knuckle velvet
synopsis. he walks you home, then lets himself in.
pairing. logan howlett x f!reader. tags. [18+] dubious consent, vaginal penetration, female receiving oral sex, spitting. honey don't feed it, it'll come back type beat.
Some deep part of Canada, where everything was white.
Snowstorms that swarmed through the sky, and the only warmth you could find came from the bottom of a bottle.
The wood floor of the sticky bar you worked in was soaked from frost covered boots – haphazardly scraped across the welcome mat, owners preoccupied with getting their first drink than keeping the place tidy.
You existed there, behind the bar that patrons lent against, like a metal cage with leering onlookers. They paid in drinks, but you took the money home as tips, your warmth stoked in a fireplace.
How you’d ended up there in that forgotten part of the world, you didn’t know.
Perhaps you’d followed a narrow path, one strung out with thorns and rubbish, but the money was okay.
When it got slow, and there wasn’t much else to do, your boss let you read a bit, too, while you sipped on your endless supply of Coca-Cola.
At the end of your shift, your teeth were fuzzy from all the sugar.
An easy existence, but some nights, the patrons got too friendly.
They were fresh off their trucks, looking for some place warm to bury for the night, but you weren’t offering.
So, you’d peer at them, watch them make a fool of themselves as they spewed putrid words in your general direction – alcohol and lack of sleep causing the floor to sway from beneath their feet.
It was always the new boys who would try it.
Risk it all for a chance between your thighs, unaware of the hound sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and a vendetta.
The first time he fought for you, the air had changed. Gone cloudy with the chance of a brawl – that sixth sense that all bartenders have switching on.
“Lady said no, ain’t she?” he bellowed from across the bar.
The voice thick with smoke and alcohol, you recognised him as the guy who’d been drinking whiskey all night, but he was as sober as a nun. No stumble to his step, or slur to his cadence, either.
He was built like an oak tree. You noticed when you served him. Slid him his drink and gazed at the sheer bulk of him. At the weathered, handsome age to his face, to the spray of grey in his brown hair.
His thick arms were snugly buried under a button up shirt, and you didn’t see, but rather imagined, the way his muscular legs were stuffed into jeans, and the way his size 12’s rested against the hardwood.
His eyes though, were hiding something. Milky brown concealing his curiosity – easily done with the hard panes of his face.
You imagined letting him take you home, and you thought about being friendly, before a whisper in the back of your cranium told you to back off.
Perhaps safer.
You didn’t know where this man had come from, let alone where he’d been. So, you continued to serve him drinks, and tried to ignore the quiet hum of his presence, until the hum turned to a crash.
The patron was scorned. He paused, and turned to the end of the bar, where the brown eyed stranger was waiting. “What’s it to you?” he slurred.
But the man with the whiskey wasn’t looking to him. He sipped his drink, and said, “she said no. You don’t remember your manners?”
The bar adorned an eerie quiet. Nerves sat low in your belly, heart picking up speed.
“This guy serious?” he asked you.
You went to say something, but he was already throwing words at the stranger.
“She yours or something?”
“It matter?”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
The stranger scoffed, and brought his drink to his lips, “whatever bub.”
“We got a problem?” the man uttered, stalking towards him, but his friend took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, forcing him to deflate.
You wondered what he’d uttered. Whether there were rumours about the guy – a reputation you didn’t know about.
Brown eyes didn’t bat an eye when the man and his buddy slid out the door, cold filling the room before the door slammed shut.
The bar exhaled.
People went back to their business, and you thought about it, you really did. Thought about leaving him alone. Going back to your measly existence. Your home – the pit for all of your things.
But it didn’t win over in the end.
You topped up his drink. He took it, and glanced at you, brown eyes ringed with mystery.
“That happen often?” he uttered, voice a gruff grunt.
You put the bottle down, and looked away, thinking back to last week when you nearly fought a guy for staring for too long. You glanced back to him.
“Sometimes.”
“Your boss is an asshole for letting you work here alone.”
“That so?” you laughed, shocked at his candour. He nodded and downed his drink, eyeing you from over the rim.
