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saintgoths · 1 year ago

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☾༺♰༻☽ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʙᴇʀʀʏ ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni - nasty sex. angry sex.

carlos oliveira, ellie williams, sim ghost riley, joel miller, leon kennedy, levi ackerman and will herondale.

this is for you guys helping me reach 400+ followers :)

ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ᴏʟɪᴠᴇɪʀᴀ

Hot tears trickled down your cheeks as your face had been pressed against the soft mattress, his large hand had been entangled within your locks while the rough thrusting of his hips had aided you into an eternal pleasurable tunnel, your whines mixed and embedded with his soft grunts as he angrily fucked his cock inside your tight cunt, his width twitching between your hearth while mumbling strong words of affront.

“I’m sorry,” you grumbled, your chin wet with your own shameful saliva, yourself incapable of keeping your mouth shut in response to his lewd roughness, eyes blurred with gratifying tears while the thumb of his free hand found way to the tightness of your second hole, your legs spreading further apart in sensual apathy while your boyfriend continued to rip you apart.

Finding the strength to grip your fingers into the bed sheets you had clenched your sex around his size. “I---I can’t take it!” You cried out, “Too big!”

“Shouldn’t have tried to make me jealous, princess,” he sneered, nearing his lips to your ear, “Want me to stop?” He whispered, dragging the hand that had been tied with your hair to your waist, the heaviness of his chest pressing against your back and with desperacy you had shook your head. “Just as I thought, like the slut you are,” he gritted, the thrusts of his length deepening against the softness of your pussy driving you into a delirious ecstasy.

“Yes! Yes!” You chanted, crazed feeling your orgasm heat and peak around your cunt you had moved your hand to the swollen pearl of your sex, desperately rubbing and circling your digits around your bud while you had frantically moaned against your bed sheets, your tears slowly drying against your cheeks as you respired all the animalistic thrusts your partner contacted you with, your eyes twisted shut as your high pushed through your entire body, your juices leaking on outsides of your thighs as your figure inconsistently twitched.

Over-stimulated by the quickness of his pushes, you had allowed Carlos to take care of your body, milking his warm cum against the slickness of your back. “There, there,” he whispered as your body slumped against the mattress, you felt his lips go close to your face once more. “Now, you won’t do that again?” He questioned, his voice laced with cunningness that had caused you to throw a certain look his way.

“Maybe.”

POSITIONS REFERENCE.

ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ

You knew you couldn’t stay angry at each forever, and you knew Ellie would give into you once you met her with bright deer-like eyes; she’d drag you into her small cabin and begin to kiss you, though you had still felt the irritation that had vibrated through her body, but what she hadn’t realised is that you had just been as angry as her or even more

Once your clothes had met the floor, the two of you had continued to re-discover each other’s bodies, your fingers slipping and circling places that would cause her figure to jerk, and the second you had found yourself on top of her, your swollen bud had pressed against her eager pearl, your body circling and thrusting against her slim but muscled figure, your paw finding way to wrap around her neck as your once slow motion had carried into a stronger and competitive rhythm.

“Fuck,” Ellie whined, her back deeply pressed against her mattress as she had wrapped one leg around your waist, possessively and greedily twirling her body with yours as her coloured eyes rolled to the back of her head, her body shivering in pleasure as your juices mixed with each other, the friction sending her into a crazed edge as she held back her cum, embarrassed with how quick you had made her ride to her climax. “Don’t stop!” She cried out and cocky, you had smirked at her, your other hand finding way around her neck as both of your buds humped each other.

“Not stopping anytime soon,” you lustfully smiled, tucking your bottom lip behind your teeth you breathed out a moan as you gently bounced against her swollen pearl, finding yourself wanting to squirt against her cunt you allowed yourself to orgasm against her sex, combining and fusing your nectar with her natural wetness, the view of the whiteness of your ambrosia stirred Ellie into an soaring climax, both of your cunts pulsing against each other as you both resumed to grind in sync, both faces red and covered with love-tears as you had mutually sent each other into a second climax.

With a loud sigh, you had pressed your forehead against Ellie’s, with the both of you exhausted you had rolled your body off her physique and landed beside her. “You looked so pretty fucking me like that,” Ellie worded out and confident, you had sat up with your arms, an encouraging smile embedded on your face.

“Do you still have your strap?” You asked and with a faux-offended look on her face, Ellie clicked her tongue.

“Of course, I do.”

POSITION REFERENCE

ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ 'ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ' ʀɪʟᴇʏ

“You love pissing me off, don’t you doll,” he flared, tightly wrapping his hand around the back of your knee, your arm wrapped around the back of his neck to aid you to be roughly fucked by the tall man who had possessively held you against him, you had a playful smile on your face, content on sending your husband over the edge, your eyes currently doe to his dignity and grace while your cunt had hungrily pulsed around his shaft, your lips snugged behind your teeth as you had loudly whimpered and moaned to his rough and coarse fuck.

Easily drunk off his sex, you had leaned your head backwards, your cheeks rosy and flushed with erotica as your spouse continued to pound his cock so deeply inside your tight cunt. Your closeness sending him into a beastly bawdy lust as he continued to thrust his length upwards, he commenced to tuck his lips against the skin of your neck and shoulders. “You drive me crazy,” he moaned, his dark eyes laced with romantic madness as you aided your fingers to the bud of your pussy, rotating your digits around your clit while your pussy had sweetly soaked his size.

“I love driving you insane,” you whispered before pushing yourself to his lick his tongue, both you hungrily moving towards each other, latching against each other as your mouths had quickly melded with one another, the roughness of the curve of his tip poking and licking the soft texture of your sex while he ardently guided his dick deeper your vagina whilst the heat of his impending climax heated his body, his cock twitching tightly inside of your cunt while your nectar graspingly coated his length.

“Y’know I’d do anything for you, luvie,” he whispered, his eyes potent with anger mixed with thirst. “You know I’d kill for you,” he moaned, his legs then twitching and shivering as he heavily cummed inside your cunt, his balmy semen seeping and coating against your cervix, careful to push as much of his load inside of you, the man had continued to thrust his hips upwards, your toes curling in response as your eyes watered with sex and intimacy. “You love driving me to that point.”

“I don’t know if I should hate that,” he moaned while tightening his grip around you. “Playing with my feelings like this---oh fuck!” He loudly moaned, his second orgasm pushing through, his cum filling your tight area while the bulge of his cock lightly imprinted your stomach.

Moved, you had licked your lower lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gently moved your body with his. Your competitive tastes obsessed with driving you insane, the thought of him handling others in your name had lifted you, while the friction of your fingers guided you to your peeking orgasm, you had pushed your lips against him once more. “I love you,” you moaned, your nectar sheeting around his width, mixing with his juices while you continued to squirt and cum around his cock.

“Shit—I love you too, doll,” he moaned while pulling his length out of your body, you had quickly held onto the table he had fucked you near. Dizzy with the tight and intense orgasm he had put you through, you had sneery smiled at him as you had watched him get to his knees. “Now let me lick my cum out of you.”

POSITIONS REFERENCE

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

The drop-off had went to shit, Tess had been missing and within your thoughts you had believed she had committed herself to another side-quest while pushing both you and Joel to stay in the current crappy apartment you had all currently inhabited; and due to this, you could tell Joel was pissed.

Well pissed off was an understatement to how the man had currently felt but you had understood that your man had wanted a relief, thus you had your second hole roughly ripped open by his girth, your anus wet with your saliva that had once coated his cock after the intense dick-sucking you had gifted the bearded man which had sent Joel to an acute orgasm.

Though, Joel was a man of stamina, he had wanted more, and now he had wrapped his arms around the back of your legs, pressing your back against his chest while fucking you ruthlessly. “Take it like the good girl you are,” he groaned, “Good girl,” he repeated and with your moans over-lapping his comments, you had thorwn your head backwards, mouth opened with un-swallowed saliva as you had attempted to live through his passionate plows.

“Fuck, you’re being so rough on me,” you cried out, snaking your hand towards your untouched pussy, the dew ample and sultry enough for you to easily slip in three fingers, the heavy over-stimulations forcing you to roll your eyes backwards as your walls gripped and twitched around your fingers and his cock.

“Keep doing that imma cum,” he gritted, his voice hoarse as his length began to throb inside your anus while he continued to aid you to bounce on his dick, you could feel your cunt want to spit with your juices.

“More,” you had whined, “I want to feel your hot cum inside of me,” you whimpered while bucking your hips forwards in autopilot. “I want it!” You moaned and satisfied by Joel’s quick turning point, the heat of his load painted and capped your walls just in time before Tess’s knocks echoed on the front door. “Shit,” you had muttered ere slipping yourself off his length, you could then hear Joel scramble onto his feet to pick up his thrown garments.

POSITIONS REFERENCE

ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ

As much as you had been stubborn, you had known you always became somewhat of a tramp of Leon’s whenever he had wanted you, you the woman who had loved playing games and as much as you had told each other you were just co-workers, every second away from each other he had lusted for you, yearned for your wetness and touch

Though, as much as he had told himself he wasn’t a jealous man, the view of you being touched by someone else had driven him crazy to the point that, he had set up a faux meeting that had involved just the two of you, you on the other hand had thought you’d meet the rest of the members so when you had entered the meeting room to be met with an upset, Leon, you had taken the imitative to wonder what he had up his sleeve, and what had been the commodity up the fabric had involved the two of you naked.

Carried by his strong arms as he aided you to bounce up and down his thick and long shaft, involved you moaning shamelessly against his ear while your wet hearth had squeezed and throbbed around his size whilst his fingers gripped into the skin of your buttocks, you had felt the curve of his thick tip lick and press the softness of your cunt. “That’s it, baby!” You moaned, the high erotic sting pushing you into a lustful end while you had felt his soft lips press against the skin of your neck.

“Like that?” He reassured biting his lips. “Feel so good, so fucking wet---uh!” He moaned out, his size endlessly throbbing and solid between your warmth, “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking early!” He cried out, his legs weakly shaking as he could feel his cum want to spill and seep and paint the inside of your walls, but just as adamant as you, he had kept in his semen while roughly handling your cunt with his length, the curve of his cock brushing against your heat and pulling you into an obsessive cock-drunk state.

“Yes! Yes!” You moaned, your ambrosia reaching and peeking to its end and sheeting and finishing around his size that had resumed to buck upwards, greedy and hasty to find its own climax, Leon’s eyes dark with lust, he clenched his teeth, finding his strength to bounce your body upwards as he began to milk his cum inside of your body.

Relieved, he had pressed your body against the wall, lifting your figure off his dick as he watched the mixed liquid of both yours and his cum fall out of your body. “So beautiful,” he hummed before taking your mouth with his, deepening the dual passionate affection the two you both proudly and stubbornly shared for each other.

POSITION REFERENCE

ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ

With the vibrating of the toy that he had pushed inside your cunt working its way within you, Levi had lost himself with fucking his cock deep inside your anus, his thick size hastily humping backwards and forwards while the Ackerman had possessively wrapped his firm hands around your waist. With your mouth opened, you had looked back at him, your mouth wide as he continued to fuck you into his bed.

With the sounds of the slapping off his balls hitting your ass, you had watched his steel-like eyes examine how intoxicated you had looked by the help of his length. Teasingly, you had squeezed your hole around his dick, over-stimulated with the buzzing off the toy that hummed against your pearl, instigating you to roll your eyes back whilst you had felt his other hand snake around your throat, possessively pulling you closer against him. “Don’t hold it in---I want everyone to know you’re being fucked by me,” he growled and with his permission your mouth had opened wider, your high-pitched moans vibrating off the walls as the pounding sounds of the bedframe had continued to hit against the wooden walls.

“Oh—Captain!” You wailed, “you’re so deep inside of me, feel so---good---ah!” You moaned, feeling a wave of orgasm wash through you, the bustling of the small toy hopping harder against your overwhelmed clit, your body falling numb within his grasp as he continued to pummel his cock down your ass, his swollen sac pelting against the skin off your ass cheeks while the wetness of both of your sweats continued to meld with each other.

“Moan for me like that, brat---let them know!” He grumbled, “ass so fucking tight around me---brat---oh fuck!” He sobbed, his body shaking as his cock began to shoot out his load, his warm semen piling and filling inside of you, helping him move his body faster between you, his fingers leaving bruises against your skin as he had trouble with pulling his cock out, and when he did the rest of his load spilt against your back, leaving you shaking against the bed.

Your ass still up, you could feel Levi press his lips against your anus before giving it a long lick, cleaning up his mess, sucking and whipping your ass with his mouth and tongue before moving it down your clit, helping your toy send you through another intense and addictive orgasm.

POSITION REFERENCE ONE

POSITION REFERENCE TWO

ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇʀᴏɴᴅᴀʟᴇ

It must’ve been another run in by Gabriel Lightwood, Will was usually someone who won over his disputes, but this time, the Lightwood must’ve hit a sore spot which had Will knocking on your door when everyone was asleep, he was in one of his rare moments, silent, but there had been a look on his face that had granted him access to your room.

He must’ve taken a walk, a walk in the rain in fact, his dark curly hair had been stuck against his skin such as his shirt had clung against his body, without an utter, the boy had already been unbuttoning his shirt while you had closed the door behind the two of you, though, you had not wanted to do anything with him, not without having him speaking first, so you had leaned against your wall. Arms crossed and eyes with slight judgement. “What happened?” You asked as you had watched him peel off his white garment.

With a quick glance you had watched him throw his shirt against the floor, in thought that you would follow after but you hadn’t. Earning a short piercing look from his ocean eyes and as you had returned with a darker glare, you had tightened your grip around yourself. “I’m not going to take off my clothes and lay with you because you want to.”

“You normally do.”

With your eyebrows furrowed you had ended up clicking your tongue in disapproval. “You’re such a dick.”

“I just need you,” he breathed out. “Gabriel---he…he spoke about you---” without allowing him to say another word, you had grasped his face, melding your lips with his while tucking your hand beneath his trousers.

“This will be the last time you come into my room expecting me to fuck you this easily, understand?” You questioned and with a soft nod, the both of you had continued to passionately embrace each other, mouth tight and swollen by your heated combination, while the two of you aided each other to take off each other’s clothes, naked under the long moonlight that had gently seeped through the curtains.

Will, strong and fast had pushed you against the bed, using you to get into the position he had wanted you to be in the second he had left the drawing room he had once shared with Gabriel, his eyes currently furious with lust, the stiff cock of his had gently stroked against the skin of your cunt, the wetness of your hearth easily welcoming him inside of you, the soft yet fiery friction had commenced a moan from both of your mouths, thus you had abruptly squeezed around him as his arm had welcomed around the back of your knee, aiding himself to dive and thrust deeper inside of your cunt.

“Oh fuck,” Will moaned, “fit so well for me,” he moaned as he quickened his pace with his thrusts, each plow filled with anger and erotica and each thrust quicker and rougher than before, leaning your head back in auto-pilot while your moans resumed to sing in his room, aware to feel the embarrassment and walk of shame that would occur the next day, you helped yourself to grind your body against, the tip of his cock circling and embracing the softness of your sex while your juices heavily capped and painted his shaft, his length then slipping in and out carrying him to his orgasm. “Oh [Y/N]!” He cried in adoration, his swollen sac releasing his climax inside of you, his grunts mixing with your high-pitched moans as he continued to move his body forwards.

Your body ridden stiff as you could sense your own climax attempt to spill against your mattress, your eyes locked with his, signalling your turning point, lustful to his encouraging look that had influenced the peak to your capstone, and thus you had relieved yourself, your amrita glazing and layering around his girth and once you had been done, you had rested your body against Will’s, an embarrassed and breathy laughed emitting from the back of your throat as you could feel Will leave your body.

“Charlotte is so going to be mad tomorrow,” you laughed.

POSITION REFERENCE

masterlist

♆

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kaces-graham-crackers · 2 months ago

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To Die For - Halloween Special

Monster Hunter Wednesday Addams x Werewolf Reader

Summary: Y/N, a lone werewolf, finds themself hunted by none other than Wednesday Addams of the infamous Addams Family—but this isn’t a typical chase. Wednesday wants to understand them. As they set a trap for a darker creature lurking in the woods, alliances blur, and both hunter and hunted face more than they bargained for.

Word count: 5.5k

The air was thick with the scent of pine and rain as you moved through the dense forest, your breath coming in sharp bursts. The moon was high, hidden behind clouds, but you didn't need its light. Every instinct and nerve in your body was attuned to the woods around you, heightened by the curse coursing through your veins.

You stopped, catching a scent—something unfamiliar, cold. It wasn't the usual wildlife or the damp earth. It was different. And it was close. You knew what it meant. They'd sent someone after you. And that someone was closer than you expected.

A figure stood on the edge of the clearing, watching with an intensity that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. Dressed in all black, she was still as stone, her pale skin almost ghostly in the shadowed forest. Her eyes, dark and calculating, were locked on you. She wasn't afraid, and she wasn't here to run. She was here for you.

Wednesday Addams.

You'd heard the name whispered through the underground networks of the supernatural. A hunter—someone who sought out the monsters that lurked in the shadows, just like you. Most avoided her, too afraid of her family's infamous reputation, but not you. You had faced far worse than a cold-hearted girl with a knack for finding trouble. And yet, something about her unnerved you. Without taking your eyes off her, you moved back a step, your pulse quickening. But Wednesday made no move to follow. She just stood there, her hands clasped neatly behind her back, as if she had all the time in the world to watch you squirm. "Running won't help you," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "I'll find you either way." You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. You'd outrun hunters before. But something told you Wednesday wasn't like the others. This wasn't just a hunt. It was a game to her. "I'm not in the mood for games," you growled, your voice low and rough as you fought against the pull of the full moon's power creeping under your skin. Wednesday's expression remained unchanged, her gaze gleaming in the dark. "Who said anything about games?" You weren't sure what it was about her—her calm, almost detached demeanor or how she watched you with that piercing gaze—but it made you uneasy. And yet, there was something else, too. Something that made your chest tighten in a way you didn't want to acknowledge.

But before you could say anything more, Wednesday took a step forward, closing the distance between you in one swift motion. "I'm not here to kill you," she said softly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Not yet." The unspoken implication hung in the air, thick and heavy. You clenched your fists, fighting the instincts rising within you—the urge to run, fight, and protect yourself. "Then what do you want?" you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. Wednesday tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes fixed on yours with a calculating gleam. "I'm here to observe you." Her words stopped you cold. You'd expected a fight, a chase, something far more dangerous. But curiosity? Curiosity from someone like her? That was something you hadn't prepared for. You narrowed your eyes, trying to gauge her intention. "Observe me?" you repeated, disbelief lacing your voice. "What am I? A science experiment to you?" Wednesday's gaze remained unwavering, unreadable. "Something like that."

The forest seemed to still be around you, the air thick with tension. You felt the full moon's pull lurking just beneath your skin, a dangerous reminder of what you were. But Wednesday stood there, completely unphased, her calm presence unsettling. "And what happens when you've finished your little study?" you asked, your voice low, challenging. Wednesday's eyes flickered, but her expression remained controlled. "That depends on what I find." You let out a slow breath, realizing you wouldn't get a straightforward answer from her. Not yet, anyway. She was too clever, too controlled. The mystery of her intentions hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but it was clear this wasn't the usual hunt. Why me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the gnawing unease crawling up your spine. Wednesday took another step forward, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "You're different. I don't hunt monsters just because they exist. I hunt them because they interest me. And you, well… you're fascinating." The word "fascinating" sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn't exactly comforting to know you were the subject of her twisted intrigue. But there was something else in how she said it as if she saw something far beneath your surface. "Different, how?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Her gaze never wavered, studying you like she could dissect your essence with a glance. "You don't embrace what you are. Most werewolves lose themselves to their instincts, run wild and reckless." Her voice was calm and calculated. "You maintain control—calm, aware, even rational." You bristled at her words, unsure whether to feel insulted or complimented. She was correct; you didn't give in to the hunt as others did. While your instincts were just as strong, you managed to channel them, a level of restraint that had taken you years to develop. "I've observed creatures like you before. But none who... moderate themselves," Wednesday continued, her tone clinical. "A werewolf who seems determined to remain civil." She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "I wonder… just how far that control extends." Her words hit something deep within you, stirring a mix of pride and resentment. You knew what she meant. To a hunter, a monster was expected to behave predictably, to follow their instincts blindly. But you were neither fully human nor beast—which seemed to disturb her. "Curiosity can get you killed, Wednesday," you replied, your voice steady despite the underlying challenge. You should leave me alone. Wednesday's eyes darkened slightly, yet her expression remained as controlled as ever. "You don't really have a choice. I'm not leaving until I figure you out."

You clenched your fists at your sides, feeling the familiar heat rising in your chest as the moon's pull grew stronger. But despite the anger building inside you, there was something else—a strange pull toward her, like a dangerous curiosity of your own. She wasn't like the others who had come after you. She wasn't here to kill or capture. She was here to… understand. And somehow, that made her more dangerous. You took a step back, unsure of how to proceed. But Wednesday, ever the enigma, took the choice out of your hands.

"I'll be around," she said, her voice soft but with an edge. Turning on her heel, she disappeared into the forest's shadows, leaving you alone, heart racing, mind spinning. Watching. She'd be watching you.

Later that night, you prowled through the dense forest, your mind consumed by the routine of your werewolf form. Your senses were heightened—each sound crisp and clear—the rustling of leaves, the distant howl of a predator, the wind shifting through the trees. You moved fluidly, focused on tracking a small rabbit. Tonight was supposed to be like any other—no drama, no interruptions.

But something felt off.

