "You are just perfect," he whispered, his voice thick with desire as he ran his hands over your curves, his fingers dipping between your legs to tease your clit before he slipped two inside you again, scissoring you open, a reminder of the pleasure he could give.

You moaned, your head falling back against his chest, your eyes fluttering closed as you arched into his touch. "God, Cillian," you gasped, your hips lifting to meet his hand, desperate for more. "Fuck me, please. I need your cock back inside me. Don't make me beg!"

Cillian chuckled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. "Begging is half the fun though, isn't it?" he whispered, his voice a low growl. But he knew he couldn't tease you much longer, not with the way your body was trembling with need.

He guided his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head against your slit, eliciting a loud moan from you. "You're so fucking wet," he groaned, his voice thick with desire as he finally pushed in, this time with one swift, deep thrust.

"Fuck!" you cried out, the force of his entry momentarily stealing your breath away. Your hands gripped the back of the couch for support, your knuckles white as you felt him fill you completely, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating.

Cillian held still for a moment, his cock throbbing inside you as he let you adjust to his size. "You alright?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, concern laced with lust.

"Yes," you panted, your voice barely more than a breath.

"I'm more than alright. I'm fucking perfect right now."

Cillian chuckled, a dark, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Good," he growled, his hips beginning to move, pulling back before thrusting into you again, harder this time.

He reached around to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he began to move inside you, his cock slamming against your cervix with each thrust.

"Oh fuck, that's deep," you groaned, the sound of your voice a mixture of pleasure and pain. It was a sensation you had never felt before, and you loved it.

"Too deep?" Cillian asked, his voice a low growl, as he leaned over you, his hot breath on your neck while he traced two fingers over your clit now, circling them over it for extra stimulation.

"No, fuck! It's perf...fucking perfect," you managed to gasp, your voice ragged with need and exertion.

Cillian grunted in approval, his hips moving with a primal rhythm, his cock pounding into you with forceful thrusts that sent electric shocks of pleasure rippling through your body.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so perfect around my cock," he growled, his words thick with lust and effort. "I can feel you clenching around me, milking me dry. It's so fucking hot."

His fingers worked your clit with expert precision, circling and teasing, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Oh my god I am so fucking close again! Please, Cillian, don't stop!" You pleaded, your body aching for release, your muscles tensing with the need to come.

Cillian's fingers continued to work your clit, his strokes expert and relentless, driving you ever closer to the edge. His cock was a piston inside you, slamming against your cervix with brutal force, each thrust eliciting a loud cry of pleasure and pain from you.

"That's it, Y/N," Cillian groaned, his voice thick with lust and exertion. "Come for me again!"

His words were fuel to the fire burning inside you. You could feel the pressure building once again, the tension coiling in your core, ready to snap. His cock pounded into you, each thrust hitting your cervix with a force that sent electric shocks of pleasure through your body. His fingers worked your clit with expert precision, his strokes relentless, driving you ever closer to the edge.

"Cillian," you gasped, your voice ragged and breathless. "I'm so fucking close. Oh god, Cillian, I'm so close!" you gasped, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. Your nails raked against the back of the couch, your knuckles white from the force of your grip.

Cillian's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he slammed into you with increased fervor. "That's it, Y/N," he growled, his voice deep and primal. Show me how much you fucking want this."

His words sent you spiraling over the edge.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your body tensed, your back arching as you cried out, “Cillian! Fuck!"

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you convulsed around him. You could feel your juices gushing out, soaking his cock and your thighs. The sensation was overwhelming, and you screamed his name, your voice echoing through the apartment.

Cillian grunted, his hips pounding into you with increased force, chasing his own release.

"Watching you come is the hottest thing I've ever seen," he said but you couldn't respond, your body still writhing with pleasure, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he continued to fuck you, his cock swelling and throbbing inside you.

"And I am so fucking close as well," he groaned, his voice thick with lust and exertion. "I want to fill you, Y/N. I want to fill you with my cum. Is that what you want?" he panted, his fingers tightening on your hips as he thrust into you with renewed urgency.

"Oh god yes," you managed to gasp, your voice still ragged with pleasure. "I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up," you said and your words sent him over the edge.

With a deep, guttural groan, Cillian's cock began to pulse inside you, his hips moving in rapid, shallow thrusts as he chased his release. "Fuck, Y/N," he panted, his voice thick with lust and effort as you clenched around him, your inner muscles tightening as you urged him on, desperate to feel him come.

Cillian's body tensed, his muscles straining as he fought to maintain control, his cock throbbing with the need for release until, finally, he thrust in deep and stilled.

"Fuck," he groaned loudly and deeply against your shoulder, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his cum, the sensation sending electric shocks of pleasure through your body.

You could feel it, the heat of his seed, filling you, marking you as his own. The thought sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you, your pussy clenching around him as if to milk him for every last drop.

"Y/N," Cillian panted, his forehead resting against your damp hair, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. "God , that was...fuck...," he said, lost for words as his breathing was still ragged from the force of his orgasm.

You nodded in agreement, your body still humming with pleasure as you felt him slowly slide out of you, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness that you never wanted to experience again.