Finished, he put the glass down on the bar, and shrugged his jacket on. He got up to leave, and you felt a chasm begin to open up in your chest.
You went to say something. Anything, to make him stay. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.
His jaw was clenched when he tentatively offered, “be safe.”
When you locked up, he was waiting for you.
It didn’t scare you. Really, it should, but when you left the bar and saw him standing there, toking on a cigar in the cold, all it did was make you pause. He stood there, gazing at you, eyes clouded by smoke.
“You waiting for me?” you uttered, making it real, even if the light drift of snow was giving the world a dream like quality.
He shrugged. “Just waiting.”
You nodded, and put the bar keys in your bag, ignoring the chasm get wider. If he was going to rob the place, he’d have to get through layers of receipts and tissues to get in. But you knew the bar wasn’t what he was after.
Something about his posture, the luring look in his brown eyes — curious, like he was trying to figure something out.
You began to walk past him, but when he didn’t follow, you paused. You peered over your shoulder, and he was still looking at you.
Taking you in.
“Well,” you started, hitching your bag up your arm, “you gonna walk me home, or what?”
He followed you in comfortable silence.
Just you, the night, and the crunch of dirt under his boots. His cigar smoke drifted by, and it wafted through your subconscious, followed by pine, and crisp scent of the snow.
He sounded like the noise of the woods — ever present in these parts. A comfort, if one had adapted to its unpredictability. When you got to your familiar walkway, you opened the gate, but he didn’t follow you through.
Instead, he stood by the entrance, watching you unlock your door like he’d just dropped you off from a date.
it was when you were halfway through that he spoke up.
“You work every night?”
“Yeah,” you started quickly, looking to him. “Apart from Wednesday and Sunday.”
He considered you, then gave you a sharp nod, and turned to leave.
That’s how you ended up with a wolf at your door.
Every night, he was the last one left, then he silently walked you home.
Some nights, you’d find him leaning against the entrance, and he’d quietly peel away from the door and follow you. At first, he simply walked closely behind, a looming shadow, until he began walking beside you.
Then one night, you let him in.
Made him a cup of coffee to fight off all the liquor he consumed, and he sat at your kitchen table, and drank every drop.
Watched you in the low, fluorescent lighting, and you did the same. Curiously studied him. He looked different in your home. In your kitchen. Looked a little softer around the edges, even if he couldn’t relax completely.
It went like that for a while. It was on one of these nights that he gave you his name, followed by a shitty cup of coffee. Sometimes two.
Maybe a biscuit, or a piece of cake. Leftovers turned into home cooked meals. Sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Lasagna.
Sipped at your cup of tea as he slopped up his pasta, using the back of his hand to wipe the sauce off his mouth.
You left him finishing off his plate to get ready for bed, and it was when you were sorting your hair out, that he came into your bedroom and began taking his boots off.
You stood at your mirror and watched him place them near your door.
Then he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.
One by one, you watched his thick fingers reach the bottom. He took it off, revealing a white tank off and broad chest, and hung the shirt up on your door frame.
Jeans next.
Popped the button and shucked them to his feet -- threw them with his boots and dragged himself towards your bed.
You went to say something. Anything.
But he looked so exhausted as he crashed onto your frilly bed, that all you could manage was, “You lock the door?”
Logan nodded. His eyes were already closed, and he was hugging the pillow when he uttered, “you coming to bed, or what?”
You let him stay the night.
Maybe it was raining, maybe he was too tired – it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that he was warm, and sometimes, when you woke and felt the terrifying ache of being alive, he’d be there to quiet the pain.
Hush you with the soft swell of his lips and wandering hands.
You’d come with a hushed whisper, hot and sticky over his calloused fingers -- drowsy from how high he took you. Then he’d kiss you, fix your clothes, and go back to sleep.
Always the middle of the night. When it was dark and quiet out, and it felt as if you were the last people alive.
His skilled hands bringing you to the brink, a soft kiss, then back to bed.
You would wait for it. Watch him nurse his whiskey at the end of the bar, the night dragging with every drink you poured. Then, he watched you lock up.
Waited at the door for you, so you could walk home together, wordlessly taking the familiar trail.
He’d eat, you’d watch, then leave for your room.