You paused mid-step, your ears twitching as a strange scent drifted. It was sharp, unfamiliar, and sent a cold shiver down your spine. Instinctively, you crouched low, muscles tense, as you scanned your surroundings for the source. The forest had gone deathly silent. The wind shifted, carrying a low, guttural growl—deep and menacing. It wasn't coming from you. Your heart pounded as your eyes darted through the shadows. Just beyond the trees, something was moving. It was larger than anything you had encountered in these woods before. Its shape was indistinct, obscured by the darkness, but its eyes—glowing faint red—pierced through the black, locking onto you. You froze, every instinct screaming at you to back away. Whatever this was, it wasn't human. And it wasn't friendly. Before you could react, the creature lunged, crashing through the trees with feral speed that caught you off guard. You barely leaped aside in time, claws digging into the ground as you dodged its massive form. It landed heavily, the earth trembling beneath its weight. This thing—whatever it was—wasn't like you. It was something else entirely.

The creature turned to face you, its eyes gleaming a deep, unnatural crimson pulsing with intelligence you hadn't expected—cold, calculating, and predatory. It was far larger than any werewolf, its shape unnervingly twisted, with sinewy muscles and long, limbs that moved in an oddly graceful yet erratic manner. Completely furless, looking like it had mange. Under the dim moonlight, you could make out a distorted, warped form—a creature that seemed barely contained, as though it might burst from its own skin at any moment. And then it let out a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the forest, vibrating through the ground beneath your feet. The sound wasn't just menacing; it was unearthly, like a warning echoing from another realm entirely. This was no ordinary beast. It felt ancient, primal, as though it had been born from something dark and forbidden, something meant to stay hidden in the forgotten parts of the world. And tonight, for reasons unknown, it had surfaced. You backed away slowly, your eyes locked onto the creature as it prowled closer, each step deliberate, its eyes tracking your every movement with an unsettling focus. But it didn't attack—at least, not yet.

Instead, it watched you, its gaze almost… knowing.

You backed away slowly, your eyes locked onto the creature as it prowled closer, each step deliberate, its eyes tracking your every movement with an unsettling focus. But it didn't attack—at least, not yet. Instead, it watched you, its gaze almost… knowing. Before you could react, the creature let out a guttural, almost amused growl, the kind that felt too close to a chuckle for comfort. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you braced yourself, baring your teeth, ready to lunge if it came any closer. But the creature merely tilted its head, those burning red eyes narrowing as if it were studying you. Then, to your shock, it spoke. "Don't listen to her," it snarled, the voice low, jagged, and disturbingly clear. "She's told that to the others." You stiffened, the words echoing in your mind as confusion and unease collided within you. Others? Who else had Wednesday hunted like this, and what did this beast know? Your pulse raced, the forest around you feeling darker, smaller, as if the creature's very presence warped reality. You fought to keep your voice steady, masking your unease with a low growl. "What are you?" The creature's grin widened, revealing rows of jagged teeth that gleamed in the faint moonlight. It moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, as if savoring the tension. "I'm what she can't control," it rasped, a sick enjoyment dripping from every word. "You think you're special, different—but she only tells you that to draw you in. To make you weak." It leaned forward, and you caught a faint, metallic scent that was sickeningly familiar.

The creature's breath was warm and rancid, tinged with something that made your stomach turn. Yet it was those eyes—those ancient, intelligent eyes—that held you captive, radiating a dark amusement. "Don't you see?" it continued, its voice now a mocking whisper. "When the time comes, I'll be there to help you. To tear her apart once and for all." A chill ran down your spine, the forest suddenly feeling claustrophobic as the creature's words echoed in your mind. It seemed to drink in your reaction, reveling in the tension between you. It knew something—something about Wednesday, about you—and it enjoyed every second of the torment it was sowing. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to back away, your instincts warring with the questions churning in your mind. "Why are you telling me this?" The creature let out another rumbling chuckle, stepping back into the shadows, its shape beginning to blur as if it were part of the darkness itself. "You'll understand… soon." And just like that, it melted into the night, leaving you standing alone, heart pounding, and mind spinning with questions. What had just happened? And what did it mean?

Upon stumbling back to your cabin, you stopped in your tracks when you saw her—Wednesday—sitting at the small table, a notepad open in front of her filled with intricate notes and sketches. An entire observation kit was laid out beside her: crossbows, silver-tipped arrows, vials filled with strange liquids, tools crafted with a precision too deliberate for casual use.

Your heart raced, the shock of seeing her in your space sending your senses into overdrive. "How did you get in here?"you snapped, barely able to keep the irritation from your voice. "You need to leave."

Wednesday's gaze lifted, her expression impassive, unphased by your outburst. "I don't leave until I get what I came for."

Your mind reeled, the creature's words still fresh. "That thing out there—it mentioned you," you said, your voice harsher than intended.

Wednesday's eyes sharpened, her mouth setting into a line. "What did it say?"

You hesitated, those chilling words echoing in your mind. "It said… it said you'd told others the same thing. That I wasn't the only one." The knot in your stomach tightened. "Whatever you're doing here, it's not just about me."

For the briefest moment, a shadow of something crossed her face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She closed her notepad and stood, her focus now entirely on you.

"That thing you encountered—it's a Hyde," she said, her voice cold yet steady. "A monster driven by pure chaos and destruction. It's been following me since Nevermore."

"A Hyde?" you repeated, confusion and intrigue mingling in your tone.

Wednesday gestured to her open kit, pulling out a crossbow and a vial of poison with practiced ease.

You stared at the crossbow in her hand, your mind reeling as you absorbed everything she was saying. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because you didn't need to know," she replied matter-of-factly, loading the crossbow with a silver-tipped arrow. "Not until now."

Your chest tightened as you processed her words. She had known this whole time—about the creature, about the danger—and hadn't said a word.

Without missing a beat, Wednesday tossed you a small vial, and you caught it just in time. “Poison,” she said calmly, her gaze unflinching. “If the Hyde comes for you again, don’t hesitate. Use it.”

You stared at the vial, unease prickling your skin. “And what if I don’t get the chance?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she took a step closer, her gaze intense. “That’s why I’m here.”

The weight of her words settled over you, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of her sudden closeness, her cold commitment to a plan she hadn’t even shared with you. You stared at the vial in your hand, its weight feeling heavier than it should.

The reality of what was happening settled over you like a thick fog. You didn't know if you could trust Wednesday, but her words rang with an unsettling truth. The creature—the Hyde—wasn't just some random beast. It was hunting Wednesday, and now you had inserted yourself into the middle of it.

"I still don't trust you," you muttered, eyes narrowing as you pocketed the vial.

Wednesday didn't flinch at your words. In fact, she seemed almost amused, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "You don't have to trust me," she replied, her voice cold and precise. "You just have to survive."

Then, to your surprise, Wednesday's hand lifted, fingers cool as she brushed them along your cheek. Her gaze remained detached, yet you saw the faintest flicker of something in her eyes—an intensity just beneath the surface.

"I wouldn't want my experiment to get hurt," she murmured, her voice steady and emotionless, though her touch lingered a moment longer than it should have.

You blinked, stepping back to regain some distance, your heart racing as the weight of her words sank in. "This isn't just an experiment," you muttered, voice strained.

Wednesday's gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, assessing. She pocketed her crossbow, securing the kit with quick, calculated movements before returning to you. "Think what you want," she said coolly, her expression unreadable. "But if you hesitate, even once, it won't end well."

Wednesday glanced away, her focus shifting to the open path between the trees as though reading an invisible trail.

"We set a trap," she said, a note of finality in her tone. "Tonight, while it's still hunting. The Hyde will come."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her plan settle over you, the reality of the danger clearer than before. "And what's the bait?" you asked, your voice low.

Wednesday's eyes flicked back to yours, her gaze calculating. "Us."

Hours later, Wednesday moved ahead, leading you through the dense trees until you reached a small clearing, moonlight spilling down to illuminate the space. The air felt still, a heavy quiet settling over the forest as you both stopped, sizing up the open area.

"This should do," Wednesday murmured, her voice low as she took in the surroundings, her hand brushing over the crossbow at her side. She moved with a calm intensity, arranging her equipment with a precision that left no room for doubt.

You followed her lead, every nerve tingling with anticipation. The clearing felt both vulnerable and strategic, a perfect place to draw out the creature—and for a moment, the gravity of the night settled over you.

Wednesday glanced back, her expression unreadable but her eyes glinting in the pale light. "Remember, it's watching. We need to make this look real."

You nodded, heart pounding as the scene took shape around you, the forest stretching out in every direction. Here, exposed under the open sky, there was nowhere to hide. Just you, Wednesday, and the beast that hunted you both.

Your pulse quickened, but you met her gaze, unwavering. "So, we just… wait for it?"

Wednesday's expression remained steady, almost clinical. "Not quite." She walked to the other end of the clearing, placing her kit down, spreading out items with meticulous precision—a few vials, silver-tipped bolts, and herbs that gave off a faint, sharp scent. Every tool seemed perfectly positioned, each a calculated step in her plan.

"We'll make it look real," she said, a faint chill in her voice. "A fight. The Hyde craves chaos, discord. It will be drawn to the scene."

The idea of faking a battle with Wednesday unnerved you, but as you nodded, your instincts braced for what was to come. The forest grew quieter around you, the night holding its breath.

"Ready?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "Always."

Without another word, you lunged at her, your hand outstretched to grab her arm. Wednesday moved like a shadow, sidestepping your attack with practiced ease, her expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth and spun around, aiming a low swipe toward her legs. She leapt back, her movements fluid, almost like a dance.

"You think this is all my fault, don't you?" Wednesday spat, her voice cold as ice. "You were always too weak to handle it."

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, they felt real. You growled, pushing aside the sting of her remark as you charged again, this time with more force. "Weak? You're the one who kept this from me!" you snapped, grabbing her by the collar and shoving her backward.

Wednesday stumbled slightly, but she recovered quickly, her eyes flashing with something dark. "I didn't owe you anything," she hissed, her hand shooting up to grab your wrist and twist it painfully. "You were always just a liability."

The pain in your wrist was sharp, but it only fueled your rage. You shoved her again, harder this time, and Wednesday retaliated by slamming her elbow into your side, knocking the wind out of you. The force of her blow sent you staggering, but you caught yourself, eyes blazing with anger.

"This is all on you!" you shouted, your voice carrying through the trees. You lunged forward, tackling her again, but this time, you grabbed her crossbow from her side and tossed it to the ground. You pinned her beneath you, your heart racing as you stared down at her. For a moment, it almost felt real. The anger, the hurt—it all bubbled to the surface.

Wednesday didn't flinch. Instead, she glared up at you, her cold eyes unyielding.

"Pathetic. You're a pitiful excuse for a beast—frail, lacking the resilience of those I’ve effortlessly dispatched. Survival? It was never in your nature,” she spat, brandishing a blade from her belt as she swiped at you.

"Fight me," you growled, your voice thick with emotion. "Or are you too afraid?"

Wednesday's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, and for a moment, you saw something almost like pride flash across her face. She gave a small, cruel smile. "Afraid?" she whispered, her voice low and venomous. "Not of you."

That was the cue.

Without warning, Wednesday kicked you off of her, sending you sprawling to the ground. In one fluid motion, she snatched the crossbow from the dirt, her fingers moving with deadly precision as she loaded it. She raised it and aimed—right at you.

Your thumping, and for a split second, you wondered if she might actually fire. But then, just as she pulled the trigger, the bolt flew past you, into the darkness behind. A loud, guttural roar echoed through the trees.

Out of the shadows,

the Hyde arrived,

larger and more menacing than before, its red eyes locked onto her with a predatory gleam.

Wednesday's gaze flicked to you, her voice steady. "Now."

She fired her crossbow, the bolt finding its mark in the creature's shoulder. The Hyde let out another furious roar, lunging forward, claws raking the ground as it charged. You jumped at the beast, claws tearing into its thick hide as you dodged its ferocious strikes, its movements wild and aggressive.

. But it was stronger than anything you'd thought. Wednesday fired bolt after bolt, her shots precise, but the creature was relentless, absorbing each hit with raw, unyielding power.

As you circled the Hyde, its focus split between you and Wednesday, you caught a glimpse of her expression—a fierce determination, her eyes never leaving the target. She reloaded quickly, her movements fluid, calculated, the faintest sheen of sweat on her brow betraying the effort.

The Hyde lunged at you again, its claws slicing through the air, and this time, you couldn't move fast enough. The impact threw you backward, pain flaring as you hit the ground hard, your vision swimming. You forced yourself to rise, catching Wednesday's eye as she aimed again, this time with something stronger—a vial of poison.

In a final act of defiance, you charged the creature, gripping its shoulder and ripping a chunk of flesh away. The Hyde let out a guttural scream, stumbling back before it retreated into the darkness, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

You dropped to the ground, exhaustion crashing over you as your vision blurred. Blood seeped from a deep wound in your side, soaking into the forest floor. Your limbs felt heavy, and the pain was radiating with each beat of your heart.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Wednesday raise her crossbow, her gaze locked on the retreating figure of the Hyde. She was ready to give chase, her cold determination unwavering. But then, she glanced back, her eyes landing on you, crumpled and bleeding on the forest floor.

In an instant, her stoic demeanor shifted. Without a word, she abandoned her pursuit of the Hyde and hurried to your side, kneeling beside you with surprising urgency. Her hands moved quickly, searching through the small pouch at her side as she pulled out a bundle of gauze and a small vial.

"Stop…" you muttered, trying to push her away with the last bit of strength you had. "The Hyde… you need to go after it."

But Wednesday ignored you, her focus entirely on your wound as she uncorked the vial and poured its contents onto the gauze. The sharp, herbal scent filled the air, and she pressed the soaked gauze firmly against your side, stemming the bleeding with practiced hands.

"Don't be an idiot," she muttered, her voice cold but edged with something you hadn't heard before—something almost like concern. "I'm not letting you bleed out on my watch."

You winced at the pressure, biting back a groan. "But the Hyde… it'll get away."

Wednesday's dark eyes flicked to yours, her expression unreadable but firm. "It's not going to get far. I'll deal with it soon enough. But I'm not letting you die here."

You tried to protest, to urge her to chase down the creature, but she held you in place, her grip unyielding. "If anyone is going to end you, it's me. Not some mindless monster," she said, her tone cold and detached, yet with a hint of something almost… protective.

Despite the pain, a faint smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

"That's sweet…coming from you."

Wednesday's eyes narrowed, though you caught a flicker of something that almost looked like amusement. "Save your sarcasm," she said, pressing down harder to stop the bleeding. "If you can joke, you're not dead yet."

You let out a shaky laugh, though it quickly turned into a grimace as another wave of pain surged through you. Wednesday didn't flinch, her attention unwavering as she continued to tend to your wound with surprising gentleness.

After a few tense moments, the bleeding began to slow, and the edges of the pain dulled slightly under her careful treatment. You felt your breathing steady, the worst of the pain fading, though exhaustion weighed heavily on you.

"Thank you," you murmured, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Wednesday glanced at you, her expression still cool but softened.”Don't make me regret it," she replied quietly.

You felt a warmth spread through you, despite the cold forest air and the sting of your injuries. She may not have said much, but her actions spoke louder than words. She could have left you there, but she didn't.

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you felt her shift beside you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder in a steadying gesture, as if anchoring you to the present. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was her face, framed by the shadows, a silent promise lingering in her gaze.

Back in the cabin, you and Wednesday tended to each other's wounds, the silence between you comfortable, though heavy with the exhaustion of the fight. The small flickering fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, its warm glow a sharp contrast to the cold forest outside. You could still feel the adrenaline thrumming through your veins, but a sense of relief had settled over you, knowing the Hyde was gone for now.

Without warning, there was a deafening crash as the cabin's window shattered. The Hyde barreled through, its massive, bloodied form illuminated by the firelight. You barely had time to react before it lunged, claws outstretched, its eyes fixed on you with a vengeful fury.

But in an instant, Wednesday moved, her body positioning itself between you and the beast. The Hyde's claws slashed across her side as she shielded you.

"Wednesday!" you shouted, horror flooding through you as she flew into the wall, with a sickening thud.

The sight of her blood, of her hurt, ignited something primal within you—a fierce, overwhelming rage. The Hyde barely had time to react as you felt yourself transform, the beast within you rising to the surface with a force you'd never felt before. Claws extended, senses sharpened, you lunged at the creature, every muscle fueled by your bottled instinct.

With a savage growl, you attacked, tearing into the Hyde with everything you had. Its roars echoed through the cabin, but you didn't relent, every strike more brutal than the last as your claws ripped through its thick hide. It tried to fight back, but your rage gave you strength beyond anything you'd ever known.

In a final, explosive burst, you brought your claws down one last time. The Hyde collapsed to the floor, its lifeless form finally defeated. You stood over it, chest heaving, the adrenaline fading as the weight of your actions sank in.

Turning back, you felt yourself return to your human form, exhaustion crashing over you as your gaze found Wednesday. She miraculously managed to slump herself against the wall, her hand pressed to her bleeding side, her face pale but her expression calm.

You rushed to her side, dropping to your knees as you frantically checked her wound. "Wednesday, I… I'm so sorry."

She rolled her eyes. “You're insufferably slow," she muttered, her tone sharp as she stifled a wince. "Did you somehow miss me saying it would return?”

Ignoring her words, you fumbled through her kit, searching for the vial she'd used on you before. Your hands trembled as you unscrewed the cap, but Wednesday's hand reached out, stopping you. She took the vial from you, her fingers stained with blood, and poured the medicine over her wound with practiced ease.

You watched her, still frantic, your mind racing. "You shouldn't have taken that hit… I should've protected you."

Wednesday let out a soft scoff, her gaze unwavering as she stared back at you. Then, with a surprising gentleness, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss on your lips, her touch as fleeting as it was reassuring.

"You're too dramatic," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I'd die for you any day, and besides,"—her smirk returned, edged with a warmth that softened her usual cool exterior—"I'd rather go down saving you than by any creature's hand."

The sincerity in her words caught you off guard, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You held her gaze, the intensity of the moment settling over you both like a silent promise.

For the first time in a long time, there was no danger, no threat. Just you and Wednesday, the faint light of the fire casting a soft glow over her face. You swallowed, still reeling from everything that had happened, but her words—her confession—anchored you, grounding you in a way you hadn't expected.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Wednesday gave a small, approving nod, her hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer. "Now, can you finally help me with this wound?" she deadpanned, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

You smiled, your relief flooding through you, and you set to work, carefully tending to her injuries. And as you worked, her steady gaze stayed on you, her words—I'd die for you any day—echoing in your mind, a reminder that, whatever came next, you would face it together.

#jenna ortega x reader #x y/n #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x reader #x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #wednesday addams x fem reader #x fem!reader #wednesday addams x you #kaces-spooky-corner #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega x female reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x fem reader

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seiwas · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹。here, just for you | bakugo katsuki

wc: 1.0k summary: you give bakugo flowers, and he can’t figure out why. contains: implied f!reader but i don’t mention anything specific, talks about flowers and a kind of early established relationship, just fluff and bakugo getting flustered while going through the motions of a relationship! a/n: this is aged up to when bakugo is a pro! i envision him maturing a lot and mellowing out a little so hopefully this captures that!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

Bakugo doesn’t know what to expect, stepping into his office after a long day on patrol—actually, scratch that. Bakugo doesn’t expect anything, really, besides his office to look the exact same way he left it this morning: pristine and orderly.

And it is, for the most part—save for a small bouquet of flowers sitting delicately on his desk.

It isn’t uncommon for him to receive some; companies and politicians often send them to express their good graces. But those usually go through PR first, along with the many other trinkets and letters received from fans.

So, it shouldn’t really be a big deal, except, flowers have never appeared in his office, on his desk, with a note written in your handwriting, until now.

Bakugo prides himself on his good memory; he remembers holidays, birthdays, and since being with you—potential anniversaries too. But there’s nothing, complete zilch that comes up when he tries to recall what today could be.

He furrows his brows, looking for your contact on his phone. Most of his hero costume is gone now, all of the chunky pieces stored away to reveal the plain black jumpsuit he wears underneath. Clunky boots replaced by rubber shoes he wears more and more these days.

He reaches for the bouquet while his phone rings, fingers sliding through the leaves softly. It’s a simple arrangement: a few gerberas and tulips standing out in pink and orange against small bunches of baby’s breath and cocculus. There’s a homeyness to it he can only attribute to you.

“Katsuki?” you pick up, warmth and affection coming through.

“Y’got me flowers?” he asks gruffly, thumbing the note you’d written.

There’s nothing on it but ‘For Katsuki’ in your cursive. No indication of what it’s for, or why you’d given it in the first place. He’s confused and maybe a little nervous; did he forget a date or something?

“Oh, yeah!” you exclaim, a string of ‘pings’ sounding your request at a video call.

Lately, calls with you end up this way. For the longest time, Bakugo’s been a text-mostly-and-call-but-no-video-only kind of guy; it’s quick and efficient, gets things done with minimal fuss. But since getting together with you, texting’s begun to feel a little bit insufficient without your voice accompanying it. Regular calls suffice, but you know how harsh his words can sound despite his face saying otherwise.

Your relationship is kind of old but still kind of new—a few months before you celebrate one year, and he still rolls his eyes (at himself) whenever you do this, lips quirked up as he clicks ‘accept’ (as if he can’t believe how you’ve single-handedly changed his phone habits just like that).

You wait for him to adjust his phone, portions of his office in blur before he props it against the All Might paperweight on his desk. You continue, “Do you like it?”

He shoves the bouquet into the frame, smothering the microphone until all you hear is muffled noise.

“Sorry, baby, I think you’re covering the mic.”

He tuts and you laugh as his face comes into view a few seconds later. His eyebrows are bunched together in the way they characteristically are and you see remnants of his black eyeliner smudged across his eyelids. Even at the tail end of his day, tired and just a little bit grumpy, Bakugo still looks pretty illuminated by the light on his phone.

It’s unfair, you think.

“S’nice.” he murmurs, fiddling with the petals, “Thank you.”

You catch his gaze and smile, “You’re welcome.”

There’s an uneasiness to Bakugo’s eyes that you can tell comes from uncertainty, and you give him the silence to sort through it before he lets you know eventually, just like he always does.