While he was kissing the back of your neck and shoulder, you could feel his cum slowly oozing out, down your thighs, that was the most erotic sensation that you had ever had. You could almost feel it drip onto the couch, and that made you want to lick it up. You wanted to taste his cum, your cum, combined, so you reached between your legs and scooped up a fingerful before turning around and bringing it up to your mouth.

You licked it off, your tongue swirling around your fingers, making sure to get every last drop while he watched you, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction.

"We taste good together," you murmured, your voice low and husky.

Cillian groaned, a sound that came from deep within him, his cock already hardening again, but his mind was conflicted now. He knew that what you had just shared was wrong. He had always been a responsible man, especially when it came to his friends and family, but by sleeping with you he had wronged them both.

But for now, he pushed these thoughts of guilt aside, unable to resist the raw and immediate desire that still burned between you. He pulled you into his arms, one hand tangled in your hair, the other cupping your ass, his mouth crushing down onto yours in a fierce, desperate kiss; a kiss that tasted of you and him, combined.

"Fuck," he groaned against your lips, "We do taste good together and you are fucking addictive, you know that?" he said after lips drifted apart just enough to let him talk.

You smiled, pulling him back into a kiss, your tongue clashing with his, tasting the remnants of your combined flavors. "I could say the same," you whispered against his lips, before pulling away, your eyes searching his face. "But I think we should get some sleep. It's 4am," you whispered, breaking the kiss and smiling up at him.

Cillian nodded, his hand still cupping your ass, his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "Yes, we should," he said. "I should probably go," he added, reluctance heavy in his voice as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"No," you insisted, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest. "Stay. We can sleep, then... maybe do this again in the morning."

Cillian hesitated, his forehead furrowing as he considered your words. "Y/N, I—"

You placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. "Just stay. Please. Just tonight. I know that this may be a one-time thing, so we should make the most of it," you whispered, your voice soft, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

You could see the internal battle raging behind his blue eyes, the struggle between desire and duty. You knew that he wasn't the kind of man to do things half-heartedly, and you also knew that he was very aware of the implication of their actions.

Cillian sighed, his arms tightening around you before he nodded, conceding to your request. "Alright, just for tonight," he murmured, his voice heavy with the weight of his decision. He knew that this was a bad idea, but the desire coursing through his veins was too strong to resist.

He had never felt this way about anyone in a very long time, and the thought of leaving now was unbearable. He decided to stay, at least for the night, and deal with the consequences in the morning.

With that, you led him to your bedroom which was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp from the floor next to your bed.

He pulled back the covers and gestured for you to get in first and, with an almost silent nod, you slid beneath the warm blankets, the cool sheets a stark contrast to your heated skin.

Cillian followed suit, turning off the lamp before slipping into bed next to you , his body radiating warmth as he pulled you close.

You snuggled against him, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped across his torso. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was comforting, and you closed your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

"Goodnight, Cillian," you murmured, your voice soft and sleepy.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, his voice gentle and laced with affection. He tangled his fingers in your hair, gently playing with the strands as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat, feeling the tension within him slowly easing.

You knew he was still battling with his decision to stay, but you were grateful that he had chosen to put his desires above his concerns, at least for the night.

As you lay there, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, you couldn't help but think about the connection you shared. It was more than just physical attraction; there was something deeper, something that drew you to him, even though he was more than twice your age. You felt seen and understood by him in a way that you hadn't experienced with anyone else.

"Cillian?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Hmm?" he replied, his fingers still gently playing with your hair.

"Nothing," you said, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment. "Its just... thank you for staying ," you whispered, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest in the soft light cast by the moon through the window. "I don't think I could have handled it if you left right now."

Cillian's chest rose and fell beneath your head, his breath warm against your skin. "And I couldn't have left," he murmured, his voice soft and low. "Despite everything, I don't want to be anywhere else right now." His confession surprised both of you, but it felt right, true.

You nuzzled closer, breathing in the scent of him, a mix of his cologne and the remnants of your shared passion. The silence between you was comfortable, not awkward, and with that, you eventually drifted off to sleep , your body relaxed and sated, safe in his arms.

Your sleep was, however, short-lived when, at around 8 o'clock, the door bell rang. You groaned, burying your face deeper into his chest, not wanting to wake up yet. But the incessant ringing forced you to stir.

"Shit," you then cursed while Cillian looked at you, his face curious and worried.

"Are you expecting someone?" Cillian asked, his voice still groggy with sleep.

"No, not really," you replied, your head still buried in his chest as you tried to remember if you had any early morning appointments scheduled. "It might be a delivery though. I wouldn't be suprised if my dad ordered some groceries for me earlier this week, because he has this misconception that I could starve to death when he is not here," you murmured, trying to recall any such conversations. "I'll go check."

Reluctantly, you slipped out of Cillian's warm embrace and out of the bed, grabbing your robe from the foot of your bed and wrapping it around you before padding to the door and picking up the intercom.

"Hello?" you said into the intercom, your voice still thick with sleep.

A familiar voice came through the speaker, and you gasped in shock, realising who it was.

"Hey Y/N, it's me. I have some coffee and bagels! Are you going to let me in?" Nina asked through the intercom, her voice cheerful and, of course, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to come up with an explanation as to why you could not let her come upstairs.

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