Once, you woke to his head between your thighs. The night was quiet, room dark – slither of moonlight from your window cutting a line through your bodies.
You were slick with sweat, and as you flexed your taunt muscles, they fizzled and singed. Hot heat pushed low in your belly, rooted between your thighs.
Logan hummed, and you reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, whimpering his name to grab his attention.
He had palm fulls of you. Fists of your thighs, soft of your belly, leaving marks with his desire – desperation. The first thing he did was apologise. Muttered a hoarse, m’sorry, into your soaking cunt, but continued tasting you.
You used his hair as leverage, and hitched your hips up an inch, causing his nose to bump into your sensitive clit, and you hissed, as if in pain, but the sound trailed off into something similar to his name, and Logan grunted, moving your hips further up so he could twist a thick finger inside.
You took all he gave.
Moaned into the pillow beside you as you rocked your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. Said shit you didn’t mean, but meant all the same, and Logan got off on it.
This mysterious man who had taken over your life, grunted your name like it belonged to him. Made you come on his thick beard and puffy lips, then made you taste yourself as he kissed you.
You hugged his sweat slick frame to you, fingers scratching his scalp, mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock. You were content to just kiss him, until he dragged his fingers between your thighs again.
You startled, gasping into his hot mouth, but Logan hummed, near smiling against your lips.
“’think there’s another in there for me,” he drawled.
When he fucked you, there was so much of him that you went blind with it. Eyes half lidded, delirious as he pushed inside, making himself fit. Stuffing you full, then pulling out, just to feel it all over again.
Again and again.
You moaned his name into his soaked, scarred chest. Felt yourself leave your body, so hot, so wet, that it was all sensation. Just the slap of his hips against yours, the feel of his hands on your tits, in your mouth, telling you to open wide.
He spat, and when he missed, he smeared the mess off of your chin and rubbed it into your cunt.
Made you come, then filled you with his own. Leant back, and watched it drip out of you. You were so consumed by him, that you didn’t have enough energy to feel self-conscious.
No, when he had his wild eyes on you, you reached between your thighs and stuffed it back inside.
The next evening, and he was back at the bar, waiting for you to bring him his whiskey. When you placed it in front of him, those wild eyes were on you again.
Waiting. Always waiting.
Waiting to play out your usual routine.
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category : 米哈游 原神 work title : another woman claims to be his girlfriend?
with a subtle bow of your head, you raise the teacup to your awaiting lips, a veil of porcelain disguising the laughter that threatened to escape. how absurd… you muse, as you savor a sip of your tea.
far across — two tables away, there sits one of the new acts of lyney and lynette’s show. she was interesting, to say the least. she sings tall tales with intricate detail, weaving major falsehoods about the nature of her relationship with him.
her words describe his love confession, demanding they be together because he couldn’t bear a day without her. she didn’t fail to mention how his sister adores her and refers to her as ‘my future sister-in-law.’
the outlandish narrative lasts with an overt nudge about his frequent visits to her dressing room after every show, which you tune out due to its unsavory implications.
most women would have risen from their seats, confronting her for spewing fantasies about their lover; not you, though. instead, you stay rooted in your place, your curiosity piqued for what else she might spin.
you were engrossed, and if you were to be fully honest, you would’ve readily admit to the guilty pleasure of eavesdropping on the mundane conversations of strangers. your penchant for gossip was shared with your lover, turning it into an unusual pastime. it was a fun exchange of information over cups of coffee or tea, normally ending with one of you left scandalized by what was said. archons, were you excited to tell him about what you overhead…
“do you swear not to say a word about this to another living soul?” her voice hushed to a near whisper, but it still carries to those within earshot.
“of course! right, ladies?” one of the women quips, with the other two chiming in agreement, creating a chorus of “yes!” and “we’ll keep quiet!”