“I–”, he looks to the side, away from the camera. The crease between his eyebrows grow deeper before clearing his throat, “–M’not forgetting anythin’ today, am I?”

You tilt your head, puzzled, “I don’t think so, unless I’m forgetting it too.”

“So why’d–”, he looks back to the bouquet, sighing, “–why’dya give me flowers?”

Bakugo prides himself on his good memory; he knows your favorite food, and your usual order from that café you both go to down the street. He remembers that one sunday, during a hike, when you told him in passing that it was the best day of your life. You don’t like fuzzy socks because they make you sneeze, and you’re allergic to dust but continue to tend to him even when he’s covered entirely in it.

Bakugo knows all these things and makes it a point to because a relationship–this relationship with you–is new and kind of hard, and this is one way he knows he can be good to you.

“Oh,” you blink, before answering so casually, so honestly, “I just wanted to.”

Ruby eyes stare back at you, a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher swirling in them. His fingers slip through the leaves of the bouquet once more before his gaze softens.

“Ha.” he huffs out, almost chuckling to himself in relief.

“Yeah, ‘ha’,” you tease, laughing, “they’re just for being you, Katsuki.”

The look you send him is fond, but the feeling it gives him is anything but. Every time you laugh, and smile, and speak to him as if he is every bit deserving of the love you give, there is a battle raging in his ribcage. He doesn’t know when it’s ever going to stop feeling that way–if it ever will. The sides of his neck begin to flush red, and you giggle, finding it every bit endearing.

He clears his throat again, trying hard to hide how flustered he feels, “D’you make it?”

You nod, “Been trying flower arranging lately.”

“S’pretty.” he supplies, turning the bouquet around to show you. You grow shy, Bakugo knowing full well how terrible you are at taking compliments.

“You should get going, it’s getting late.” you mumble, snuggling into your blanket, the one he’d left in your apartment months ago.

Bakugo grunts in agreement, “Tomorrow, 7am?”

You hum, “Message me when you get home,” reminding him, even though this is routine by now.

The next day, just like every other Tuesday, Bakugo will pick you up at 7am for a trip to that café you go to down the street. And maybe, on another day, you’ll get him flowers again, just for being your Katsuki.

#bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha #katsu #soft #shotorus.writes #writing this as an exercise !!

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sunshinegirl29 · 1 month ago

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Under The Influence

Summary; Aaron is helpless under the influence of Peter Lewis.

Content Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Drugs, Violence, Death, P in V Sex, some angst & fluff if you squint.

Pairing: Hotch X Reader

A/N - Sorry for how terrible this is, especially the end! It didn't quite come out how I'd hoped. But I still wanted to post it 😅.

Aaron’s eye is swollen shut. The sticky cooling blood dries on his cheek where he sits slumped against an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar room. He sees you there, soft and warm, and blurred at the edges. You crouch down and stroke tenderly over the swell of his arms.

“Hotch—Aaron.” You breathe his name, leaning into the crook of his neck to nuzzle at the warm skin there.

Aaron tenses at first, uncomfortable.

“What’re you doing?" he bites out and attempts to shuffle from your grip, but his arms won’t move.

Something buzzes by his right foot, illuminating a faceless figure.

“It’s okay.”

You smell like sage mingled with something sweet, like bubble-gum.

He jumps at the delicate press of your lips against his neck, puffing frustrated breaths when you continue a path of open-mouthed kisses up and across his jaw before pulling away to smile coyly at him.

You’re beautiful. He knew that. But now, gazing at him with lust blown eyes and the hint of a blush tinging your cheeks you’re almost ethereal; like a mirage of water in a desert.

He can’t do this. No matter how many times he’d scolded himself about wanting more. You were so much younger than him. His friend. His subordinate.

“It’s okay. You can kiss me, Aaron.”

It’s as if a film falls down over him and a confusing blurred version of you; plush lips parted and panting with need.

You hold your breath in anticipation before he moves in slow motion. Aaron’s lips are softer than you expected, his five o’clock shadow a sharp juxtaposition. The erotic sensation beckons a moan from your mouth into his that’s warm and unbearably pliant.

“Touch me. Please. You have my permission.”

It’s as if a switch flips in his head. He had to have every inch of you.

The unbearable need forces him forward, the pain in his face and head just a background buzz to the ache for you.

He bursts into life underneath you; the hand that isn’t holding himself up curls around the side of your neck, a large thumb tips your head down for a kiss that swallows you whole. You can’t stop yourself from whining into him, obedient to his tongue that licks readily into your mouth. The tang of iron blending with a sweetness of something unknown, it gets stronger until he breaks away, allowing you to draw in a soft gasp. The reprieve doesn’t last.

The large hand commanding your jaw moves to join the other at your chest, and with diligent fingers, the light material is slipped from your body. Aaron groans deeply from under you at the black lace, which follows the shirt quickly to the floor. You can’t help but lean into the heady sensation of wet warmth at your chest where he nips and licks like a man starved.

“Oh god.” You whine at the relentless pleasure of his mouth and can’t stop yourself from grinding down into his lap. He answers your silent request for friction with a weak rut of his own. The hardness there hits your clit over again and you’re clenching around nothing, keening into his mouth that at some stage had taken yours once more. He brings the arm that had been wrapped around your back to tug harshly at your trousers, the material drags painfully at your thighs until they disappear discarded with the rest.

The subtle dominance of him is all consuming. He’s commanding and strong underneath you, lifting your thighs sharply up to bob gently for a few seconds. Pained groans and the jingling of metal the only sounds.

Aaron hesitates, reaching for some coherence through the thinning haze.

“Where is she?” he asks, confused.

A dark figure takes up his field of vision. Lazy instincts urge him to try to move, to run. Whoever is holding him here sits, elbows on spread knees listening intently. There’s a faint hiss to his left, something frustratingly out of reach, something isn’t right.

“Whe---” he goes to ask again, but coughs on the growing smell of sage. It's too hard to stay focused. His head lolls down, vision doubling.

Aaron knows he has to breathe through it, to call her, call his team and escape so he breathes, full and deep for a few seconds but is quickly distracted by a cold touch to the side of his face.

You’re undeterred by the blood on your hand and bring it down in a trail of crimson that disappears between you and Aaron who stares glassily into your eyes; his honeyed irises adoring.

“It’s just me and you, Aaron.” You purr, tilting forward to capture his parted lips. His teeth clench, nostrils flare like he’s fighting to keep composure. But you’ve seen the way he looks at you. Over coffee in the jet, across the bullpen when he thinks you don’t notice, but you do—because you’ve been looking at him too. Pining like a needy puppy, clenching your thighs under the desk, watching him interrogate unsubs and coaching you through difficult reports. But you never entertained that it was anything more than a crush and definitely not it being reciprocated!

But the need for him, it’s almost too much.

“Aaron, please. I need you to---"

You cry out, taken by surprise by the way he thrusts upwards; the stretch of him inside you only adds to the pleasure. There’s no art or finesse, just animalistic clashing of skin against skin, tongues, and teeth in all consuming desire. Strong hands ease down to settle on your lower back, rocking you faster against him, the drag of his cock inside you rips a strained moan from between your lips.

The sound has him hammering up in deliberate thrusts so strong that you flop forward, grinding flush against the damp front of his chest. Your whines are muffled into his neck, the white-hot throb of pleasure coiling inside you renders you oblivious to his nonsensical muttering and all you can do is kiss him desperately, swallowing deep growls of Aaron’s own pleasure.

Blunt nails dig into your back, his motions beginning to falter, but you continue to writhe on top of him. The way your body binds tightly to his creates friction in all the right places.

Aaron is louder now. The animal need pulling guttural noises from his throat that spur you on. Slick gushes around him and you whine out, his thumb rubbing desperately at the edge of your clit.

“I’m gonna cum, please.”

Your thighs shake around his, you’re so close to breaking completely but manage to release yourself from your place at his neck and take his jaw in your hand, yanking his head up with uncharacteristic force to look in your eyes.

“Aaron” He indulges the plea with a ragged thrust that pushes you over the precipice.

Your body tenses for one glorious second and a ripple runs through your body like a wave of throbbing electricity, pulsing through you and into Aaron who bites through a moan that tips you over the edge once more. You come down together, continuing to fill the room with noise, but another jarring sound snaps from behind you;

Something snatches at your hair and you scream out loud, pain searing through your scalp as you’re launched off Aaron’s lap and onto your back.

Aaron tries desperately to lurch forward. He has to get to you, to wrap you up in his arms, keep you safe. But all he can do is scream your name, his limbs heavy once more.

“Help me! Aaron, please!” You beg, half scrambling toward his slumped form, but a steel toed boot crushes your ribs like twigs underfoot. Instincts force you to curl up against the pain, crying for him to stop, but the shadowed figure just sighs, bringing himself down to stroke your hair. He says nothing but glances toward Aaron and smiles.

The pleasure, the love you felt from being with Aaron pales in comparison to the what follows. Agony rips through your throat. You can’t breathe, blood floods your mouth and pours from your nose.

A final gunshot rings out.

“Now I know what scares you.”

You never hear him beg for you.

On the floor, Aaron can hear his heart, louder than waves hitting the shore with such abandon, throwing itself again and again into his ribs. He tries to stand but bends like a tree in warm summer wind, brain fuzzy, and burning. The dark figure from before comes back into focus; the sharp, angular face of Peter Lewis sneers down at his undoing.

“It’s okay.” He croons as Aaron turns away, grimacing at blunt fingernails digging spitefully into the bruises decorating his jaw.

“You can move now.”

The smell of iron and something low and musky fills his nose; sucking in a steady breath, he begins to follow Peters' instruction to the letter. It’s on shaking knees Aaron becomes wildly aware of the dampness at his crotch, the uncomfortable disparity in temperature between material and skin. That’s when it comes again, the flood of memory; the intoxication of you, your skin, your body, and his, coming together in unadulterated pleasure. But with pleasure comes fear, the paralysing image of your death; the blood pouring like red rapids from your open mouth, the whites of your eyes blooming with the realization that death was imminent. But instead of clutching your wound, even in the twisted world of his imagination, you had reached for him. Blush tipped fingers that had clutched at his back in ecstasy desperately scrambled for him, desperate for a crumb of comfort in your final moments.

A beam of light invades the small space, illuminating a cream carpet. There’s no blood, no you. There’s nothing but the leather boots of Peter who revels in his agony, unphased by the intrusion of light. Something starts in Aaron, a spark of hope and an idea – years of training in the making. It forces him to the floor, grunting against the sensation. He has to be convincing.

“I’m coming through the door.” Peter hisses, thin lips brushing the shell of his ear “the woman you love, I’m going to kill her. Unless you kill me first.”

“I need.” Aaron stammers, giving himself mere seconds to calculate his next move “I need my gun”

A single shot rings out, and time suspends.

He’s crying when they burst through the door, each staggering to a stop in shock before bolting, tracking puddles of blood that retreat toward the back of the house. Aaron isn’t sure they’re real, not really, not until Rossi unfreezes from his place in the archway and presses the cold back of his hand to his burning forehead. Even riddled with panic and pain, Aaron didn’t miss the eyes of his team, lingering on his desperate hands that scrambled to buckle his slacks in time.

“We need a medic in here!” Rossi yells, it pulls Aaron up and everything comes back into sharp focus, like being pulled from deep water to cool air.

“Take it.” Aaron pants, panic itching his bones as he looks around, desperate to hear you, to know you’re alive “he made me see things..”

“Okay, come on let’s get you up.” Rossi sighs a plea, linking an arm under his to lift his sagging body from the floor.

He scans Aaron’s body, looking for obvious defects and signs of further injury but comes up empty and Aaron knows he wants to pry, to ask what had happened, for the painfully intimate details of his undoing. But Rossi just pats his shoulder, the same shoulder you’d dug your nails in, and he can’t help but flinch away.

“Where is she?” Even knowing it could reveal the truth, it didn’t matter; you weren’t here. He could hear everyone; JJ and Morgan round the corner, Spencer who lurks in the doorway, committing the scene to memory, but not you.

“Who Hotch? There’s no one else here. ” Rossi asks, flashing a concerned glance toward Spencer.

No, she’s here. She’s dead.

Aaron watches as Spencer pushes off the wall, eyes downcast and he knows then that he hadn’t been as covert as he’d thought, but then again Spencer always saw people for what they didn’t say.

Spencer gawps awkwardly around an explanation, but footsteps stampede toward the living room, panicked and stumbling. Your heart battering every rib but ricochets as you stagger to a halt, folding at the waist in relief. He’s alive. Bleeding and dishevelled, but alive.

“Hotch.” You gasp, a shaky hand comes up to cover your mouth when you step closer, taking in the details. His pants have been hastily pulled up. Something darkens the material at his crotch.

You turn quickly, reddening slightly. It’s been years since you entered the BAU, but you didn’t need to be a seasoned profiler to understand the expressions of the two men in front of you. Spencer flutters off to assist JJ, who drags a handcuffed Mr. Scratch into the hallway but stops in his stride.

“I win.”

He looks through Spencer, his beady eyes bore holes into yours.

“I don’t think so.” You bite and take a sharp step forward, but stop at a wayward flutter of your heart. A warm hand wraps itself gently around your wrist.

“You have no idea what I did to him. I win.” Peter laughs. Instinctually, you peer up to Aaron for any clarification, but the two men seem to freeze, suspended in time. Scratch taps at his own head, sneering between you and Aaron, whose ox like breathing permeates the tense silence.

You want to ponder his meaning, but the weight of Aaron’s heavy hand in yours is all consuming; his palm is warm and slightly calloused in your own, gripping it tightly as if an anchor.

“Hotch?” You breathe, turning slightly unnerved by his silence. “let’s get you checked out..”

Aaron turns, coming to life beside you; his dark shining eyes pin you to the spot.

“Aaron?” you frown, turning to Rossi for help find him huddled together with the rest of the team in a shadowed corner of the hallway.

He blinks, as if he’s seeing you for the first time, a loaded gaze that’s out of place on his face but not unwelcomed. You pull in a shuddering breath, unable to stop your eyes from fluttering closed when he curls a piece of wayward hair back behind your ear.

“He made me see things.” Aaron groans, jaw ticking, years of friendship shows it for what it is, the voluntary holding of information.

“It’s okay.” You try your best to soothe him, to bite back your own emotions at seeing him so vulnerable.

Aaron sighs, small and resigned.

“He made me see you.” He mutters, shaking his head at Rossi in your peripheral.

None of the team make a move to invade your space, respecting whatever was about to unfold. Your heart races, palms sweat slightly.

“You were dead,”

It took a few seconds to realize what he’d said, to battle with the weight of what that meant. You’d felt it for a while, the building tension your interactions, the way he’d reach for you when a scene got too busy or too violent. You’d pushed it down for so long, trying to curb the craving of being close to him, the hunger for his presence, the way you gravitated towards him in every situation. It wasn’t until now, looking up at his grief ridden face that you knew it had evolved into more than just this.

You’d died.

Peter Lewis makes his victims see their worst nightmares, and Aaron Hotchner’s was you dead.

"I’m right here.” You choke out from behind tears, lifting your hand to touch the side of his face. You half expected him to flinch, but he doesn’t. He all but melts, tears falling freely.

“Tell me what happened while it’s fresh.” It’s then you realise there had been more to this than meets the eye. There’s more he’s not telling you.

“No. I can’t..” You watch him step from foot to foot, tilting his head to the sky in frustration.

You almost push but Rossi cuts in with a cough;

"Come on, Aaron, we need to get you checked out.” This isn’t a suggestion, you know Rossi and Aaron, and don’t fight it, as much as you want to.

“It’s okay. I’ll be here when you get back.” You smile, suddenly feeling awkward, now aware of the presence of your team in your periphery.

JJ approaches first, cautious as if you might crumble under her soft touch on your arm;

“Are you okay? What was that?”

You don’t know. Or do you? The whole trajectory of your relationship had changed in a moment. How do you put that into a coherent sentence?

“It must have been Scratch. He put something in his head. I don’t know..” You trail off, going back over everything. But Morgan cuts in, shuffling you out toward the front door.

“That man doesn’t crack a smile. It’d take more than a hallucination to do that.”

“Maybe..” Reid starts, taking in a short gasp at the sharp change in temperature as you head toward the SUV. “Maybe we shouldn’t speculate. It looked bad.”

You could have hugged him. But instead smile, grateful.

Aaron watches you go, locking eyes loaded with words unspoken. Someone once said, is it better to speak or to die? He doesn’t know. How would he begin?

“Aaron?” Rossi’s hand begs for attention “You have to talk about it. Tonight while it’s still fresh.”

He knows Dave’s right.

“Hotch?!”

Aaron takes a deep, steadying breath.

“This is how it happened.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #fanfic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner

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hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

Text

BLUR | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 17k

summary: one encounter with both of the males heals you enough that you don't become anything but joy.

pinterest board: blur

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, marking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, cuckold kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, daddy kink, punishment, nipple play, oc gets triggered, face riding, ass play, male masturbation, multiple orgasms, use of butt plug, raw sex, cum eating, clit rubbing

note: i want to thank oc. i've always wanted to pinch jungkook's nose and i got to do that through her. LMFAOFSJLDKFS ANYWAYS—this is the LAST part of the steam series, whoop whoop. finally. this took me so fucking long to write and idk if it even makes sense, which is why i need you guys to let me know everything that you're thinking, feeling, hating, loving. I NEED IT. so pls, send me asks. spam me. thank you. ENJOY READINGGGGG. ₊˚⊹♡

A thin layer of sweat coats your hairline. And inside your skull, momentarily, there aren’t any thoughts—none, whatsoever. They have been swept aside as the feverish evening wind carries your boyfriend’s words through the aroused energy pulsating around your naked form. Around Jungkook’s, too.

Yoongi is still the only one fully dressed. And, adamantly, he’s taken the role of a watcher, shifting the dynamic in such a frantic way that the sole impulse that you find opening within you like buds of tree flowers is to obey. To submit to the role, externalize one that will fit it. To play along like he did, when he caught onto your scheme.

Even though you don’t know how to particularly go about it.

And when Yoongi walks over to the armchair in his living room, plops down on it, angles his head slightly to look at you and waves a hand towards the couch across from him, inviting you to sit, your nescience claws at you. Brutally.

You don’t know if there are any shadows thickening in his headspace because you deem there must be a reason behind his sudden decision to turn things around. He’s been okay with every practice done so far in the playtime—he validated all of them, was in charge the whole time until he gave that control over to Jungkook. You can’t help but worry if there perhaps isn’t a catch.

And the lower your disquiet sinks inside your gut, the higher your distrust of yourself springs, lodging in your throat. You’re not sure anymore if you’re right about anything. What if there is something you’ve done that you completely overlooked in the middle of your pleasure? In the middle of Jungkook’s pleasure?

Once you exchange a heavily-charged look with the puppy, you hope to find a hint in the tenderness of his eyes that would help you figure it out. Though, the more you deepen the scrutiny, the more you’re met with absolute blankness.

He’s as clueless as you.

Bewildered, mostly, that Yoongi let him have the upper hand.

Your finger itches to hook around his, but you only angle your head in the direction of the living room, dubious to listen to your body, intentionally wary. You make the first move and you don’t sit down on the couch like Yoongi motioned you. No, you sink your knees into the space beside his on the armchair, the leather creaking beneath you. Wrap your arms around his shoulders. Study the depth of his gaze as he focuses it on your face, looking for the hint, for anything that would lead you to it. Bury your fingers into his night-tinged hair the way he likes it, the way you like to do it, too. Pull it a little to make known to him that you’re bubbling with uncertainty.

Yoongi merely watches you, borrowing his friend’s stoicism.

You click your tongue, disliking it. “Yoongi,” you drawl out, cupping the sides of his neck, willing his attention to be more of an intimate sort. Just you and him. You need to talk to him about this. Need a peace of mind in order for you to enjoy this. In order to please him in the process as well.

He turns his head behind him, though. To check the whereabouts of his friend. And when you follow the same direction, you discover that his dining space is empty.

You don’t detect any panic in you. Perhaps it’s due to the fact Jungkook never abandoned you before. Or perhaps you’ve healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you anymore, no matter who does it. And what’s more, you think he probably went to pee.

With two fingers on his jaw, you turn his attention back to you. Leave them there. His lips curl up as he tries to purse them, his stoicism fragmenting. Eyes gentle, moonbeams swimming. The sight is so endearing to you that your own mouth mirrors his, butterflies awoken, fluttering their wings in your tummy. This is the man you love. This is the man that’s yours. Yours, only. And you’re alone, intimately, cordially. Just like before.

“Is something the matter, honey?” He tips his chin, irises dilated and looking up at you. Latches his hands onto the fleshiness of your thighs, just below your hip bones.

With your inhale of breath, you muster as much courage as you can. “Have I done something wrong?”

Perplexity writes itself on his softened face. Could it be—

“No, why do you think that, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you playfully, tapping his fingers on the side of your hips. You exhale a breath that loosens your worry a little bit and your mouth rounds. He leans in to peck it. “You’ve been perfect.”

Have you? You’re not so sure—on the contrary, what you’re sure of is the fact you can better yourself. You have to, in order to make your worries dissipate all the way.

And you can fulfill that if you know what role to play.

“Tell me what to do.”

One corner of his mouth tugs ever so slightly to the side and one brow quirks in confusion. “You’re about to get eaten up. Enjoy it—that’s what you are to do.”

You sigh, realizing you should’ve worded it better. That’s precisely what you want to do—enjoy it, but you can’t risk getting lost again. Can’t risk getting submerged. You need him to tell you who you are to be in this new dynamic he established and you don’t want to hear that you should be yourself. If you relax your boundaries, you’ll step into a dangerous territory—and you’ve been there before.

So has he.

“Yoongi, no, I meant—”

He squeezes your muscles. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here, you hear me?” he murmurs, one hand coming up to your hair and curling it behind your ear. And it’s these words that unwittingly, little by little, drive you to drop your own hand, your guard and your worries. The fact that he doesn’t even want to hear your better wording, too, because he understood you the first time. It guides you to think it’s not worth speaking out, not when he evidently knows better.

And it feels nice. To have someone intelligent enough that they know. To have someone care enough that they don’t let you immerse yourself in doubts because they know the type of shit your thoughts consist of sometimes. He remembers everything you unraveled during the therapy sessions. And that feels nice. More than nice.

Your mouth rounds again and you repeat it after him. To acknowledge yourself with it. To swallow it so it streams down your body, where its meaning can unfurl. “You’re here.” Your voice is subdued, unsure, the words foreign on your tongue. You knit your brows while you taste them, unable to identify the flavor. That is until you realize it could offend him. You relax your features right away.

But Yoongi merely watches you with a sympathetic look, one that makes you feel terrible for reacting the way you did.

Not for long, though.

“I know I’ve made a mistake in the past, but that’s not happening again. I’m not leaving you on your own this time,” he says and you realize that is precisely what you needed to hear, what your body needed to consume first in order to recognize the flavor of his reassurance. You caress his face in deep emotion and you try again.

“You’re here.” It’s a mere silken sound for only the both of you to hear, but it matters—it’s enough, it’s perfect. In the distance, you hear a shuffling of feet in the kitchen, the song of the wind gaining momentum, inclining to listen to the expression of love between you—to be a witness of the right thing being done at last. And you can taste the sweetest wine of the ripest of grapes, spiced with the most vibrant of roses. You can taste home; his stability you can lean on.

Yoongi smiles in your grasp, noting the way the words sounded different—more secure. The moonbeams liquify in his waterline. “That’s right. And because I’m here, I’m not letting history repeat itself.” He pinches your cheek, knocking your head back and forth with the well-meaning, ferocious movement. Erases completely the lingering presence of the guard and fears you’ve dropped. You laugh, softly, relieved—so fucking relieved. Joy fills your empty body, energizing you, roses rising in you. Your roses, the ones you know, fraternizing with the unknown flowers that Jungkook planted in you. And you discern that it’s you who’s in your comfort zone, in your safety zone. The males have stepped inside theirs and now you have. You inhale fresh air in your new lungs, exhale your relief. “Say it. So I know you understand.”

“You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.” Beautiful, beautiful words—beautiful consolation and kindness. A pillar of the most exceptional magnificence. Mentally, you rest against it, rest your enfeebled, exhausted body of all your needless worries and false thoughts.

You didn’t do anything wrong. Didn’t make a mistake. Though, if it weren’t for the weak moment, you wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have gotten the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

So peculiar, the newness. It dawns on you that it should’ve been like this in the beginning. Healthy conversations, reassurance. Why hadn’t you done this? Why did you jump headlong, bringing along such darkness of—

You close your eyes fleetingly to shut down those thoughts. Forgetting is taking place. Newness is here. Old is gone. Like the verity that he’s here, you repeat it to yourself again and again in your heart. You can’t change what’s happened. You can only move on with the eternal perception that you’ve changed, that you’ve learned. And that’s enough.

You brush your thumb upon the column of his neck. Back and forth, like he did with your cheek. Thankful for him. “You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.”

Yoongi isn’t puzzled you whispered it to yourself again. In fact, he embraces it. Kisses you tenderly, deeply to seal those words. They spread roots in you. Rake through the earth so the roses, the flowers can grow healthily, happily, luminously. You feel them lean into the satin touch of the butterflies that elongate their dusty wings before they curl the membranes around their radiant petals, forming a protection circle. A dose of healing you didn’t expect to receive. Not from him, not now—not now when you’re about to be eaten out by his friend.

It’s so surreal to you. To feel protected like that. To feel safe. Safe to now roam freely in your undiscovered sexuality because you have someone to look out for you, to possibly guide you back if you lose your way. The stability that envelopes you—you can’t bear it; it’s too good to be true. And when you take a deep breath and those roses tremble with excitement in you, in the circle, there’s nothing left for you to do but to accept it because it’s so strong, because it’s unyielding. You couldn’t move it even if you tried. It won’t let you—it’s here to stay. Here to be alongside your boyfriend, protecting you as you venture out on your perverted adventure.

You’ve worked hard to get to this point. And now you get to reap what you’ve sown.

Yoongi grins after the long kiss, proudness emanating out of him and you feel like weeping. You’ve done the right thing, for the very first time. “That’s my good girl.”

The praise does something to you. Stirs you violently, magnifies the intensity of the flapping of the butterfly wings in you. Sends back feeling to the ache between your legs, propped against the linen of Yoongi’s pants. Throbbing, slapping, memories of what has been done to your pussy—you’re a meadow of wildflowers and you’re ready to be pleasured again, however you register a matter that pulls you away from this notion for a moment.

There’s no catch.

Because Yoongi created a new realm for both you and Jungkook with his sense of safety and comfort, there’s nothing for you to fret about. There’s no role for you to play. And, furthermore, who you are meant to be upon this ground is who you’ve been throughout the whole trajectory of your relationship.

A good girl.

Only this time it’s entirely different.

You didn’t want to be yourself because, if anything were to backfire, you thought you’d have the responsibility for it. In addition to that, you thought the normalcy of your sexual life was a no-gone zone for Jungkook, which is why you’ve been racking your brain, trying to come up with ways you could differ it, so Yoongi wouldn’t get jealous.

But things changed so drastically that because Yoongi took control, now you don’t have to be in charge of that. You’re not the artist, you’re not choosing colors for the palette. Yoongi is.

There’s still one more thing that doesn’t add up. And you voice it out. “If you’re not letting history repeat itself, though, why are you letting Jungkook be in control?”

Yoongi grabs your hands and holds them. “I’m letting him be in control of how he does what I tell him to do. I’m in control of the whole situation, honey.”

You suck in a breath. To protect himself, he won’t make the same mistake again; that’s just the person Yoongi is. He’s allowed Jungkook to have the freedom of a bird in the pleasure he wants you to receive from him, but he won’t hesitate to ensnare him if he runs up against something he doesn’t like.

You find that immensely, immensely attractive.

Hot.

The pillar of stability, the warmth of reassurance, the absolute fucking boss—that’s your man. You lid your eyes, swearing, leaning forward to suck onto his lip, kissing him with utter desperation and he lets you. Lets you kiss him. Lets you show him how much you liked that. Growls when your hand creeps to his neglected, clothed length and squeezes it. Hums when you feel him up until you find his tight balls. Responds to your touch—bucks his hips so you focus on them more and you go mad. Interminably, mad.

And when you swirl your tongue around his, you feel a cold, wet hand on your back.

The magnet to your madness. The healer stands by the side of the armchair with a dew-sprinkled face and there’s a feigned, playful jealousy that you feel when you regard him, for the only dew you want on his face is one that’s your own. He washed up in the bathroom—you reckon he did it to cool his desperation, to cool the sweat of arousal that lines his skin, much like yours. You note that it didn’t work, at least not fully, because when you roam your gaze down, you discover he’s still painfully hard. Much like your boyfriend.

You wrap your hand around him and the forbidden, exhilarating feeling of having two cocks in your grasp is too brief for your liking because Jungkook pulls your hand away again. Holds it and leads you towards the couch. You frown at him with a puckish smile, but while he tugs you away, you steal a kiss from Yoongi. A hard, quick kiss that makes him twitch—something that you get to feel before Jungkook grabs you by your pits and throws you on the couch.

You let out a string of giggles, loving the feeling of being manhandled; loving the feeling of Jungkook being in desperate need to eat you out. Your face heats up, your body following suit, the ache between your legs worsening. Yoongi smirks, validating your enjoyment and he adjusts in his seat, which you think is dismal. You don’t want him to be neglected. You want him to be pleasured, too.

The words tumble out of you before you can think them over. “Can you touch yourself for me, baby?”

Yoongi licks his lips. Pauses before he responds. Tortures you like he tortured Jungkook. You spread your legs to provoke him, giving him a show of the shine on your folds. It’s enough for him to palm himself briefly, as if he lost control for a split second. He takes his hand away and places it back on the armrest. “I’ll consider it.”

The boss at play. You swear, closing your legs to squeeze them, to give yourself some sort of relief from the ache you feel. Butterflies go rampant in your tummy, but despite the buzzing tension, you feel content, safe and utterly elated. Happy.

You expect Jungkook to say something, though he merely props a knee on the leather of the couch and spreads your legs how he wants them. He doesn’t lift them, only parts them as far as they can go. You go to grab his length again because you feel a certain magnetic pulling to it, but he catches your hand in time.

“Behave.” He presses your hand firmly to emphasize his scolding before he lets go. Such a stark contrast to the playtime of before. You remember how he wanted you to do the complete opposite. To misbehave. Your body heats up even more, the fire compulsing your hips to sway, asking for attention.

Another set of words tumble out of you unwittingly and you place your hands under your thighs. “I’m sorry.”

The surprise that floods Jungkook’s features is overwhelming to you and in response, you grin, coyly. He strokes the adorable fat of your cheek. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.”

You purse your lips and before the fire of that praise can lick your whole body, Yoongi speaks up, too. “Good job, honey. You learned your lesson so well.”

Shock comes first, then fire—vibrant blue fire that scorches you whole. You blush, deeply, squeezing the leather of the couch—the praise and the validation from both males so profuse, so profound that you can’t take it. You hide your widening grin beneath your palms. “Stop,” you drawl, the sound muffled and soft, even though you don’t want them to do anything of the sort.

Jungkook coos, pulls your wrist away, uncovering your rosy, glowy face. Then, he pets your head, fingers sinking into your hair. He forces you to look at him, to see the smile of endearment that bathes his face in light, but he does it so gently that you purr, his hold so stimulating, so titillating—his countenance so lovely, so darkly angelic. Eyes crinkled but still round, still so tender. “Who taught you to have such good manners, huh?”

You swipe your tongue along the top arc of your lip, his gaze flicks to it and and the answer thrums in your belly warmly like a sip of a good wine. It doesn’t unnerve you, doesn’t make you afraid. In fact, it’s so tranquil and so right that you relish every syllable. “Both of you did.”

The rays from the light side penetrate the dark one and healing takes place. Healing that you never thought you’d ever be a witness to. You know that the act of forgetting was supposed to fully sink in all three of you, but your words diverged its path. You swallow warmth and you swallow relief, watch as Yoongi gets up from his seat and mirrors Jungkook’s position, one knee on the leather, hand under your jaw. A soft set of tears rush in at the attention and the realization of what’s actually happening, and when the healer sees them, he lets go of your hair and brushes his thumb across your brow, hand spread across the side of your face. You lean into his palm, so terribly emotional, and when Yoongi plants a delicate kiss on your cheek, your chin begins to quiver. He felt it, too. Felt the gravity of those words that now dulcify his intention to make things right this time. And he kisses you again, prolongs the peck, as if to thank you for your goodness.

When Yoongi lifts his head and bores his mellow gaze into you, it is the same relief that you’ve swallowed that you see saturating his face in effulgence. At last, it has come for him, has come to live in him. At last, it’s here.

You’ve done it, all three of you. Healed from the pain.

Jungkook knits his brows at the sight of the first tear plopping down onto your skin as if it physically pained him to see you cry. And before you can register the movement, he swipes the liquid emotion away and kisses the residue of it, as if it were fate itself that wrote it was meant to pour down on the right side of your face—for Jungkook to collect, for it to seep into his fingerprint.

So much love. The air is thick with it. Your lungs tremble as you take a deep breath. The wind billows in and out, but doesn’t carry it off—intertwines its translucent body with it instead, bringing in a fresh gust of briskness into the atmosphere. No more tears stream down your cheeks; you smile at both of the males—the healer and the boss.

Yoongi remains standing beside you. Takes your hand in his. Says a myriad of silent words of great importance that you cannot decipher as he exchanges a look with Jungkook, who merely nods at them in plain understanding. You don’t have to wonder long what was behind it. Jungkook turns your jawline to him and kisses you softly. Doesn’t let go. Prolongs the kiss until he whimpers onto your mouth, softened, too, by the healing that occurred. No tongue, just the warmed silver of his lip ring, the smooth tenderness of his mouth and the most affectionate emotion exuded into the kiss.

The pop of the withdrawal is all you hear. You keep your eyes closed. Feel him take that kiss onto your neck, your collarbone, to your sternum. Feel the tightening of your boyfriend’s grip around your hand as Jungkook drags his lips down your tummy, where the healing vibrates and he says hello to it with his tongue, makes it feel safe. Feel the tightening compulsion to watch him as he does it and you obey your body.

Jungkook is kneeling before you. Brows furrowed, expression so terribly serious as he understands how significant this part of you is. Sinks his whimpers into your skin while he sucks it and it’s only when you run your fingers through his silky hair that he looks up at you. And the sight of his wet eyes breaks you.

He’s as emotional as you.

Your throat constricts. If it weren’t for him, none of this lively beauty would take place—and if it weren’t for Yoongi, too. It is their work of art and you’re the one doused in colors of most resplendence. And you tell them, your body urges you to, while you squeeze Yoongi’s hand and caress Jungkook’s hair. “I’m so grateful for you both.”

The healer whimpers again, letting go of your skin, leaving behind a purple memory of this heartfelt loveliness. His tears don’t escape the confinement of his waterline—he blinks them away. Blinks them even more rapidly when Yoongi places a hand on Jungkook’s bare shoulder and he gapes at him in disbelief—in disbelief that his closest friend is touching him with such gentleness after everything. You don’t allow yourself to think of the past, of the last violent touch that you saw, but you can’t help the emotion rushing in your eyes. You let go of Yoongi’s hand to clasp the one on Jungkook’s shoulder, deepening the love.

And you press a loud, exaggerated kiss on Jungkook’s forehead to make him laugh—like he did that one time by talking about his worm. To distract him, if there are perhaps any overbearing thoughts in his mind.

Now his disbelief is directed towards you. Mouth parted, wrinkles between his brows. You burst into laughter and it triggers his. Yoongi’s, too. It’s your breasts that bounce now and none of the pairs of eyes flick to it, fixed still on the glamorous gracefulness that blossoms out from your face. Jungkook shakes his head, cheeks awash with redness, irises glinting with a spark you’ve never seen before, and you consider your job done. He tells you to lay back down, but his grin lingers.

Yoongi takes your hand back in his and you perceive that he needs it, that he needs to hold you. You smile at him, fluttering your lashes, blowing him an air kiss, and he nudges his nose against yours to remind you to enjoy this. You begin to prepare yourself, taking a deep breath—

It hitches in your throat harshly. Jungkook kitten licks your clit with deep pressure, just once, lifting his head to watch your reaction. The reverberation of the pleasure causes you to moan and he smirks at you—what’s worse, he winks at you, so terribly smug that he coaxed such sound like that by one lick and it makes you tremble, needing more. He can see it, but he tortures you, keeping his hands on your thighs.

And when Yoongi reaches behind himself and sinks your headband with yellow kitty ears into Jungkook’s hair, you’re done for. You must’ve left it there when you were doing your makeup. Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it, however. Too drunk by his first proper taste of you to do so, glossy eyes transfixed by that flesh of yours.

It suits him so well that you coo at him, grasping his neck to pull him back to your cunt, but he doesn’t let you. Your heart begins to thump with hard beats and you grow desperate, whining, looking at Yoongi to make him do something.

He merely smiles at you. “Be patient.”

At his words, Jungkook lifts your legs and begins to focus on the back of your thigh, marking it, groaning against your skin, inhaling your mango scent. He roams his tongue all over and you whine louder, finding it so unfair that you have to wait for it, that he reinforces your neediness by those hard kisses and sucks, by his sounds, breaths and control. You grind your hips, the ache between your legs made unbearable by your helplessness and Yoongi stops you by placing his hand on your lower belly.

“Did I not tell you to be patient? Be good,” Yoongi scolds, lowly, rubbing the place in slow circles. Your whine is bratty, but you nod your head, pouting, halting all your movements, becoming still like the wind that has come to stay and observe the unfolding of your daydream.

At your submission, Yoongi creeps a finger to your wet clit, testing you. Doesn’t do anything beyond that and once he sees you’re well-behaved, he plunges the same finger into your mouth, giving you a taste of Jungkook’s saliva. You mewl, sucking it. The healer watches the act in deep thought, your skin in his mouth, and you’re certain an idea flashes in his mind.

Jungkook straightens to his full height, proving you right and the feeling is utterly gratifying. Reaches behind him and grabs the tall glass filled with water that you never noticed he put on the coffee table. Yoongi withdraws his digit and inspects his friend’s doing with curiosity. Jungkook takes a small sip of it without taking his gaze off of you, tips it to your mouth right after and you realize he did it more so it wouldn’t overflow, as you take a well-needed sip of your own, rather than to refresh himself. That is until he does something that completely shocks you, ripping away your delightful proudness of being proven right.

It is something between a yelp and a moan when the coldness of the water drops onto the skin of your chest, scattering it with tiny, pellucid pearls that almost pool by your violent heart. The demo before the full game; your breathing gains as much speed as the throbbing in your clit. Jungkook inclines the glass again, holds it as a longer, thicker trail trickles down your body—from the middle of your breasts, across your tummy until it reaches your cunt. And the contact of the liquid with the hotness of your swollen seashell? You groan, rolling your body. So much that you slap your hands down on the leather, gripping it with all your might, needing something stable to hold onto, to release your pent-up desperation.

Amused, Jungkook sets the glass down and kneels back down. Licks a long, torturous stripe from your clit up to those pearls, following the path he mapped out while zeroing his stare into yours. You part your mouth, your madness closing around you again, puffing out short breaths and subdued, desperate moans and when Jungkook closes his lips over your neck and begins to suck, you turn your head towards Yoongi and roll your eyes back. Struggle to keep them open as you feel that muscle of his tracing patterns on the sensitive skin and Yoongi knows. He knows how good it is for you and he kisses you like he means it, mimicking what his friend is doing around your tongue.

Your sounds grow in volume. Your desperation, too, in intensity.

“Please.”

Jungkook emerges from your neck but wraps a hand around it, nonetheless. Is as close to you as your breath, his nose bumping into yours. He squeezes your column firmly before he curtly turns your jawline away from Yoongi. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat under his forearm, if he can feel how desperate she is for him, too—in a way you don’t understand. “Please what?”

He opens your mouth wider and spits.

Shock comes first like a thunderbolt, spreading across your veins, paralyzing your body. Then it blurs into a tumultuous arousal that seizes you whole, that makes you beg for more. No one has ever spat in your mouth, not even Yoongi. You’ve never liked it in porn, but experiencing it first-hand gives it another meaning. The dominance, the absolute film of lustfulness caking his face, the estimable seriousness that wafts off of him. He’s turned you into a boneless putty, his putty, and you want him to do it again.

“Spit in my mouth again, please—please.”

Jungkook grunts. Shadows surround your vision as you narrow your eyes in sheer pleasure at his sound, biting your lip to cage in your worsening desire for him—but he saves your lip, pulls it away from your teeth and opens your mouth wide. You ogle him as he sloshes his saliva in his mouth above you before he taps your tongue, signalizing you to stick it out for him. Once you listen, he spits hard onto the muscle that waited for it. You moan, satisfied, swallowing it right away and showing him.

He pokes his own tongue in his inner cheek, fire blazing in his as equally narrowed eyes, the act of spitting in your mouth making him beyond fucked out. You can sense it deep in your core and your obsession with it grows.

“You’re filthy, but so good. It’s making me lose my fucking mind,” he says, hazily, fingers squeezing your throat for a heartbeat. The momentary lack of oxygen gives you a perfect demonstration of his words and the moans you let out are so breathy, so choked out that he takes your madness and makes it his own—loosening his grip and kissing you nastily, licking into your mouth, both hands traveling south to your breasts and kneading them harshly, pressing your nipples between his fingers.

And when you utter the words rising vehemently in your throat, he takes the demonstration to otherworldly levels. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Jungkook cocks his head at you and drags his teeth painfully across his bottom lip, swearing. His eyes darken, at last. Thrill sizzles beneath your skin and you feel an upsurge of adrenaline, the aftertaste of the title so sweet, so delicious on your tongue. “As if you didn’t deserve it already, I’m gonna take you to heaven for that.”

You laugh softly, brushing your fingers through his hair, anticipation joining the adrenaline. “You like me calling you that?”

He hums his agreement and you don’t feel Yoongi, you don’t even feel his hand; your vision, surroundings, persona blurring so rapidly. “Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good. All you have to do is come for him as many times as you can. Thank him that way. Is that clear?”

You shiver at the use of third person. Never thought you’d find it as alluring as you do. Brush your thumb across his brow like he does it to you. He coos, kissing your hand, sinking his body lower. Touched by the gesture. “Yes, Daddy. That won’t be too difficult for me to do.”

Jungkook gives you a smile that envelops you in an aura, where it’s just you and him. You don’t have the brain cells, nor the will, the desire to stop it. “That’s a good girl. On her best behavior for us.”

It wakes you up and the feeling of Yoongi’s grip on your hand returns, the circle of the aura withering. Disappointment descends in your gut, one that is soon forgotten when Jungkook sucks your clit into his mouth.

The squeak you let out would be embarrassing if you weren’t so out of your mind, but the confidence it came out with, the seductiveness and beauty—Jungkook shows you how much he liked the sound by humming against your sensitivity, the appreciation smothering every fiber and nerve ending of your body, hoisting you up towards the canopy of clouds. He swirls his tongue around the flesh, sucking deeper before he opens his mouth wider and licks you all over, closing his eyes and moaning, reveling in the feeling of you, the scent of you and the warmth of you. He toys with your lips, chuckling in delight when he acknowledges himself with them, burying his mouth completely in them, kissing them, caressing them with the puffiness of his pillows.