“if you say so…” she takes a deep breath, as if the weight of her revelation was a heavy burden about to be lifted. “lyney and i are dating…” her shoulders then turn slack, exhibiting the instant wave of relief that washes over her.
you couldn’t help it; a snort of amusement passes your lips. it earned you a few disapproving glances from the nearby patrons, chastising your lack of propriety in a public setting.
she embarks on an exhausting tangent, yakking on the long months she had to weather before she could have confided in her dear friends about her supposed private affair.
she emphasized how lyney insisted on maintaining it under wraps for over a year — eh, wrong! the twins met her for the first time five months ago — out of his desire to protect her from the clutches of obsessed fans and admirers.
the longer she spoke, the closer her stories cross into more ridiculous territory. at one point, she spun a yarn about his grandiose profession of love for their anniversary, including dedicating an entire routine inspired by her.
however, what left you scratching your head was the lack of skepticism from her friends. a quick read of her body language would’ve shone a light at her deception. it had you questioning whether you had somehow gone mad or if they were genuinely as dim-witted as they seemed.
“i knew it! no wonder you’ve been smiling a lot lately!”
“ah, i’m so jealous~! sigh, he’s such a handsome man.”
“so romantic… i wish that was me!”
assessing the present circumstances, one might figure you would now reveal all of her lies. you didn’t. rather, you found yourself more inclined to watch and observe how this fiasco will play out.
you trust lyney, enough to know he loves you and wouldn’t pursue another woman behind your back, especially a woman he and his sister worked with. it allowed you to cast aside your initial worries about her and her interest in him. regardless of your opinion, she did her job well, even though you secretly wished she wasn’t so uncomfortably obsessed with him — a notion she made no effort to hide.
clearly, given what you were witnessing.
“oh, look, ladies! here he comes!” one of their voices pierces the air, overtly eager to see the ‘happy couple’ they were led to believe. conversely, lyney’s self-proclaimed lover appears to be positively distraught.
the man in question enters cafe lucerne, his gaze firmly laid on you. he shows little to no mind towards the group of women who shadow his every move. he walks by and greets you with a kiss on the cheek, taking the vacant chair in front of you.
“and how was your day, ma belle?” he removes his hat then runs his fingers through his hair — a simple gesture that left you swooning.
his charming demeanor momentarily distracts you from the comedic disaster unfolding in the background.
it was a tumultuous stir of “huh… who’s that?” and “gasp, is he cheating on you?” while the two of you converse in mindless chatter. one second, he was recounting his chores for the day; and the next, three indignant women loom over him whereas the source of this mayhem cowers in the back.
“ugh, the audacity to have a mistress and meet her in broad daylight! you have no shame!”
he glances from you to them, genuine bewilderment etched upon his face. “i beg your pardon?”
“oh, don’t play dumb! you know exactly what you’re doing!” another of the women upturns her nose at him.
witnessing the heated back-and-forth, it was remarkable to find that even arouet was invested in the drama.
it transforms into a three-versus-one impasse, but you were impressed by how gracefully he navigated through their baseless accusations. the culmination of the situation came when recognized his ‘lover’ and didn’t hesitate to call her by name, pressing answers for the lies she’d been spreading to her friends.
“i think you’ve all been misled, the only woman i’m seeing is this lovely one right here.” he turns then directs the gentlest of smiles at you.
unable to resist the itch, you finally laugh at the sudden turn of events. karma was indeed on the prowl, and to be a bystander for the incoming argument after she made a fool out of her friends, just to feed her delusion, was gratifying… for one of you, at least.
“care to tell me what just happened?” lyney tuts, his fingers extending across the table to grasp your hand in his, urging to draw your focus on him.
“later,” you mutter, absorbed by the evolving spectacle. it’s obvious you both will spend the whole evening discussing this…
from the very start, you weren’t one to rejoice in having any eyes on you. it was natural your bond with the one and only wanderer flourished discreetly.
this change in your life required no announcement. it wasn’t information that demanded broadcasting to the world; it could exist on its own if someone were to ask, you’d directly confirm the status of your relationship. otherwise, you find it irrelevant to insert this in areas where it held no relevance.
in the comfort of your solitude, you thrive, cocooned from nosy onlookers. your happiness, his happiness — these two were what truly mattered to you.
as time flowed by, your connection deepened, evolving into a union that grew stronger with each passing moment you shared. it was a sensation both of you held dear, a genuine and keen emotion that, if you dare to admit, could be called ‘love.’