He’s pussydrunk—and the sight of it intoxicates you just the same.

And then he pauses. Kisses your clit. The peck so ardently earnest that he sucks it in the process. Does it again and again until he tinges your femininity in the faintest, daintiest, most dreamiest tone of red, prettier than any flowers you’ve ever seen—so akin to the wash of color scattering along his cheekbones. Then, he rubs his face in you, vigorously, moaning against you so intensely that your sounds become one.

Raising his head, features drenched in your dew—just like you wanted it—his chain taps your cunt in long staccatos. The pleasure is so dizzying, along with his looks, that you feebly jump at every contact. It reminds you, vividly, of the spanks you like so much. “Pussy so fucking wet and pretty for me. I’m gonna destroy you.”

It’s only at this time that you hear Yoongi smug but quietly laugh. He draws close to your ear and his hardened breath steals your attention from his friend’s praise. “He makes me wanna taste you, too, and make you come repeatedly on my tongue. Fuck, honey. I want that so bad.”

You mewl, about to burst at the seams, unable to take the double relish given to you from both men. Yoongi latches his mouth onto your neck, causing your eyes to roll back, and it sparks up some kind of competition in Jungkook, for when he dives back in—you scream.

The flicks of his tongue are so brutal that your lungs heave. You take many breaths but you can’t catch them, the heat from Yoongi’s kisses and the rapidness of Jungkook’s movement numbing your body to the point that you’re rendered powerless.

Jungkook alternates between fast flicks and long swipes from your entrance to your bundle of nerves, parting your lips so he can have easy access. And being spread like that, attended to by two males that you have strong attachment to, the kitty ears bobbing up and down as Jungkook devours you—your orgasm chases you down, the knot in your lower belly pulled so taut that it takes a mere heartbeat for it to snap completely.

And when you come, Jungkook laps you up, grunting in insatiable need for more. Your body violently shudders, but he keeps going, widening his swirls of tongue around your clit before he rubs it with the tip of his nose and—

He begins to fuck you with his tongue.

You don’t feel anything. Not your heartbeat, not your struggling lungs—just the hard jabs of his tongue inside your hole, pushing you closer and closer to paradise. Not heaven, you’ve been there, but to something beyond. A paradise of the warmest color and sunlight, swaying trees and a pool of the most refreshing water.

And Yoongi’s noise of joy is the bird that flies past in that place, dipping to its reflection. “Daddy’s so good he’s giving it to you better than I ever did.”

It’s those words that make you come again.

He laughs, fondles your nipples, holds you steady as Jungkook prolongs your orgasm by strenuously sucking your clit and you sob hard, tingling all over, senses gone, everything gone. You feel so lightweight, so airy, dopamine and oxytocin making your head all fucked up. Happy, satisfied.

Jungkook withdraws, kissing your clit one last time, licking it slowly. “You came so hard for Daddy, well done,” he praises, mouth wet, face as colorful as the meadow of flowers in you, gleaming iridescently. “But I’m not done with you.”

You moan, wanting more, badly. Take him by the neck with both hands and draw him closer to you, the chain stimulating your breasts. You kiss him hungrily and the taste of your dew causes you to let out such obscene sound that Jungkook and Yoongi growl simultaneously. Dulciness, with a hint of piquancy that makes you even hornier—the slipperiness of his mouth making it worse. “I want to ride your face. Please, please, let me.”

Jungkook smiles at you, pecking your lips, faintly. Cocks his brow at Yoongi. “You’re gonna give the princess what she wants?”

Your eyes follow the sharp line of his jaw and you bite your lip. Don’t think twice about taking that skin into your mouth, licking it over, watching as Jungkook closes his eyes at the contact. Musk, the forest, wood—you carry your still lingering hunger and unravel it upon the spot beneath that strong jaw, devouring that scent of his, aware of how his breath lodges in his throat. You mimic what he did to your clit there, enjoying every second of it, enjoying his reaction as he hums and thumbs your clit, waiting for Yoongi’s approval.

And you quicken it by begging for it, squeaking little sounds, beckoned by that slow motion of his digit. “Please, Yoongi. I want it so bad.”

Badly enough that you force your head away and look at him. As much as you thought there would be puzzlement to his face, what you detect is far more sinister. His smirking mouth tells you that he is simply pleased with the way you’re begging, with the way he gets to torture you. And not just you, but Jungkook as well. Ego high—his control at full play. You don’t blame him, not at all. It must be delicious to him in the middle of all this healing.

“Ride him well, make me proud.”

The joy springs in you so fast, but you don’t have the time to take in it. Yoongi gets up from the couch and you apprehend that you were very, very wrong.

You haven’t healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you when Yoongi leaves.

Your panic is so enormous that you rise, your movement so rigid that Jungkook stumbles, his arm quick to wrap around your chest, pulling you back onto the leather beside him. And you don’t see the twist of his brows, the deep clefts of his dimples while he scowles. No, you watch your boyfriend’s back as he makes his way to the dining table, your heart expanding in your throat.

“Tell her at least where the fuck you’re going,” Jungkook grumbles, ever the healer who senses your emotions and the fact he stood up for you like this makes you mouth merely round, your otherwise triggered trauma unsettling the rest of your feelings.

Yoongi returns a moment later with the butt plug and lube in his hand and with a solemnly guilty face. Kisses the top of your head in apology, but it’s not enough. Not when you can’t hear your heartbeat. Not when you can’t swallow. Not when your mind is so numbed by the recurring panic that you cannot even hear your mind.

“Don’t do that to me,” you whisper, but the words are firm, piercingly sharp, important and gravely, so much that Jungkook, with sticky hands by his sides, stills next to you.

Yoongi cups your chin, a dominant gesture, but you glare at him—masculine strength being the last thing you need right now. You may have foolishly thought your healing was complete and as much as it knifes you to be proven wrong, it’s the fact you expected more from him that hurts the most, especially after he promised you he’d be here. But maybe it’s foolish altogether, to be in hidden demand of him to tell you of his whereabouts, notably when you never voiced it out for him, not once during the therapy sessions, not once during the course of this perverted adventure—the matter of the gravity of your abandonment issues.

You point your anger at yourself and fall to a dark, dark abyss.

And you pushed yourself there on your own because you were incapable of reminding yourself of Yoongi’s reassurance, mind too blurred, too fucked out to remember.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m still here. I never left you.”

You nod because he’s right. “I know now. I didn’t remind myself. It’s my fault.” It’s as much of a surprise to your ears as it is to Yoongi’s. He widens his eyes at your honesty before tenderness swims past. “I’m really sensitive right now.”

Jungkook rubs circles on your back with his thumb and you welcome his touch, his warm energy.

Yoongi caresses your face. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. What we’re doing here is pretty overwhelming. But I’m here. I got you.” His words hold the same firmness that yours did and it’s difficult for you to grasp how they’re mending you, how they’re swooping that darkness in their arms and flinging it away from your reach. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing. Let me make it better for you, hm? You want me to make you feel better?”

Emptiness plummets down your body, in place of the darkness and the anger, and the moonbeams in his eyes engulf it, filling it with its pale light. All you can do is nod, too weak to express any other form of affirmation.

Yoongi kisses the place on your cheek beside your ear, slipping inside his words. “Good girl. The best. I’ll make you feel better. I’ll make you happy again, my love.” You sob at the pet name, at the tenderness, at the comforting feeling of Jungkook’s hand on your arm, pulling you back so you lean against his chest, participating in your healing. The round valley of his tattooed bicep nudges you in your cheek as he cages you in and you nuzzle your face into it, hooking both of your hands on his forearm. Musk, forest and wood suffusing your senses, along with a strong dose of safety. “That’s it, lean against him like that. Daddy will help you forget, too. Spread your legs for us.”

You do as he says, needing what he’s promising you—needing it from them both. Maybe then, when it’s from such a vast source, will you get your full healing.

Yoongi squirts a good amount of lube on his fingers, smearing it on your pussy. The coldness of it enlivens you and you lean your head back against the hardness of Jungkook’s chest, pressing your lips against his bulging muscles. And when Yoongi begins to massage your clit in slow circles, the healer tightens his hold around you, hand gripping your shoulders, the other one gliding down your tummy and staying there. Nipples pebbled against his forearm, breasts full and squished, your form safe, tucked, pleasured in the whole enormity that he is—you relax, giving yourself over to the delight of your boyfriend’s fingers.

He sinks two of them inside you, stuffing you to the brim and pausing there. Jungkook sneaks his towards your bundle of nerves, resuming the circles, breaths hot against your scalp, gaining pleasure from pleasuring you, especially so when your healing is the primary goal behind it.

And when Yoongi begins to fuck you, his hand drops from your shoulder and settles over your tit, pinching your nipple between the knuckles of his thumb and forefinger. You cry out and it drives your boyfriend to pump his digits harder—to the point that you can’t see the in and out motion, the pace so fast it becomes a blur.

“Let go, honey, come on, let it go for us,” Yoongi murmurs, putting his whole body into his intention; you would move along with him, too, if Jungkook weren’t holding you so tightly. “You feel so good around my fingers. So tight, so wet. Such a good girl, getting what you deserve.”

Jungkook quickens his circles, gruff groans muffled against your scalp. “You can do it, sweetheart. I know it feels good when we touch you like this.”

Your body drips in sweat and only when Yoongi agrees, pistons his fingers faster into you do you fully let go. Your anger, your trauma, your darkness leaves you in the form of your dew and Yoongi collects it in his hand. Doesn’t stop fucking you, in fact encourages another one and you spill until your wetness overflows from his hand. Eyes rolling back, hips lifting, legs spreading even further apart. Both men praise you, but you can’t hear them—your senses silent.

They come back to you when Yoongi licks his digits clean, swallowing your pain. Doesn’t waste time and turns you around, your sore, sensitive body colliding into Jungkook’s. And like him, he dives into your pussy, licking you clean, not having enough of your darkened taste.

You’re so out of it that you can only focus on the brush of Jungkook’s hand down your hair and the overstimulation that seizes you, that you can’t do anything about other than take it. “Coming so well, so many times for us. You feel better?”

You can’t answer his question, not when Yoongi begins to trace your tiny, virgin hole with his tongue, giving you a new kind of pleasure that you’ve never felt before. Your eyes whisk to the back of your head and Jungkook cradles it, understanding whooshing past his eyes—understanding that you can’t speak, not when you’re experiencing something so extensive. He smiles down at you, squishing your cheeks. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, you look so pretty.”

Your choked out moans are enough of an affirmation for him. He coos. Then, a squirt of lube. A finger slowly going in. A gasp, a warm breath that Jungkook inhales, feeling it with you. The uncertainty in your eyes that he instantly smooths out. “You can take it. You’re such a good girl, why wouldn’t you be able to take it? Just relax. I got you.” He kisses your nose and you want to weep in joy, so overcome with it all.

Per his reassurance, your round muscle relaxes and sucks him in. And when he begins to fuck you, you can’t contain your sounds. So lewd, so dirty, and Jungkook emboldens you by scrunching up his features, groaning with you, taking breaths with you. You give in, entirely, feel another orgasm coming, but Yoongi rips it away. Wants you to come around the thicker toy.

The coldness of it makes you tremble, although the hunger both of the males awakened in you for it drives you to move your hips back, helping Yoongi insert it in. It takes a few tries, a few ins and outs before you welcome in it, before the fullness enthralls you so much that you become even needier, even more confident and seductive.

Yoongi presents you to his friend, but each movement you make causes you to be more desperate than you’ve been the entire sultry night. Everything is heightened—every touch, every enjoyment of praise, every sliver of attention and all you want is to be fucked. Brutally, ravagedly fucked.

To absorb the sight of you as you’re positioned on your hands and knees, Jungkook begins to make love on the skin of your behind with his tongue. You feel every word of apology compressed into it. For every bruise, for every red splodge, for every acute pain caused, no matter how much you enjoyed it in the moment. It’s just between you and him, shielded by the premise of desire stirred by your adorned tiny hole. And you keep it that way, whimpering for him sweetly, validating it for him. Tucking it safely into every chamber of your heart.

Then, he strokes the flesh, replacing the bad memories with good ones—replacing the past with the present time. Lies down between your legs and pushes your hips down onto your face.

And you ride him. His tongue, his nose. Fondle the kitty ears askew on his head. Let his moans envelop around those chambers of your heart, protecting them. Let his eyes seal your scorching, enchanting femininity with all its spirited confidence. And once he pacifies the grinding movement of your hips and takes control, palming your breasts, lips sucking your clit, tongue toying with it, you come in seconds that are not pathetic in nature, but outright exhilarating.

You lean back against Yoongi, out of breath. He wraps his hand around your throat. “What do you want now, honey? You want to get fucked?”

You hum, the idea clutching your body in tight excitement. “Yes. Badly. Please.”

At your words, Jungkook begins to tug at his length and the needy movement reverberates throughout your entire body. You coo at him, enjoying the view and you get on your knees in front of the couch to watch him, inhaling his sounds like he did yours.

“You want us to take turns? He stops, as if he was seconds away from coming, and you wrap your lips around him, letting him know how much you like the idea—at which he trembles, pulling you away. You grin at him in pure joy. “Like the sound of that?”

“Fuck yes. Please. Both holes.”

Jungkook hisses, round, dark eyes rolling back for a split moment, losing himself—thumb swiping across your mouth once he comes back. “Daddy’s so fucking needy for you. Come here.”

He manhandles you. Like a child he carries you to the dining space and bends you over the table. You turn your head to see where Yoongi is and he slowly swaggers towards you and Jungkook, popping his button open and pulling out his length. Tip red and painfully swollen, length long and hard—longer than you’ve ever seen it—balls tight. And when Jungkook begins to fuck you sluggishly with the butt plug, you grip the wood of the table with all your strength, fingertips white, and watch as it drives Yoongi to fuck his fist.

The same fist he cups under your chin when he reaches you. “Spit.”

And you do—at the same time that Jungkook forces out the silver toy, tongue immediately coming to whirl around the stretched muscle. Like before, as Jungkook fucks you there, Yoongi fucks his fist. The sounds that spill out of all three mouths are simultaneous, creating a harmony fitting just right for the paradise you find yourself in. It’s such a vigor that he eats your ass with—he does it much differently than Yoongi. Hungry and feral, he again buries his face in your ass, squeezing the flesh, before he drills the muscle with fast, strong jabs. You can’t see anything, the pleasure so intense, so darkly intense and heavily pressured that your vision remains perpetually in the back of your head. Your orgasm closes down upon you swiftly, at once, when he rubs your clit with all four fingers, not expecting it at all as no flashes danced across that night-doused canopy of nothingness before your eyes, no body heat nor pressure rose. Jungkook secures your release by slipping the butt plug back in, smacking his mouth in delight. You slump against the table, boneless.

Jungkook takes your arms and pins them behind your back, angling the hot tip of his cock at your entrance. “You ready for this?”

Your yes is but a tweet.

Jungkook hums, breaths hard. “You want this cock?”

This time, your yes is a louder screech, vibrating through the whole apartment.

“Hm, I’m gonna stretch you out for him. Make your hole nice and big for all the cum we’ll dump you with. You’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are, aren’t you?”

Both of your holes, your muscles, your organs clench at his words and you can’t halt the litany of vulgar words and agreement from pouring out. His grip around your intertwined forearms is deathly and when he fills you to the brim, tip kissing your cervix, walls stretching around his thick girth little by little and gives you a singular, hard stroke that shakes the table, you scream so loud that the sound echoes around the room, carrying it out into the feverish night.

Your words are jumbled, a perfect mess, and it takes more than a few tries for you to get them out coherently. “You’re—you’re giving me all of it?” you ask, because if there’s more inches for you to take, you’ll die.

Jungkook chuckles, darkly, lips at your ear, his body heat enveloping yours like a chunky blanket. Sneaks a hand to your hip bone. Sinks a little deeper until his pelvis touches yours, his heat spreading into all of your pores. You gasp. “I’m giving you every.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Inch.” Thrust. “And it’s all yours, sweetheart.”

You’re breathless, weak, and it’s a slow crescendo, the way he begins to roll his hips, the way he straightens and the fresh wind goes for the imprint of sweat of your and his origin on your back, cooling it, though he rips the briskness away almost instantaneously, repeating his hard stroke, the table banging against the wall. Doesn’t give you the time to prepare.

“Can you take it?” he asks, along with that dark chuckle again. Your hands begins to tingle due to the way he’s gripping your wrists, your blood at a standstill. “Can you take us both, huh?”

Brutal thrust. Just what you wanted. He takes you by the throat and presses you against his chest, kissing you with such vulgarity that you moan into his mouth, the fullness you feel only heightening it. He grinds in response, hands descending to your breasts, kneading them, pinching both of your nipples between his knuckles and thumbs. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You whine.

He withdraws, then. Motions over to Yoongi. The loss disappoints you.

A man of his word, Jungkook stretched you enough for Yoongi to easily slip inside you to the hilt. You expect him to give you a few strokes before giving you over to his friend, and you prop your hands on the table to ready yourself for it, for Yoongi’s hunger as he’s the only one who hasn’t felt any pleasure over the course of the adventure.

But Yoongi only grips himself and pulls out.

A thicker length. To the brim. A slender one. And they repeat it until all you can hear is the madness of their aroused laughter, their grunts and their pants. Hands all over you. The feeling is so overwhelming that everything becomes a blur. You don’t know whose hand is touching you, whose mouth is kissing you, whose cock is drilling you, senses ascending to a place beyond the paradise—

And then you feel both of their tips toying with your abused hole, acting, feignedly—drawing in and out, never fully penetrating.

A short-lived moment that causes you to forget who you are.

“Oh, god,” you drawl, slumping against the wood, helpless. They continue to take turns in fucking you fluidly, the symphony of your slick so loud, so filthy to your ears. You’re numb to the point that you don’t peep a sound, disoriented and so adrift in the place beyond paradise that they took you to.

Jungkook takes control once he hears your call for help. Begins to piston his length inside you rapidly until stars take shape across your vision, wrapping a forearm around your neck similarly to the way he did in the middle of your healing, digging crescent moons into your shoulder. Stops your head from knocking back and forth furiously. You feel his sweat drip down his pelvis—and with each hard thrust, its pearls jump over to your skin, trickling down your trembling legs. The pressure in your core is but a heartbeat away from bursting. You sense it—and you sense it vehemently.

“Are you gonna come around my cock or around his, hm? Whose is it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Your body answers him for you, your walls tightening around him so resolutely that Jungkook stills, whimpering onto your neck. You come so hard that there is absolutely nothing else that you hear but that whiny sound—and all you can see is the stars gaining vibrant colors to their pointed shapes, various, various colors that blind you. Colors that, like you, get dumped with hot, ivory, thick cum.

Your orgasm triggered his.

You mewl like a little kitty cat, so pleased that he came in you, so pleased that you felt it, that you felt the twitching of his cock. Pleased that when you gape at him, you can see how spent he is, content and illuminated like those stars.

You want to lick him up. You want to taste that glow on your tongue.

His cum drips out of you when you turn around. Jungkook collects it with two of his fingers and pumps it back inside you. The look you give him is almost predatory, so awfully fierce that he grows faintly timid, post-nut clarity cocooning him in a soft aura, bringing his puppy nature back to him.

You sit back down on the table and spread your legs for your boyfriend, but your gaze remains fixed on him. Blindly, you reach for Yoongi’s hand, drawing him closer, and he happily obliges your silent command. Lines himself up at your entrance and pumps Jungkook’s cum deeper into you.

You let the puppy see the exhilaration springing up your body, tugging the corners of your mouth to each side. The glint in your eyes. The pure joy that you feel. Then, the falling of that expression as it blends into a depiction of your pleasure—furrowed brows, pout, narrowed lids. You don’t take your eyes off of him. Not even for a second.

In fact, you curl your fingers in beckoning. And when he comes to you, you lick a stripe of the sweat coating his defined abdomen, tongue rolling around the valley of his hard muscle. Kiss the skin before you suck it into your mouth, moaning when Yoongi goes all in—fucking you with all of his energy. The taste of his glow only betters the experience, but you don’t think you can come again. You enjoy it, nonetheless.

And when you turn your attention to your boyfriend, deeming he deserves it—Jungkook steals it in typical fashion. “Feels good?” Light, much bigger than yours, covering his eyes. You nod, humming, girlishly so—the sound pitched. “You’re gonna come again? For him?”

You consider it an impossible task, but for him you’ll do anything. “I’ll try.”

Jungkook makes a sound of approval, leans in and kisses you gently. Yoongi turns your chin to him and as soon as your lips touch his, you feel his cock twitch. Unlike Jungkook, he fucks you through his orgasm, groaning loudly into your mouth and you reach to the place, where you’re connected and squeeze his balls, wanting his cum, needing it.

And when Yoongi emerges from his bliss, he smiles at you, breathing out a soft laugh. Features relaxed, drowsy. You give him a smile, too, the same tiredness engulfing you.

Slinking out of you, you discover he came so vastly that his male essence trickles out of you. You graze a finger across your slit and you gather so much of it that as you take your hand towards your mouth, it plops onto your stomach. You giggle, high on the hormones released through your body, high on the happy males watching you, high on life—high on rightness. The joy doesn’t even let you wrap your lips around your finger, adamant on showing them how well they gratified you by keeping them stretched in a dopey grin.

They’re so endeared by you that the same expression graces their faces. Exchanging a single glance, they start at once—picking you up like a child. Yoongi by your legs, Jungkook by your pits and it’s him, the healer, who leads the way to the bathroom, walking backwards hurriedly.

Though promptly, when putting you down, your legs are so sore, so weakened that if it weren’t for their arms, you’d fall onto the tiles. Giggles and obscenities are swallowed by the crooning sound of the streaming hot water in the shower and you sigh so deeply once it touches your skin. It alleviates the ache of your muscles, alleviates the throbbing memory of the last time you were under that burning cascade—especially when Yoongi twists your body, making you face Jungkook; especially when he says the words that quicken your heartbeat.

“Wash her clean.”

Making things right. Erasing that afternoon that ended in blood and bruises.

The wet, puppy eyes you give to Jungkook are enough for him to do as Yoongi says, mirroring your mien, greatly affected by the permission, by the act of something so forbidden untangling its inextricable knot. It happened so suddenly that he doesn’t truly believe he’s allowed to do it, hands shaking by his sides, clenched into fists. It is only when Yoongi begins to shampoo your hair that he’s spurred to do something.

And you help him. With a thudding heart and tight emotion lodged in your throat, you hand him your favorite almond-scented body wash. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you when he spreads the aroma on your sternum. Doesn’t blink once, doesn’t let his eyes wander south to your body—as if it was sacred, as if it was not meant to be looked at with lust in this intimate scenario.

And you don’t feel fire when the heat of his hands glides down your neck, your shoulders and your arms. You feel something else entirely, something you can’t really pinpoint. Something holy, something so immensely heavenly. Maybe it’s brought about by the fact that he doesn’t touch your intimate parts—not your breasts, not your vulva. The only time he comes near to it is when he leads you into his chest and carefully, while peeking down, tries to pull out the forgotten toy. You sense Yoongi’s hands on your backside, watching over, and the feeling of being rid of it is so uncomfortable that you cringe against his pec, squeezing him hard, hugging him with everything in you. Jungkook makes gentle sounds for you, encouraging you and it relaxes your body enough that it lets go of the toy.

Grabbing your shoulders, he studies your emotions. Sees only your same old tiredness and he pecks you, descending onto the tiled floor to cleanse you of your stickiness. Isn’t grossed out by the male essence that isn’t his. Kisses your trembling muscles on the apex of your thigh. Cradles your foot, massages it. The other one, too.

And when Yoongi rinses out your shampoo and the bubbles of your almond body wash, Jungkook tells him, gravely, “Wash her where she needs it.”

You’re so touched by the fact he doesn’t dare to lay a hand there in a non-sexual environment that it doesn’t leave any space for shock to come through. Your finger itches to hook around his, but you take one step further—you slide your hand into his. And like a child, you let yourself be washed in between your legs as Jungkook, like a father, watches over it.

Once you’re clean, the males take their turns. You observe the bubbles, the white foam, their veined hands gliding along their glistening bodies and, alternating, you touch them, helping them in a way. Touch the love bruise upon Jungkook’s abdomen; touch the indistinct happy trail on Yoongi’s. Rinse them off.

Needing to be held, you guide Jungkook’s hands to your waist and fold your arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, but both males think differently. Squishing you in the middle of them, they hug each other, each head buried in each crook of your neck. You feel their hearts beat as one and it nearly lulls you to sleep, its healing beauty soothing you to the point that your lids become heavier. And the three of you stand there, in a cozy, homely embrace, until coldness wraps around you, too.

They let you do your thing on your own.

Once you come out of the shower, Yoongi kisses you and asks you if he should bring you any clothes. You merely shake your head and he leaves it at that, following Jungkook out of the bathroom.

You lather your body in your mango butter in your aloneness. Blowdry your hair. Do your skincare. Note that there aren’t any thoughts in your brain, just deep, content silence swimming around with happy hormones. You’re so grateful for it that you could weep.

To bed, you wear your newest purchase. A pink lacy camisole with matching bodycon shorts. You slide your feet into your fluffy slippers and as you make your way into the living room, you hope with all your heart that Jungkook hasn’t left. You haven’t exchanged many words after the sex and because of that, you knife yourself with the expectation to find only Yoongi lounging around in the sitting area.

Midwalk, you bind it all into a loose braid. Don’t use a tie to seal it. Merely flip your hair back—with the futile wish it would untangle.

And it does when you find the males smoking on the balcony with the door wide open. Jungkook, fully dressed in the outfit he came in. Yoongi, wearing his pants. You let out a quiet breath of relief, stooping to the ground to pick up your robe and the cheese ball, a dreadful twinge in your lower body alarming you. And then, you notice that someone folded your little sheer outfit neatly on the chair.

“I wasn’t able to touch her after you,” you hear Yoongi say, the wholeness of the starry night plating his low pitch. You still your breathing, the perplexity from his words forcing you to whisk your head in his direction. “All I saw was my shortcomings… and—and I didn’t know how to please her anymore because you showed her new things. I felt less than. Unable to be the right person for her sexually.”

Your heart shrinks so much it pains you. Yoongi never told you these things during the therapy sessions. He mainly spoke about the sexual moments at the cabin, but never about the ones after, never about what truly bothered him on his healing journey. He bottled it up. Your throat fills with bile.

“Has what we did tonight changed that?” Jungkook asks, shoulders tense. “We practically did the same things and she was more than pleased.”

Your heart grows back to its full size at the positive mention of you. You rise to your full form, flinging the cheese ball into its empty bowl before folding your robe. Your ears perk in waiting for his answer.

“I think so.” The bile sinks back down, along with the pain coated with sadness. “I also think we should do this again.”

Your mind doesn’t allow your body to exult, knowing the reason why he said it.

He wants to either finish the hidden healing or… check if it has come to an end.

The tension doesn’t ease in Jungkook’s shoulders. “Only if you work hard and focus on her. I’m not consenting to this if you only touch her with me being present.”

Silence in your heart—a skipped beat. You don’t want to hear any more of that conversation. You put away your robe and grab the dishes, washing them in the sink.

No matter how much dish soap you use, you can’t scrub away the healer’s magic off of your hands. It pelts under your skin, to and fro, over and over as you repeat his words in your mind. Gives strength to your fingers as you hold the unusually heavy plates and bowls, the tiredness a hefty burden on your shoulders, weighing you down.

Such a good man. You’re so grateful to know such an extraordinary being like him. A good friend, the best you could wish for Yoongi. A good lover, too—

“I think it’s way bigger and deeper, this relationship and how I feel about it. I can’t help it—” Jungkook’s voice no longer a far-off murmuring, he halts his words at the sight of you. Calls your name. “I thought you were asleep already.”

You turn off the tap water, ignoring the question in your body about the incomplete sentence he uttered while being under the impression you were beyond hearing distance. Think you’ve learned and come about plenty enough of things tonight. You want to go to bed. With both of them.

You don’t say your reasoning behind why you’re here. Deem it’s pointless. “Let’s go to bed.”

You reach out your hand for him, but it is only the wind that encases your palm. You drop it.

A chaos of shoulds and desires swarms in him. You can see it, vividly. “I should go home.”

You’re having your way, you don’t care. “No. Stay.”

Jungkook calls your name again. Yoongi licks his lips, smiling, fondly. Walks towards you and grabs your hand, leading you towards the bedroom. The puppy stays fixed on his feet, not comprehending that you want him to sleep in Yoongi’s bed and not on the couch.

You raise your hand again for him. “Come, you’re sleeping with us.”

Jungkook has gone commando under his jeans. You eye the sliver of minimal hair on his pelvis and before you can ogle his worm, he cups himself.

Unabashedly, you click your tongue in disappointment, even though the recollection of your private decision to have his boxers as a keepsake, approved by him, suffuses your exhausted body in delight.

You get under the sheets, right in the middle, watching as Yoongi hands him his gray sweatpants to wear, holding your breath when Jungkook turns around and you gain a perfect view of his round, toned ass.

You’re certain that man will be the death of you.

Yoongi crawls into the bed, nuzzling into the crooks of your body that he knows well, cuddling to your arm. You hear him inhale the scent of your shampoo. “You smell so good.”

You stroke his forearm with your fingernails, transfixed by the way the waistband of the forbidden pants hangs low on Jungkook’s hips, by his slow, seductive walk that you don’t particularly think he’s doing on purpose. That’s just what makes him him, which worsens it all.

In similar fashion, he lays down beside you, but he doesn’t turn to his side as your boyfriend has done. No, like you, he rests on his back, hands by his body, touching you without meaning to. His warmth environs you, but you notice that a good half of his body isn’t covered by the sheets. You fix it right away, tucking him in—tucking the fabric right under his chin.

He gives you a strange look that makes you giggle. “You want me to burn?”

Oh, men and their body heat. You’ll never grow tired of it—it’ll forevermore fascinate you.

You shush him. “Sleep.” Pinch his nose, deepening his funny scowl. “Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

Yoongi begins to purr beside you and you know he’s halfway on his journey to dreamland. You lay back down, hip to hip with both males, hands on your tummy, your eyes languidly fluttering closed.

A hand on your thigh. You open them fleetingly, surprised at the contact, before they close on their own.

“I’ve missed his purring,” Jungkook whispers, thumb brushing across your smooth skin. Just once. “Haven’t heard it in a while. It’s better than brown noise.”

You laugh, softly, agreeing with him in your heart. Submit to the call of your own dreamland and you turn to your side, facing Yoongi, propping the back of your hand under your chin.

But then Jungkook folds into your form.

Mirrors your position. Arm around you, hand relaxed on the mattress an inch away from your tummy.

It makes you feel funny. It makes you wild, your body gaining the tiniest tendril of energy. You curse him, mentally, although you don’t mean a single word.

You feel his gentle breath fanning the nape of your neck. Along with it arrives the need for him to touch you. You purse your lips, burying your head deeper into the pillow in effort to shake that off and focus on relaxing your body—

“Hyung?”

He hums in response. You curse him, too.

“She didn’t come when you fucked her.”

Your eyes fly open. The audacity this man has—

Tense, tense nothingness. It thrums uncomfortably under your skin.

“Lemme make it right.”

Radio silence in your heart, its profound waves shaking through your entire body, tearing off its drowsiness.

“Okay, Jungkookie.”

Your gasp is so minimal, yet Jungkook feels it. He presses his palm against your stomach, pulling you closer to him. Yoongi turns to his other side, as if giving you the privacy for what Jungkook wants to do to you.

Reposing halfway on his back, halfway on his side, he maneuvers your form to mirror his position. And for the longest time, you both just lay there while Jungkook brushes his fingers along your clothed body. Back and forth, in circles, in peculiar patterns that soothe you. You thought you’d fall asleep this way, but the touches keep your body awake, promising it things in a silent language that it so evidently wants.

And it isn’t until Yoongi begins to snore that you perceive Jungkook waited until he entered his deep slumber. The breath you let out is loud, absorbed by your boyfriend’s much bigger ones, but it makes Jungkook hold your jaw steady as he draws his lips close to your ear.

“I didn’t like that he used you,” he whispers and his words fill your body with something foreign, something that drives your brows to knit, your muscles to clench, for butterflies to stir awake, although you disagree with him. Yoongi didn’t use you. You don’t really think he did. When you motioned him to take his turn, you expected to come again, but your body was so spent that it wasn’t able to do so, which is completely okay in your opinion. “If I fuck a girl and I come first before she does, I don’t stop until she creams all around me. Even if it hurts.”

You remember him pushing you away when you wanted to keep going after he orgasmed. “You don’t like to be overstimulated, though.”

He snickers again, softly and lowly. “And yet I don’t stop.” Both hands on your tummy, he glides them down, towards your hips, towards your thighs before he drags them back up. Lifts up your camisole this time around, getting a feel of your skin. Rubs circles. “I want to make you come like you deserved to. Can I?”

“I came a lot of times. I don’t know if I can.”

Jungkook caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, angling your jaw towards him. “We can try and see if you can.”

We. He kisses your cheek and you pout in his hand. Brain turned off, too numb by all the orgasms, the attention and the affection you’ve received, you take the other one and slide it beneath your shorts. Feel an onrush of freshness in your lungs when he whimpers at the contact of your lips with the pads of his fingers and you move your hips back against him, gaining another sound of similar nature that willingly tempts your madness to return to you.

He’s hard.

You grind your backside against his thick imprint, loving the feeling of it, loving the soft noises he makes as if he was trying to stifle them, but you were making it awfully difficult for him to do so.

“Don’t do that or I’ll cum in Yoongi’s pants.”

Your laugh is feral. Quiet, gentle. An oxymoron that could only belong to his name. To his art. The idea of him coming in your boyfriend’s pants drenches you and he gasps once he discovers it, teasing your entrance.

“You want me to come like this?” he asks and you hum your agreement, his fingers ascending to your clit, stroking it in slow, slow circles. His breath hardens in tandem with yours and he swears. “But I don’t and you will listen to me.”

He pulls out his hand and you whine, catching his wrist, bringing it back where it belongs. On your clothed, now swollen clit. You grind your hips with more fervor, just to work him up, just because you enjoy it and he fists the material of your shorts, stimulating you with the seam, dominating you through and through.

You merely beam at him, illuminating the room, fisting his cock. “Don’t stretch out my new shorts.”

“Don’t provoke me and we’ll reach an understanding,” he retorts, swirling his tongue around the bone of your jaw before he kisses it. Responding to it, you grind your pelvis back, angling your hips so his cock fits just right in between your cheeks. He tuts in disapproval, shifts a little bit more to his side nonetheless, pulling you flush to his body. “No, other way sweetheart. Grind your pussy against it.” You try it, placing your hand on top of his, unsure and he helps you, guiding your hips with his, grinding upwards, as if he was fucking you. You mewl at the pleasure permeating your veins and with his free hand, he clamps your mouth shut. “Yes, that’s it.” He tightens his hold on your shorts, hoisting it higher. “Feels so good like this, doesn’t it?” You nod, your noises loud, only slightly muffled by his clammy hand. He shushes you, breath hot against your ear. “You gotta be quiet. We don’t wanna wake Yoongi up, do we?” You shake your head ‘no’, squeezing your hold on his hand. Jungkook lets go of your shorts and slides beneath them again, fingers spreading your new arousal on your clit. You squeak again, terribly sensitive and turned on, bound in his arms. “I told you to be quiet. Do you know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You’re glad to hear he didn’t add “to me”, for some deranged reason and for that, you don’t peep a sound.

“They get punished,” he answers for you and you can’t stop the moan from escaping your throat, the idea of getting punished by him again making you utterly, utterly delirious.

He strains his fingers around your mouth until it hurts, but that’s not the reason why you draw it away. You do it so you can speak. “Teach me a lesson, please. I need it.”

You wish you could see his reaction, but the darkness keeps it to itself. You can only hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes—and you can feel the twitch of his cock against you that divulges to you that he’s gone mad just the same.

While silence takes place, he drags your shorts down to your thighs, the tight cotton preventing you from spreading your legs. He moves you so you lay on your back and from this position, you sense Yoongi’s body heat and the lift and fall of his chest, though he still remains facing you with his back. Jungkook lifts your camisole until your breasts are exposed. And then, he props the back of your head on his bicep, clamping your mouth back shut. He looks down at you and you can only slightly make out his features. The glint of his lip ring irradiates him. Mercifully.

You want to kiss him so bad.

“How does Yoongi punish you, hm?”

The question shocks you, coaxes out a string of your arousal to drop down your clenched thighs. Whilst he waits for your answer, he grazes his palm down your sternum, your stomach, your mound. Leaves it there.

It’s your body that responds out of its own will, not your brain. You can’t, for the life of you, think. He allows you to speak. “With his words. His cock. And… with pussy spanks.”

Jungkook hums. Puts the covers out, revealing you to himself. “Show me how he spanks you.” Your hand trembles as he lifts it. He brushes his thumb across your knuckles while he places it on your cunt, taking control of that expression of nerves. Wraps the other hand around your throat.

When your fingers collide with your clit, you hiss in sensitivity. Decide you will only show him this way. You can’t take any more. “Like this. Gently, but firmly. So it doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t like to cause me pain.”

He exchanges your hand with his and spanks you. With bigger firmness than Yoongi ever used. You arch your back, not expecting it with your dumb brain. He pinches your right nipple between his knuckle and thumb, making you moan softly, not having enough and enveloping it with his mouth, sucking briefly before he swirls his tongue around the nub. Your wetness rushes out, along with your noises that you’re just so incapable of stopping. You grip his hair on the back of his head and in response he flicks the muscle. Your hips buck, asking for attention.

Jungkook withdraws, stares you dead in the eye. “I’m punishing you for making a sound and yet you do as you please?”

You swear, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”

He spanks your clit. “Sorry what?”

Remembrance flashes through your mind. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Hm, that’s right.” He rubs your clit rapidly. Spanks it again. Your moans come out in strained breaths. “That was for the curse word. Say you’re sorry.”

But then, you can’t help but mewl at his fatherliness. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He pecks you, deeply. For the title, for your good manners or perhaps to silence you—you don’t know. “How sorry?”

His fingers find your clit again, strumming it, lips moving against you in a passionate kiss. Your brain malfunctions. “So sorry,” you whisper onto his mouth, gripping his hair.

He spanks you, softly, for pleasure, then continues. “You won’t say it again?”

“No.”

A sound of approval. “Good girl.” He sinks his middle finger inside you as far as your restrain allows him, fucking you slowly. The pressure of delight begins to build in you. “One more?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

Ring finger joins in, instantly. “Such a good girl. I love hearing you say that.” He jackhammers into you a few times before he stills, thumbing your clit. The fullness, the stimulation on your most needy part—it’s enough to make you come and you feel it chasing you again, nearing and nearing. “I want to fuck you like this with my fingers and have that toy on your clit. The one we used the last time. Keep the setting low, so it wouldn’t wake him up.”

A curse word rises on your tongue, but with the last brain cell you have—you swallow it down. You’re tiptoeing before the edge, knot tight in your tummy, pressure so enormous, and you tell him. “I’m gonna come.”

He lifts his thumb. “Hold it.”

You panic, faintly, standing still before the edge, face to face with your orgasm, close, terribly close. “I can’t.”

Jungkook shifts. “You will.” Bends you in half while keeping his fingers inside you, mouth latching onto your soaked cunt.

Takes control of your orgasm as he begins to toy with it, building it little by little with sluggish circles on your clit with the tip of his tongue. Then, he wraps his lips around it, nibbling on it and resumes the movement of his fingers, fucking you steadily.

The pleasure is so new, so different that you feel as though you’re levitating in heavenly places. You grind your hips against him, meeting him, but briefly. When he sucks your clit, he stills your motions and spreads shakes across your entire body. “Come for Daddy, sweetheart.”

He flicks his tongue—and you do. You come so violently for him that you grip his hair with all your might, surprised that he isn’t wincing in pain. And he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going until all that’s left of you is nothing but the cordiality of your high and those shudders, licking you up, devouring all that you’re giving him, wet fingers spread on the back of your thighs.

Then, he sets your legs down, straddles you and kisses you nastily. Makes you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue and he enjoys the principle of it all. Enjoys giving back to you what you leaked for him. “I could have you come on my tongue all night.” He pecks you, swirls his tongue around yours. “You kept quiet through it all. Good girl. You learn so well.”

You’re speechless, satisfied, sensing something approaching you that you fail to understand. Something bigger than attachment, but smaller than feelings. Connected to his healing gift or perhaps invented from it. Something that’s smack dab in the middle, growing in you, and you submit to it, unafraid of it.

A certain desire fraternizes with it. You push at his shoulder, wanting him on his back. As if he senses what it is, he stays put. Solid as a rock. In both ways.

But you’ll have your own.

You tug the waistband of Yoongi’s sweats down his hips and grasp him in your hand, spreading his thick arousal down his length. Jungkook’s breath shakes, but his words don’t. “When did I tell you you could do that?”

You grab him with both hands, squeezing him. He hisses, muscles bulging along his arms on either side of you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Can I?”

He coos. “Only because you’re so well-mannered.” Nods at you. “Keep going. Make your Daddy feel good.” Your Daddy. The fire it sparks in you, you put its wholeness into your movement—jerking him off, twisting your wrists, using all of your strength. “Hands off.” He spits on his head, the trail long and delicious to your eyes and you’re quick, you’re desperate, to resume and make him come, ache pressing down on your pussy all over again.

The slickness, his stifled noises, the snug warmth—you understand all of a sudden how he’s able to feel your pleasure because you’re experiencing it. You are pleasured because you’re pleasuring him. But still, you want more. You press him against your clit. “Fuck my hands like this, please.”

He repositions your hands. Slides them lower on his length, so his tip can stimulate your bundle of nerves. And when he begins to thrust, you’re transfixed.

By the roll of his hips, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, the evident delight overwhelming his body. You can’t take your eyes off of him. Especially not when he lets his guttural vocality loose.

You smile. “You should be quiet.”

He laughs down at you, softly. It vibrates in your core. He kisses you, humming into your mouth. “You’re right, but it feels so good like this. Doesn’t it feel good on your pussy?”

You nod, biting his lip, angling your head and devouring his mouth, plagued by his arousal, by his pleasure, by his response to your little slyness. He fucks your hands faster, gliding across your clit, not lasting for a moment longer. He shoots out his hot cum onto your tummy, cock twitching in your hands, his noises muffled by your mouth.

And he remains there. Even as he fingers you so fast that you come in seconds. Even as he takes those drenched digits, collects his male essence and plunges them into your mouth. “‘Atta girl. So good for me.”

He cleans your folds and thighs with his tongue. Dresses you, like a child. Fixes your camisole. Puts the covers back on you and spoons you.

Yoongi remains soundly asleep. You succumb to slumber faster than you came but before you do, it’s Jungkook’s words that lead you to that dreamland. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

In the morning, you wake up first. And the sight you see is so profoundly beautiful that you take a moment to gape at it, folding it into your heart.

Jungkook drools in his sleep. Celestial countenance, tousled hair in all directions, broad chest lifting and falling in absolute tranquility. He twists his features for a split second, as if he was dreaming about something uncomfortable and you’re so affected by it that you look away.

Turn your gaze to your boyfriend instead.

Still snoring, mouth parted. Ebony hair brushed back, exposing his forehead. The corners of his lips tug up and stay and you think angels must be playing with him in his dreams. You kiss his arm, crawling back, painfully, until your feet hit the floor.