of course, you weren’t ignorant to assume that your journey would be obstacle-free. beyond his undeniable intellect and esteemed role as the assistant and confidant of the dendro archon, he also began to draw attention for his otherworldly beauty.
you were aware that you might coming across his admirers one day. after all, you weren’t oblivious to the wistful glances sent his way by other women, nor the coy attempts at flirtation. still, you hadn’t taken into account the unusual lengths some individuals would go to win even a sliver of his time and attention.
it was painful to watch their efforts be met with a scoff or a withering frown. on a good day, they might receive nothing more than a mocking, “what do you want now?” from him.
on a sun-drenched afternoon, you find yourself perched on the steps leading to the sanctuary of surasthana whilst you await his return from his meeting with lesser lord kusanali.
yet, the tranquility of the sacred place was soon interrupted by an unexpected revelation — you weren’t alone. a trio of researchers positioned themselves near the entrance, their presence blends into the revered location, evoking no more notice than the everyday sights that surround you.
the sunlight dances upon your skin as you, absentmindedly, fiddle with your bracelet, a habit that had taken root over the years. the food container you had brought stays on your lap, and you can feel its warmth gradually dissipate. a frown on your face as you whisper a plea that he arrives before the snacks you prepared grew cold.
your gaze strays and locks onto one of the women standing nearby. suspicion dripped from her eyes, it lingers far longer than you liked. at first, you considered it a peculiar coincidence — perhaps she mistook you for someone else she knew?
unable to contain her curiosity, she approaches you with an air of authority, disregarding her friends’ endeavors to stop her from creating a scene.
“state your business,” she dictates, her tone icy.
you stand unwavering, refusing to yield an inch in the face of her bid to intimidate you. “if you must know, i’m here for wanderer.”
your words invoke a profound reaction within her, it coursed through her like an attack. “well, save your breath and don’t waste your time bothering him.”
“why not? who even are you to tell me what i should do and shouldn’t do?” your cadence steady and colder than hers, a testament to the time you spent with your dear wanderer — it seems to be paying off.
you expected her to either insult you or begin a monologue about her superiority as a researcher, but her reply took you by surprise.
“i’m his lover, duh! i don’t appreciate you flirting with him.” then, in a single motion, she confiscates the container from your grasp.
glances were exchanged amongst her peers, who advance to mediate the interaction. one of them pulls her away and positions himself between you. “i’m sorry for her behavior, miss. her sleep deprivation has her spouting nonsense.”
“i am not! there are clear signs he feels the same way. we’re dating; he’s just very reserved about his emotions.”
before it can escalate further, a familiar voice slices through the tension like a blade. “where have you been?” he chides, as he descends the steps.
beneath his hat, you spy the glaring discontent he directs at these strangers for taking your time away from him.
when your eyes locks, his gaze softens. the sour expression dissolves and was replaced by a flicker of warmth. you offer a reassuring smile in his direction, a gesture that noticeably eases his mind.
he was a stride away from you when she, flaunting a smirk, stops in front of him. you lay a hand over your lips to quash your laughter after spotting the look of disgust he tosses at her.
“wanderer, honey!” she tries to touch his arm but fails when he sidesteps her. “don’t worry, i already handled this pest to lessen the burden for y—”
“who are you?” he sneers, and the haughty look on her face instantly disappears. she attempts to stutter a response, an effort to remind her title as his lover, but his menacing gaze he wore silences her.
“moreso, who are you to advise my wife what to do?”
eh? his wife?
“your wife?!” her friends turn pale, realization dawning upon them. they shiver at the thought of unintentionally crossing him, all thanks to her behavior.
“i-i just thought…”
“well, you thought wrong; know your place.” in a last display of irritation, he shoots them a cutting glare. then, he seizes the food container from her grip, his fingers then intertwine with yours as he guides you away from them.
as you walk away hand-in-hand, you cast a quick glance at her and stick your tongue out to mock her.
“i saw that,” he snickers and tugs you along, nearly causing you to stumble, “and you say i’m mean.”
“don’t get all smart, you called me your wife earlier.”
“shut up! it was meant to end the conversation early.”
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