You take a long, long shower. Practice your gratitude, recollecting last night’s events and words spoken by Jungkook that weren’t as private as he thought. Hearing them, they were too fresh to be consumed, but now that you think about them—your own smile finds your lips and you agree with him in your heart. You can’t let him walk away after this. Can’t let him return to his normal life that exists without you, not when you’re something along the lines of attached to him. Hell, you can’t return to your own normal life without him. Without his touch, without his celestiality. Without his attentiveness and healing gift.

This has to be a continuous relationship.

Jungkook was the one who called it that way and it feels right. Even as you taste it on your tongue, it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever swallowed. It fills your body with verve, one that you deem is essential at this point. One that you will need every single day from now on.

You have to talk about this with Yoongi. The idea doesn’t scare you, despite the fact you can’t really picture his reaction. Can’t imagine which way it will gravitate towards—whether to light or to dark. You don’t mind at all, in fact you look forward to it and you wash your body with greater care than you ever handled it with before.

With a face mask on, you take your cosmetic bag and do your makeup in the living room. The sunlight spills in, kissing your ebullient mien, and you imprint its red marks with a touch of blush across your cheeks, its lovely color with glitter on your eyelids and you finish the job with a few brushes of mascara upon your lashes and a singular swipe of a glimmering lip gloss on your lips.

It is only then that Jungkook appears in front of you.

“He still sleeps like a bear.”

You’re so happy to see him that it manifests on your face.

“Don’t try to wake him up or you’ll get eaten.”

Placing your cosmetic bag on his lap, he sits beside you. “I wouldn’t dare.” Examines your face for a good moment. “Why are you putting this on? You don’t need it.”

“I enjoy it,” you say, watching fondly as he takes out each makeup product and scans them. Once he comes across your tiny tubes of glitter of various shades, light flickers in his eyes. Your heart does the same thing. And a somersault right after.

“You wear glitter?”

You nod, a precious, girlish smile stretching your glossy mouth. “I’m wearing it right now.” You close your eyes for him, letting him see the small sparkles, resplendent of the sun. He praises you, the word ‘pretty’ embracing you tightly in all its snug simplicity, forcing your eyes open. A brighter spark shines in his irises. You brim with the yearning to doll up his eyes to match it and, having your way as always, you steal the tubes from him. “Which one do you want?”

He doesn’t even fight you. As a matter of fact, he’s already decided. Doesn’t waste a second to reply. “The silver one.”

Excitedly, you quiver all over. Dab the applicator on the back of your hand and lift your sight to catch him smiling cutely at you like the puppy he is. Your hand itches to ruffle his hair. Grab his cheek and bite into it. Go for his nose next.

Whirling the pad of your finger on the splatter of glitter, you hover it above his lids. “Close your eyes.”

He listens, immediately. You pat the imitation of his glint across that soft skin, but you focus on that beautiful, pouty smile of his. Think you’ll save his lips for last and savor them as you eat them.

You swipe your finger for more and adorn his other eye. Take the rest and speckle it on the highest points of his cheekbones—this time with his attention all on you.

You lean back to observe your artwork and find that something is missing. You know right away what it is.

You dab the applicator on his cupid’s bow and drag it down his collarbones. Take care of that first before you move over to his lips. You blend it there with utmost care and he lets you, zeroining his gaze into yours. Deep, but gentle. Loving.

To finish it, you kiss him. And it’s not because you were driven by your emotions or by that stare of his. You do it because you want to. Kiss him again, so the highlight is perfectly blended.

He’s puzzled when you draw away, but you’re not unnerved by it. You’re firm and stable in your decisions, happy in the outcome, any hints of repercussions or doubts far, far away from you. In another world, in another galaxy. It has long forgotten your name and you’re glad for it.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

There he goes with ‘we’ again. It makes you weak.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you say, soothingness coating your voice, penetrating his negative emotion to the point that he relaxes. Before he can say anything, you continue. “I heard what you said last night. To Yoongi. That this relationship is way bigger and deeper.” Surprise and timidity bleeds into the glitter on his face and he’s unable to look you in the eye. You grab his palm, holding it with both of your hands in your lap. “I agree with you. I feel it, too. This wasn’t just a one time thing. I don’t think it was ever meant to be just for one night.”

There’s rawness to your words that make him reciprocate your eye contact. He gnaws at his lips, as if to eat away his nerves. You squeeze his hand harder and are about to continue, but the creak on the hardwood floors stops you.

Yoongi. With his wrinkled face and puffy, but awake eyes. In a pair of boxers and nothing else. You stand up to your feet, dropping Jungkook’s hand, and you go to meet him halfway, but you don’t make it far. The soreness between your legs won’t let you.

He grins at you, wrapping his arms around you. “Can’t walk?” His taunt is loving and scrunch your face at him. “Good morning, honey.”

You kiss his bare chest. “Good morning.”

Yoongi moves over to Jungkook and places a hand on his shoulder. “Sleep well?”

Wet softness in his eyes. “The best sleep of my life.”

“So, I want two boyfriends.”

While Yoongi made coffee for all three of you, you were more than happy to make breakfast. Scrambled eggs on avocado toast—one that Jungkook chokes on upon hearing your words and one that flings out of Yoongi’s mouth because he bursts into a violent laughter.

You laugh along with him—so hard that tears well in your eyes, slapping your palm down repeatedly on the round wooden table. Yoongi mirrors your movement on Jungkook’s back as he fights for his life, red in the face, eyes wide.

“What did you say?” the puppy croaks out, bewildered, letting go of his bread and you feel terribly bad for him, for shocking him so enormously.

The decision came upon you suddenly while you cooked. Easy, smooth. Appeared on your heart that sprang it up to your mind. Gave it pros and cons—good friendship, good sex, good time; Yoongi might get jealous and/or possessive, nothing else. It made sense to you, grazed your attachment ever so sweetly. How else would you keep last night continuous? Even Yoongi went around the matter when he talked Jungkook’s head off, asking him if he’d been with other people after you.

Boyfriend simply means that. No other people—just you and Yoongi.

You weren’t going to keep it to yourself. Even if there was a risk of it going downhill.

It’s not relief that you feel upon hearing Yoongi laugh—it’s a river of liberation, concocted with absolute joy, coursing in your bloodstream. He woke up in a good mood. Woke up happy. And you fold that fact into your heart, hoping it stays for a long time.

“Eat your toast, silly,” you say, smiling, eyes crinkled. Take a bite of your own. Happy that Yoongi is happy, happy that you’re eating your favorite fruit, sitting again at the table with your two favorite people. “You heard me.”

“Oh, fuck,” is all Jungkook says, whisking his eyes to Yoongi, who’s chuckling, bending down to pick up the piece of toast he was in the middle of chewing.

You look at him, too, waiting for his response.

Yoongi brushes his hair back, a lazy smile on his mouth. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

You grin so hard that your cheeks hurt. The river in you speeds its stream. “Thank you,” you exclaim, rubbing his arm, quivering with excitement. “I say we mess around and have a good time. We can go on dates.”

Jungkook relaxes a little bit, furrowing his brows as he chews on his toast.

“She wanted two cocks, don’t tell me you didn’t expect this,” Yoongi says to his friend, patting your thigh. “I did.”

Perhaps that’s why he had such a hard time in all of this. He knew it was inevitable—and he worked his way through it until he ended here. Fine with it. Healed.

“When did that happen?” you ask, sliding your hand down to his.

“When I decided the first time I was gonna give it to you. Then, again when I promised you we were gonna make this work,” he says and you pout at him, so grateful, so touched. He squeezes your thigh, looking at Jungkook. “I can see your questions all over your face. Out with them.”

Jungkook has finished his toast, brows still furrowed as he swallows. He leans back in his chair, manspreading, hands intertwining behind his head. Pokes a tongue in his cheek, smirking. “Don’t kill me for this, but,” he starts, showing his teeth. “Do I get to have her to myself? Without you? And vice versa?”

Your heart beats ferociously in your chest. Yoongi pauses for a moment, thinking about it. He let him do it last night, he let him have you to himself, though under different circumstances. You figure what Jungkook meant is whether he can fuck you without asking for permission and the idea exhilarates you.

And the vice versa part. Jungkook is one sly—

“It won’t be instant, but we’ll work hard. Work our way through it until we’re all comfortable and happy,” Yoongi finally says and you kiss his hand.

You’re so overwhelmed with joy that your blood buzzes.

Jungkook nods. “Of course, I understand.”

“Is this something you want?” Yoongi directs the question at you and you nod.

“Yes, once you’re ready.”

Silence settles like fine dust. You finish your toast quietly and as soon as you’re done, you deem Yoongi should know about what happened in the late hours. “We didn’t fuck last night. While you slept. It didn’t even cross my mind and I wouldn’t do it unless I had your… blessing.”

Yoongi cackles at your choice of word. “Good girl,” he praises. “You’ll get your blessing soon. I promise.”

You look at him for a long time and you wonder if there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you.

“So, it’s settled, then,” Jungkook says and places a hand on the table, opens it for you. You grab it and he squeezes you. “Let’s celebrate.”

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two, READ part three

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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willowsnook · 2 months ago

Note

brandy with italian soda in a wine glass? 💗

charles leclerc x verstappen!sister

do you enjoy pissing me off?

----------------------------------------------

Few things in life were certain: death, taxes, and Charles Leclerc being hopelessly in love with you. At least, that last part was obvious to everyone except you. Charles had been smitten since the days when you were both tearing up karting tracks. Even your brother Max found it amusing how oblivious you were to the whole thing. The signs? Blatantly obvious.

Charles was always around. To anyone new in the paddock, it might look like he was a Red Bull driver with how often he hung around their garage whenever you were at a race.

He was always touching you—his hand on your back as you walked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, or nudging you playfully. He found any excuse to be close to you.

And he never talked about other girls when you were around. If the conversation ever drifted toward his romantic life, he’d deflect, downplaying any rumors. Because in his eyes, the only person that mattered was you.

But you were too caught up in your own world to notice. Ever since you’d started your marketing career at a tech company last year, life had been a blur of work and figuring out adulthood. Dating wasn’t exactly on your radar.

Charles had always been in your life. So, for you, it didn’t feel strange to be around him all the time. You hadn’t realized things had shifted on his end.

It was a late night in Monaco, and you were out for dinner with Charles, Max, Kelly, and a few others, making the most of a short break after Singapore. You rested your head on Charles’ shoulder, casually holding a glass of wine while chatting with Kelly. After dinner, the plan was to hit up a new club in town, and you were excited for a night out.

When the waiter came by with the checks, Charles swiftly motioned that yours was with his.

"You didn’t have to do that, Charlie," you said, glancing up at him.

He smiled warmly. "I always will, mon amour."

Max rolled his eyes and gagged dramatically, while Kelly shot him a warning look.

After leaving the restaurant, you grabbed Charles’ hand as the group made their way toward the club, not wanting to get separated in the busy streets. Charles absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against your hand, content with the simple gesture. Thanks to Max, you all had a private VIP section waiting at the club.

Once inside, you made your way to the bar to grab a drink. "Tequila soda, please," you ordered, leaning over the counter.

"Her drink’s on me," a guy standing next to you offered with a charming smile. He had beach-blonde hair and deep, ocean-blue eyes.

"Thanks," you replied, accepting the gesture.

"No problem," he said, leaning in closer so you could hear him over the music. "You from around here?"

"I live here now," you explained, "but I’m originally from the Netherlands."

"Nice," he replied, clearly interested. "I’m just visiting from the U.S."

"Ah, I’ve been a couple of times—Vegas, Miami, Austin," you said casually, listing off F1’s U.S. race stops.

"Not L.A.?" he asked with a grin. "You’ll have to let me show you around sometime."

You blushed, about to respond when you felt a strong hand wrap around your arm, pulling you away from the bar.

"Let’s go," Charles said sharply, his eyes shooting daggers at the guy, who looked confused.

"Charles, what the hell?" you protested, irritation bubbling up as you pulled free from his grip.

Charles stopped and turned to face you, his jaw clenched. "Are you trying to piss me off?"

Your eyes widened, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"That guy," Charles snapped, gesturing back at the bar. "Flirting with you, buying you drinks—do you not see what’s happening?"

You crossed your arms defensively. "He was just being nice, Charles. It’s not that serious."

"Not that serious?" he repeated, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?" you demanded, exasperated. "Why do you care so much?"

Charles stared at you, his usual cool exterior cracking as his emotions surfaced. "Because it drives me insane watching other guys try to get your attention. I should be the only one who has your attention."

The words hung in the air between you. His eyes softened as he realized what he’d just admitted.

Charles swallowed hard, his frustration giving way to vulnerability as he took a step closer, closing the gap between you. "I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can remember. Watching you with someone else, even for a second, it—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t want anyone else to have you, because I’ve always wanted you."

The weight of his confession made your breath hitch. The little gestures, the lingering looks, the way he always had your back—it suddenly all made sense.

You closed the space between you, pulling him down into a kiss that felt like it had been building for years. Charles wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding up your back like he’d finally found what he’d been waiting for.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Charles rested his forehead against yours, a wide smile on his face.

"About time," he whispered, making you laugh softly.

"Yeah, about time," you agreed, already knowing that this was just the beginning.

Both of you walked back to your friends who had been watching the whole time and your face burned red with embarrassment.

"Finally found your balls mate?" Max said to Charles laughing and you rolled your eyes, not letting your grip of his hand loosen.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

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thiriann · 1 month ago

Text

"The Darkest Place" - Oneshot

You can also find me on AO3

A smutty oneshot

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, Vampire Spawn Astarion × Tiefling Tav ,Traumatized Astarion (Baldur's Gate) ,Getting to Know Each Other ,Falling In Love, Injury, Caring Astarion, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Vaginal Fingering,PIV sex ,one shot

Summary:

After a grievous wound Astarion does his best to take care of Thiriann while trying to figure out just when his simple plan fell apart completely.

It took one hit to take her down. A single strike from those shadowed claws sent her to her knees, writhing in agony. Astarion screamed at her to get up, even though he knew there was no way she could. As he tried to run to her a wraith pulled him by the arm, its cold touch chilling him. Another sprung up next to it with a sickening sound effectively surrounding him. Somehow, he managed to recall Thiriann had given him a flask of holy water. He'd thought it a joke at first, something to throw at Cazador, as if it would help. It decimated the horrors as it shattered.

By the time he reached her, shadow tendrils were already trying to bleed into her skin, her glowing blue eyes blackened entirely by the curse. Shadowheart was at her side before him, her eyes wide with alarm.

"I can't do anything about this out here. We must get her to camp—fast!"

He knelt to cradle her in his arms, holding her close to his chest. She felt cold to the touch, even to him, even through his gloves and fear clutched at his gut like a vice.

He hadn't even noticed how much she was bleeding until he stood up and her blood gushed down and onto his legs.

The return to camp was mostly a blur as they sprinted through the gnarly terrain.

Upon their arrival, the group sprang into action, laying her on a bedroll beside the fire and Astarion was practically shoved away by the healers, his protest dying on his lips as he caught sight of her pallid face. She looked dead. Or somehow even worse than dead—her cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, her color drained from blue to an ashen white, with blackened blood smelling like rot trickling from her lips. The scent of decay was overpowering.

Gale began chanting in a loud thundering voice, magic crackling through the air like static. Abruptly, the air cleared, as if a cloud had been lifted. The curse was largely purged from her body, yet her appearance remained unchanged. Halsin, meanwhile, was a blur of motion, concocting a myriad of remedies at her head.

"I need to apply this on the wounds. Remove her garments." He instructed.

Astarion finally looked away from her face. Three long gashes ran over her stomach all the way down to her hips. With swift resolve, he spurred into action taking his dagger and splitting her top and bottoms in one swift motion. The fastest and worst way he'd ever undressed someone.

Halsin began applying the salve he'd made around the edges of the cuts and with a relief Astarion noticed the bleeding turn from a flowing stream to a trickle, though the stench of rot remained, lingering in the air.

"We need to apply this again in two hours and maybe attempt to give her a healing potion then as well. " Halsin stated as he prepared more of the medicine.

The group's panic finally started to ease. Astarion surveyed her form once more, finding it as gaunt and drained as her face. It made him feel ill. His eyes landed on the only part of her that still had some color. Two pink dots on her breast right above her nipple. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. It was his bite mark. With her drinking healing potions every day it didn't really scar, smoother new skin had grown on the bite but because it was still relatively fresh, the color was pink not yet fully healed. She had matching ones on her neck as well as on her thigh.

The marks were practically glowing on her. He quickly glanced to the others to see if they've noticed, only to be met with Gale's stern glare.

"We should... ahem... cover her, to preserve her modesty," Astarion suggested looking away.

Dashing to her travel chest, he rummaged for any piece of clothing he could find. The party already suspected him of leading her into all manner of vile debaucherous acts —admittedly, they were not wrong—but such intimacies were meant to be private and now everyone had seen the evidence of their activities.

Regardless, none of that mattered now. And it wasn't as if their opinion of him could sink any lower.

He grabbed a loose robe, one he'd never seen her wear, and returned to her side. He draped it over her like a blanket, unsure if he should move her more than that.

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” he asked Halsin.

" We have no way of knowing for certain," Halsin responded, his voice betraying a hint of concern. "It could be hours, perhaps days. The curse has burrowed deep; she’s not out of the woods yet."

“Can we really leave her like this in the open, in the middle of camp?” Shadowheart voiced looking around.

“Bring her into my tent, at least she’ll have some privacy.” Astarion spoke. He hadn’t even thought about it as he said it but a strange surge of protectiveness rising within him pushed the words out of his mouth.

“Not a chance.” Shadowheart balked at him.

“No offense but your tent is hardly a sanitary choice for an ill person, Astarion.” Gale spoke up as well.

“I’ll have you know my tent is the least cluttered out of all of yours, thank you very much. She's already quite accustomed to spending her nights there anyway," he countered, his innuendo intending to shock the others into agreement.

“That will probably be for the best,” Halsin agreed "In a confined space, I can prepare a steam inhalation to aid her breathing."

Gale narrowed his eyes but miraculously stayed silent.

And with that, the argument was concluded and she was carried to Astarion’s tent along with a solid stack of herbs, potions, and a steaming bowl of medicinal brew by her head.

Despite the sanctuary of his tent, Astarion was restless. He sat by her, attempting to read, but worry knotted his insides, rendering him unable to focus. Halsin was right; her breathing sounded terrible. She was wheezing on every inhale, the sound horribly resembling a death rattle.

He was being foolish, surely. They had survived worse. By the morrow, it’d be as if nothing happened. Yet, the memory of that Harper wouldn’t leave his mind. The way he had succumbed to the shadows within moments, undeath claiming him irreversibly.

That couldn't be her fate. It simply couldn't.

“Did I say you could die?” he asked in his typical playful tone. It sounded deafeningly loud in the dark.

“Come on, wake up.” He continued whispering “We need you alive.”

No answer came but her quiet breaths.

Cautiously he leaned down and pressed his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was quiet but steady, persisting.

A wave of calm washed over him and for the first time since entering the Shadowcursed Lands, he relaxed.

Exhaustion from the day's events and his lingering fears weighed heavily on him.

He laid gently beside her and let the rhythmic pulse of her heart coax him into slumber.

Astarion chased off the druid when he’d come with the salve a few hours later, insisting that he’d apply it himself. Backing up his claim with the fact he had intimate familiarity with her form already. Her wounds had stopped bleeding but as the morning came, she still hadn't woken up.

" What should we do? We can’t stay at camp all day," Shadowheart pressed, infinitely curious to learn more about her mistress’ domain.

“Normally, I’d agree but we can’t exactly leave when Thiriann is in such a grievous condition,” Gale interjected.

"A single affliction won't subdue her for long; she's bound to rally soon," Lae’zel asserted confidently. “It will be beneficial for us to look for supplies in the meantime.”

“Lae’zel’s right, our rations won’t last long,” Shadowheart added, her siding with the Githyanki betraying her eagerness to explore this “endless darkness”.

"If it’s all the same to you I’d rather stay .I’m not exactly dying to go back out there.” Astarion said, refusing to admit he wouldn’t leave Thiriann’s side unless they dragged him away.

"I, too, will stay," Halsin offered, “But should you find anything regarding the curse, please do let me know.”

The days melded into one another, with the party venturing forth and returning at dusk, leaving Astarion and Halsin to keep vigil. Karlach spoke of a sanctuary amidst the curse and a meeting with a Baldurian legend—an idol from her youth— but Astarion couldn’t find it in him to care at the time.

He was starting to get annoyed at Thiriann’s insistence on not waking up. But deep inside he knew the irritation was covering up the dread, the thought of what it would mean if she really didn’t wake, or woke up as something much worse.

He cared about her, more than he was ready to admit. He hadn’t cared about anyone but himself for so long, maybe ever. Staring at her pale sunken face in bewilderment he wasn't sure how it'd happened.

But there stretched out on his poor imitation of a bed she looked so small and fragile and he felt an overwhelming pull to do everything in his power to make her better. It itched under his skin along with thoughts of her that buzzed in his head day and night- when her wounds needed redressing, when to make her a new steam inhalation, when to push healing potion past her lips but slowly so she wouldn't choke, he even gave her a sponge bath to wash off the dried up blood.

He hadn’t eaten anything since they left the mountain pass, and his hunger was gnawing at him relentlessly. He realized he must have gotten spoiled in the last month if a mere few hungry days were getting him this worked up.

He supposed he could go hunt back at the mountain pass but that would require leaving her side and she needed him.

The thought occurred to him that he could ask one of his companions for some blood but their disdainful glances whenever Thiriann permitted him to feed dissuaded him. He also may have lashed out at them here and there in the last couple of days. Possibly hissed at Gale. But it's not like they would have agreed anyway, most of them had strictly told him not to look at their necks weeks ago when everything had come to light.The only person he could see accepting to give him some would scorch him alive. Perhaps if she bled into a cup, and he waited a day or two, it might cool to a tolerable temperature. A miserable sigh escaped him; desperation was setting in.

One evening, driven by necessity, he approached Shadowheart.

"What?" She asked flatly and he flinched at the chill in her stare, the words he needed to say caught in his throat.

"I was just wondering if you might have an extra healing potion for our dearest leader," he chickened out, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

Her eyes softened immediately, of course for Thiriann they would " Yes, of course." she replied, delving into her bag. "You know, you don't have to bear the burden of her care alone. We're here to help."

"She's not a burden," he snapped, snatching the potion and striding away.

"That's not what I meant," she called after him, her words lost in the distance.

He contemplated asking Halsin for blood,he certainly had some to spare. But he wasn’t sure he liked the way Halsin looked at her. Or at him for that matter. He'd been around long enough to know what desire looked like and he did not want to deal with that right now.

No, he could wait. She'd wake soon and then he could hunt, once assured of her recovery.

As night enveloped the camp once again, he grabbed a book and settled beside her. He’d taken to reading to her out loud as of late. It made the tense quiet more bearable, and he liked the sound of his own voice so that was a plus. She seemed to enjoy his voice too before.

“As the paladin of Sune stepped into the forbidden temple, his gaze met that of a striking dragonborn cleric.”

"I've encountered my share of daggers, sir. Best not to brandish yours so carelessly," Astarion mimicked in a feigned feminine tone.

"Rest assured, you've yet to lay your eyes on such a mighty weapon. Brace yourself to take my blessed greatsword," he continued, deepening his voice for the male character.

A snort interrupted his dramatic performance, and his gaze shifted to Thiriann's face. Her eyes were open, filled with mirth as she stared at him.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Please, do tell more about your mighty sword.” She bit her lip trying to contain her smile, her voice was rough as gravel, but she was talking, she was awake, she was herself and she was talking.

“Darling, you…” His voice broke, emotion swelling. “You finally stop being melodramatic and the first thing you do is ask about my greatsword? Not surprised at all, my dear.”

She openly laughed then, and he felt as if the shadow curse itself had lifted. He wanted to hug her, he wanted to kiss her, just any type of touch that solidified that she was alive, instead he stood there, frozen, held back by his insecurities as she struggled to sit up.

“How long was I out?” she asked, wincing as she sat up.

“Four days,” he replied, closing the book and rising to meet her gaze.

“What a right mess,” she groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “We should have been in Moonrise by now.”

“I think the others will forgive you dear. They thought the Shadowcurse might have claimed you for good.”

She went quiet at that, staring at her hands.

“Perhaps it did, for a while.”

He stared at her shocked while she continued.

“I journeyed to a place... elsewhere. Somewhere dark, devoid of wind, absent of sound. It reminded me of…” she hesitated “…somewhere I’d been before, years ago. The darkest place.” She smiled but it was a twisted thing, like it hurt to do so.

Shaking off the shadows of her recollection, she turned to him with concern. " And what about you? Did anyone else get hurt?”

“We got away unscathed. Some of us have better survival instincts, darling.” he quipped with playful arrogance.

She laughed again then, bringing more brightness into his tent.

"Forgive me for lacking your uncanny dodging abilities."

"One cannot expect to match such excellence," he gestured to himself, then with a quieter voice he added, “Just don’t do it again.”

She swallowed before looking away. “I’ll try.”

“Why am I in your tent?” she asked as her gaze wandered the canvas confines.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly leave you in the middle of camp like a drying fish now, could we?” he remarked with feigned exasperation.

“Oh…” she looked away guiltily, “Sorry for imposing on you like that.”

“Nonsense, darling, you know my tent is ever open for you, any time.” He tried to sound flirtatious but came out shockingly sincere at the end.

She smiled a little before standing up, a slight wobble betraying her weakness, but she steadied herself with determination.

“I am grateful for your hospitality, truly. But nature calls and I’m starving so I’ll head out.”

He was at her side in an instant, supporting her as her knee gave out on the first step.

“I’ve got you. Why don’t you let me help? The last thing we need now is to have you collapsing just as you've returned to us."

Thiriann bit her lip, considering his offer. She was pretty sure she could make it on her own but was reluctant to lose the feeling of his arms around her.

“I’d like that.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Astarion stood around the edges of the shadows waiting for Thiriann to finish her business when he heard her call out. “What happened to my clothes?”

“They were torn beyond repair I’m afraid. We had to discard them.”

“Damn, that was the only good leather I could find in this wilderness.” She bemoaned “And what of my small clothes?”

"Those too," He failed to mention his involvement in the tearing of those.

She looked uncomfortable as she emerged from the bush.

“That was my last pair.”

“How unfortunate.” his tone lacking any semblance of genuineness.

She offered a wry smile and an eye roll in response.

“Shall we, my dear?” he extended his arm in mock imitation of a courtly gentleman.

"Your gallantry is most appreciated, good sir. Lead the way," she accepted, allowing herself to lean on him just a little during their walk back.

And for a moment his mind drifted, away from this curse ridden place and into the parks of the lower city. Holding hands just as they did now, walking to a blanket setup in spotted shade, a bottle of rich red wine waiting for them.

Stop it! He chastised himself.

What was the point of these childish fantasies? They could bring nothing but more misery.

She wouldn’t want these things with him and he shouldn’t be wanting them in the first place. It was all so stupid. It must have been her close proximity that was bringing these on, that and the fact he had to play her nurse for the last week and his hunger and all the romantic books he’d been reading by her bedside, lack of sleep, they were confusing him, urging him to look for something that wasn’t there, to hope for something that wouldn’t happen.

And yet when she leaned against his side a little more, he felt his breath catch in his throat as her warmth spread through his side.

"Do we have any eggs?" she asked suddenly, breaking his reverie.

"What?" he asked in confusion, as she released his arm and began sifting through a supply pack. They had reached the campfire before he noticed.

"Never mind, found some," she declared, settling down to prepare her meal.

Her knife danced through the vegetables with a speed and precision he hadn't seen from her before. She moved with such ease, like she'd done this thousands of times, tossing her ingredients swiftly into the frying pan with a few eggs and some spices that Gale had left lying about.

"You know how to cook," he stated even though there was a question in his voice.

"Because I made an omelette?" She asked incredulously.

"Because of the way you handle a blade," he clarified.

She raised an eyebrow at that, unsure if he was trying to make a sexual innuendo. Knowing him, probably he was.

“I wasn't sure you knew how to hold one, what with that debacle back at the forge.” He smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes at the memory. The only other time he'd seen her actually attempt to use a knife was when she had failed spectacularly at cutting off the drow's head and he'd had to intervene to help.

“I'll have you know I'm actually quite decent with a dagger.” She replied arrogantly, waving her blade around in the air in a way that did not backup her claim at all.

"And yes, I can cook. Had my heart set on becoming a chef once upon a time," she confessed, her gaze lost in the flames. " I travelled all over to learn from the best. The quests I've taken for some of my recipes..." A self-deprecating chuckle escaped her as she reminisced. "It all seems so trivial now."

She retrieved her meal from the fire and took a mouthful, not waiting for it to cool. She always preferred it hot anyway.

"You've never cooked for this lot. Not up to your master chef standards, are they? " He teased.

" It's not that but I'd rather it stay this way. If they knew, I'd be roped into cooking duty, and I much prefer being served. Besides, Gale's ego might not survive any more competition."

"Understandable," he conceded, appreciating the appeal of having your meal delivered to your bed every night.

"So only you know my little secret. I’m trusting you to keep it." She said, trying to sound mischievous.

This is so typical of her, he thought with some exasperation. Her 'secrets' were nothing more than hidden talents and achievements. Nothing dark lingered around her, no deep pools of morally questionable choices. Sometimes it was infuriating how innocent she was.

" We should introduce you to a bit of corruption if these are the worst of your secrets, darling," he jested, turning back to the fire, oblivious to the shadow that crossed her face.

" We all have things that haunt us, Astarion," she replied after a pause, her voice heavy and unexpectedly sad.

He looked at her then. For the longest time, he'd felt like he'd had the most world experiences than anyone in their group because he'd been alive the longest. Thiriann's naivete especially made her seem so childish to him sometimes. Like she barely even knew the types of people that lived out there, all the possible worst the world could offer.

But looking at her now he finally saw her experiences etched upon her face. She looked worn down, aged, her shoulders slumped in defeat and her eyes filled with misery and acceptance.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they didn't know each other at all.

That was understandable, they’d barely known one another for a month, and most of the time they were running around in some crisis or another.

What didn’t make sense though was his desire for that to change. He wanted to know what made her look like that, and to never speak of it again just to avoid seeing this misery in her.

But once again he remained motionless, caught in the uncertainty of how to reach out and offer the comfort she so clearly needed. So, he just nodded.

“You can talk to me, you know. We are technically in this together. “ He said in the end, his voice soft but uncharacteristically serious.

“Before I was taken by the Nautiloid, long before, there was a man I knew.” She began, uncertainty evident in her voice probably wondering if he was even interested in hearing her out. He turned his body fully towards her, trying his hardest to convey he was listening.

“He was my senior, my commander. I served under him for years. And he was a right asshole, never had a kind word to say. You could do everything right and he’d still have a ready plethora of insults to throw at you. Our troops hated him almost as much as the enemy.”

She smiled faintly as if this was the fondest part of her memory.

"But he was also fiercely loyal, utterly devoted to the woman he loved. I admired him for that. He would do anything for her, even the most heinous acts. I thought there was something noble in that blind devotion."

Astarion scoffed. "Your ideas of romance are rather twisted, aren't they, darling?"

She shrugged, not particularly offended."Too many lonely years and trashy books, I suppose."

He grimaced, her answer hitting too close to home.

It’s not that he was in any position to lecture her on the matter given his own ideas of what was considered romantic came from much the same way.

“So, what happened to this rude smitten fool? I presume he met his grim end running after his lady’s coattails?” he asked unable to shake off the bitterness.

“Yeah, you could say that.”she replied and Astarion’s smirk fell as he saw the grim look on her face.

“When the tides of war turned and it became clear we’d lose and be accused of treason, we were instructed to infiltrate the rebellion ranks, a last-ditch effort to gather intelligence. But no further orders never came. Instead, we were sent to eliminate a hostile entity.

When we got there he already knew. Hells He had orchestrated it all. He wanted to die by our hands, by my hands..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes filled with a profound sadness.

"I had to be a part of it, couldn't stop it, couldn't run away, couldn't…" She shook her head trying to push away the memory.

Astarion understood this feeling all too well. The helplessness, the forced complicity in acts he never wanted.

A sudden overwhelming feeling of sadness and pity settled in his chest at the thought that she knew what those things felt like.

"You were a pawn in their game, nothing more. A toy to be manipulated," he said, his voice gentle. "It's pointless to blame yourself when you couldn't have changed anything. The best thing to do is forget and move on."

She nodded, a sad smile playing on her lips. "That’s easier said than done." she whispered.

“I know.” He said, voice filled with a quiet understanding as he handed her a bottle.

She accepted the wine, taking a deep swig without tasting it at all.

A moment passed before she spoke, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“He died an asshole, lived an asshole and no one mourned him.”

“Except you.”

“Except me ," she confirmed, her gaze drifting back to the dancing flames. Lost in the countless memories, she seemed to relive a bygone era.

“He gave the most insane orders sometimes," she murmured, breaking the silence. "Once, he commanded us to hurl bird droppings at the enemy, a tactic he called 'psychological warfare'."

Astarion's brow furrowed in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

A wry smile crept across her lips. "Oh, I am. And it worked. The look of utter confusion on their faces was priceless."

“Tell me everything.” Astarion said, his curiosity sufficiently piqued.

As the night progressed, he could see her eyelids were getting heavy, her words slurred slightly as she slumped more and more. Soon they'd both retreat to their respective beds and settle for the night. His tent looked strangely dark and lonesome despite being close to the fire.

A gust of wind flew past them followed by an unsettling howl from the shadows and she shivered.

She looked at him with uncertainty and what he was sure was longing, resembling a stray puppy waiting at someone's doorstep.

“Thank you again for… before and for tonight, for staying with me. I-I’m not sure when was the last time someone did this for me. “

She looked at him with so much gratitude in her eyes and heat bloomed in his chest, making his heart clench.

Her words were plain, just a simple thank you yet they unexpectedly lodged in his chest. When was the last time someone had thanked him for anything? Or he done something worthy of gratitude?

“Don’t mention it,dear. I should leave you to rest.” He said preparing to walk out trying his damnest not to betray how his composure had crumbled.

“Astarion,” she called out after him “when was the last time you fed?”

“Well, you know,” he started gesturing with a flair “I pop out to hunt every now and then.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re starving.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and he had to ask himself how could she possibly know.

“Come, you can feed from me if you’d like.”

He balked at her, outraged. “Have you lost your mind, darling? You just woke up.”

“I’m fine,I’m just tired.” She waved him off “The curse has left my body completely.”

He eyed her uncertainly. The thought of drinking from her now made him uneasy but even at her mere suggestion, he could feel his hunger resurfacing. His eyes trailed to her neck involuntarily and he felt his stomach clench violently at the sight. He hated this part of himself, more beast than man in his uncontrollable desire. But holding back was never his strong suit and when she’d offered so willingly, it was harder than ever to resist.

“Why don’t you come back to my tent then?” He asked suddenly “It will save you from the draft and we could have ourselves a little privacy.”

Laying her down on the pillows that he’d arranged his eyes drifted once more to her neck. He swallowed painfully, his throat dry as a desert.

“Are you really sure?” He heard himself murmur.

“Yes,I’ll be alright. Now come here.” She moved to make space for him.

That warm bubble of affection in his chest which he'd largely been ignoring was pushing insistently at his ribs as he stared at her bright blue eyes.

Sliding his body over hers, Astarion lowered himself on top of her. He bit quickly, trying to minimize her pain.

Finally, it was as if a damn burst and all of the feelings he had felt the last few days- the fear of losing her, the stress of her illness, the relief of her finally awakening and the incredible joy of her blood - were threatening to overwhelm him. She was so warm and so alive and he felt that very life essence flow into him filling him with happiness and comfort.

He groaned into her neck, needy and desperate and it set her skin on fire. Lost in the sensations he let his body guide him closer and closer to her. Their bodies slotted together, her breasts pressing up into his chest, one of his legs sliding between hers.

Moving back from her neck he kissed her, momentarily forgetting his lips were still coated with her blood. He tried to pull away once the realization hit but she chased him with her lips unwilling to let them part.

As he dipped his tongue into her hot, wet mouth he found that it is not enough. She wanted him and he wanted more, more heat, more connection.

He could feel his body responding to her already. Her fresh blood going straight to fuelling his arousal.

She squirmed under him, dragging her thigh against his length sending a jolt of pleasure through him and he instinctively ground against it, trying to prolong the sensation. At the same time, he pressed his leg against her core forcing her to gasp into his mouth.

He was such a fool. But no one before had made him feel this way, no one had compared to her.

Out of all the feelings he had learned to suppress, he had no experience dealing with this one in particular. He had tried to nip it in the bud but now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop or that he could even stop it.

Maybe some part of him had wanted to fall for her. Wanted to allow himself to feel once again. Up until recently he hadn’t even considered love a possibility. What a terribly cliche way to realize one's feelings.

He glided his hand down her robe undoing the ties holding it together. She was still fully nude under and he wasted no time grasping a breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She reached for his shirt trying to untuck it from his pants but the gesture brought a wave of unease so he swiftly grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it over his head. He nudged her knee with his own, fully settling between her legs and she wasted no time pulled him in for another hungry kiss. With their naked chests pressed together, he could feel her heartbeat against his ribs as if it were his own.

They ground against each other, the feeling of his leather pants against her naked cunt only fuelling her desire. She gasped at the contact and arched her back into him, her nails digging into his shoulders. He could feel her scorching heat against his member even through his pants and felt himself throb in response. Thiriann reached down to unlace them but he stopped her hands.

“Not until you’re ready for me, darling.”

She whined in protest but moved her hands back. Having her obediently listen to him always managed to bring a small thrill of excitement.

He reached between their bodies dragging his fingers over her centre. She was wet but not wet enough, it would most likely hurt if he entered her now. He started lowering himself down her body, but felt her tensing under him, her hands on his shoulders squeezing firmly, keeping him in place.

“No, don’t go.” She pleaded.

“Don't worry, I'm here, love.”

“I want you inside me, can we…like this?”

"You'll have to come first, darling. Do that for me, just relax, I’ve got you.”

Astarion glanced at her face, intent on watching her expression as he eased his finger into her. She groaned at the intrusion but tried to breathe through the temporary discomfort. Moving carefully, he began pumping his finger in and out of her, focused on opening her up. Slowly she melted under his gentle ministrations and when he dragged his finger over that place inside of her, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning his name. Her quiet breathy mews filled his tent as he continued to assault the delicate spot causing her eyes to roll back and her back to arch into him.

It felt unexpectedly embarrassing to be able to feel his muscles moving between them as he pleasured her. His soft gasps of effort by her ear combined with the scent of his sweat and perfume filling her nostrils proved more erotic than she was prepared for. Sooner than she would have liked she was nearing her climax.

“Come for me love, I can tell you’re almost there.” he whispered in her ear.

A furious blush took over her cheeks despite the blood loss but she did just that. Moaning his name she came, her walls spasmed around him squeezing his finger so tight he feared it might break. She relaxed back into the pillows and he gave her a moment to recover, marvelling at the slick that now dripped down her thighs.

As he reached to unlace his pants, a part of him hesitated, the unease he felt every time before bedding someone would stubbornly not leave him alone. He still pushed it down. Having no patience to fight himself he opened his breeches and swiftly took out his cock.

Rocking his hips slowly against her opening, he inched his way inside before pushing forward and bottoming out in one swift movement. A soft sigh left his lips at how warm she was, how welcoming her body felt.

“Does this feel good, darling?” he asked, giving a few slow, experimental thrusts; she was still so very tight around his cock he could barely move.

“Gods,yes-...You know it does,” she pouted and he smirked, kissing her once again.

He set a gentle pace, pulling nearly all the way out of her before languidly rolling his hips forward, inch by inch, drawing moans from both of their throats. “You’re going to have to be quiet, you know,” he whispered against her ear.

He finished one particularly delicious thrust, groaning and burying his face in her neck, trying to muffle the sound. “Gods, you feel good,” he mumbled, luxuriating in the feel of her pressing around his cock, hot and wet and soft as silk.

Wordless little noises of pleasure escaped her as she started to rock back against him, joining into the rhythm he had set. Their motions felt like the waves of the ocean crashing against the sea. But his movements soon became practiced as instinct started to take over and he felt himself submerge into the fog despite his efforts to stay in the moment. He wanted to be here, with her, feeling this connection but his mind slipped away, beaches and vast waters behind his eyelids.

Suddenly he felt her grip his shoulders and push against him. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the tent canvas before the rest of the surroundings began to come to him. The blanket that was under him, the stacks of books by side and various bottles of potions and blood strewn about. And finally, the woman on top of him who was straddling him now. The gentle feeling of her as she ground her hips against him and her glowing eyes attracting him like a moth to a flame.

“Oh? Are you looking for a ride, darling?” he teased, surprising himself at how even his voice sounded.

Thiriann answered him by leaning down, hair falling around him like wavy black curtains so she could kiss him again. He gripped her supple thighs as she rode him, savouring the sensation of her wrapping tightly around his length as they licked into each other's mouths, tongues sliding against one another.

She lifted herself up over him, letting her hands wander up and down his front, watching his muscles tighten and relax under the gentle pressure. Her fingers brushed over one of his nipples and she relished in the shudder the gesture drew out of him. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as she began to move earnestly on top of him.

Instinctively he gripped her hips pulling her down hard on his length causing them both to moan.

“That’s…cheating-” she gasped out as he kept thrusting from under her, refusing to surrender the upper hand.

“You were expecting me to play fair?” he smirked at her amused and Thiriann rolled her eyes. Taking the momentary distraction, he rolled them again and pined her under him once more.

“Fuck!” she hissed into his mouth but he didn't let her recover as he began bucking into her with desperate urgency. Driving deeper and deeper with every thrust he could feel the wetness gushing out of her, soaking him and the robe under her. She spread her legs further allowing him to pump freely as she held onto his shoulders, dragging her nails over his skin but keeping them far above his scars. He growled into her neck as her heat squeezed him impossibly tighter trying to draw him in even closer.

She saw stars as he ground his hips against hers, putting just enough pressure on her clit to push her over the edge.

“Astarion -” That was all she managed to get out before she came, hard, spasming and clenching violently around his cock. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body as her sweet moans slipped into his ear like sobs in tandem with the rhythmic contractions.

He bit into her neck again and followed her over, groaning into the mess he’d made of her throat. She held him as he shook with it, pleasure obliterating his every thought and for a moment there was nothing but the blissful sensations of her warmth. Half-gasps, half-moans spilled out of his throat as he rode the aftershocks, fangs buried deep in her neck.

After his body stopped shuddering and the fog of pleasure lifted, Astarion finally collapsed on top of her bringing a soft sigh from her lips.

He felt he should get up, move away, and dress himself but he didn't want to leave, to go out of her vicinity where the cold would surely sweep in and chill him to the bone. He wanted to stay here in her arms, to soak in the warmth of her body, of her presence. Every inch between them felt too much, too long.

He relaxed onto her further, head still buried in the crook of her neck and she could tell he had fallen asleep. Unusual as it was, he drew breath even in slumber, the gentle cold exhales caressing her collarbone. The way he curled up further reminded her of a cat, maybe an overgrown undead cat. He hissed like one too when irritated. A wave of protectiveness surged within her and she wrapped her arms tighter around him. He would probably hate it but this felt nice, holding him like this, enjoying the security of his embrace and keeping him safe in hers, next to her heart.

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