#also if you’re here from my last post thank you so much

[nerdallwritey]

About to Strike (Part 1)

***IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: ONCE AGAIN I've yapped too much and this chapter became longer than tumblr likes, so I've split it into two posts. It's the same drill as Cheeks All Flushed: The smut is in the other part if you'd rather skip shenanigans and Get To Business. And that's valid! Part 2 is here and also linked down below. Apologies! It IS all in one place on AO3 if you'd prefer that!

Summary: Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink.  He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?” “Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira. Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well.  “Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet. “You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms.  OR The gang finally makes their way into the Shadow Cursed Lands.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 21.3k (This particular part is 10.7k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, oral (male receiving), hand job, vaginal fingering, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, protective Astarion, soft Astarion, whimpering Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), lots of party banter, AND JAHEIRA!! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 and 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 6 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SURPRISE! Part 6 is COMPLETE and she's A LOT. The back half is mainly smut and feelings and Astarion processing emotions a little which we LOVE to see. I hope to the gods that you guys find this to be a good followup to Worth the Peril, but I'm excited to FINALLY be in Act 2 and get into the big romantic scenes that happen there. Thank you all so much for sticking around and loving this goofy version of Astarion and his favorite bard :) You guys are the best and I adore and appreciate every single one of you! Please enjoy these silly little vignettes from the end of Act 1 and the start of Act 2! (Thank you as always to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading!) As a reminder, last time you got Mega Hurt in a fight and Astarion kind of took that personally.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

“Would you relax?” you whispered sharply to the vampire currently brooding to your right.

“How can I be when this… ancient woman just tried to murder you?” Astarion threw a dramatic hand forward, gesturing to Jaheira, who was walking in front of you towards the Last Light Inn. You all had just arrived at the well lit sanctuary in the Shadow Cursed Lands, only to be interrogated by the High Harper, and vouched for by Mol, who’d managed to find her way here as well.

“I handled it,” you hissed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“While I admire your optimism, darling, I still don’t trust her.”

Karlach buzzed behind you, clearly in disbelief. “Mate, you must be joking. That’s the Jaheira!”

Astarion slowed his pace a bit to meet Karlach’s eye. “And, I take it, you know the old crone?”

“Astarion!” Wyll sounded surprised. “You’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate longer than I have! And you don’t know the tales they tell of Jaheira and her party of adventurers?”

Your crew of seven came to a halt in front of a moss covered fountain to gawk at the elf.

He clicked his tongue. “Mmm… that’d be a no.”

“He’s lying,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

“I am not!”

Gale lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Come now, Astarion, surely you’ve heard passing tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate? Or perhaps read a book of their exploits?”

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “I do not know of this ‘Jah-hee-rah’ person. Her heroics must not be that impressive if I have never heard of her.”

“Nor I,” Halsin cut in.

“Yes, well, being freakish outsiders from the Astral Plane and the middle of the forest will deprive you of basic history lessons.” Astarion crossed his arms.

You snorted. “So what’s your excuse?” The others snickered. 

Astarion placed an annoyed hand on his hip. “Did you all forget that I was kept as a slave for two hundred years of pure misery and torture?”

The group remained silent for a moment before you stepped forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re still not over that?” 

He smirked. “Would you believe it’s taking me a little longer than one might expect?”

“Shame,” you pouted. Then you looked at Karlach who was angling her head around the fountain to track where Jaheira had gone. “You want to enlighten these three, Karlach?”

Karlach looked back at you all and her eyes lit up with glee. “Oh, yes please!” She rolled her shoulders and bounced on her feet as if she were preparing for battle, rather than recounting basic Baldur’s Gate history. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Years ago - over a century-”

You turned to Astarion and caught his eye. A century! your expression seemed to say.

Astarion shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and unwrapped one of his crossed arms to hold dramatically in front of himself. So what?

You rolled your eyes. So you should have been there!

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. I don’t know what to tell you.

You huffed some hair out of your eyes and tuned back in to what Karlach was saying.

“-Jaheira was part of a group that saved Baldur’s Gate from Seravok - a Bhaalspawn trying to plunge the city into war.”

Once again, you caught Astarion’s eye. “And you don’t recall any of this?”

He pursed his lips as the others turned to look at him. “Now that you mention it, I vaguely recall tensions being rather high around the city all those years ago.”

“Liar,” Shadowheart accused again. “It had to be more apparent than that. Why don’t you just admit you know who Jaheira is?”

Astarion’s response was venomous: “I was kept on a very tight leash, thank you, so apologies for not getting the names of the heroes who ‘saved’ the city that kept me enslaved for another hundred years.” 

You approached him quietly and took his hand. He scowled at Shadowheart but wrenched his gaze away to look at you. His expression softened mildly.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “I’m sure she would have come for you and your siblings had she known.”

“Yes, probably come to kill us for being abominations,” he muttered, but squeezed your hand anyway.

“Ah, don’t be like that, Astarion,” Wyll said cheerfully. “I’m sure she would have helped you! You’re quite fun once you get past all the prickly bits.”

“Gee, thanks,” Astarion said flatly. 

Karlach took the awkward silence that followed as an opportunity to keep fangirling. “My mum used to tell us stories all about them - the legends who protected the city from evil. She said Jaheira was a powerful druid. Adamant. Tough.”

“Probably a good ally to have on our side,” you said. Your companions nodded in agreement.

“I’ve told myself those stories thousands of times since,” Karlach continued. “I never thought I’d meet Jaheira. She’s a hero, and I was always… some Outer City kid.”

“Well, excellent news, Karlach,” Gale said. “Given our circumstances and the path we currently find ourselves on, it’s quite possible that we might be considered heroes one day.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel scoffed. “We don’t even know what we’re up against yet. It is likely some of you will perish before we are able to slay this unknown enemy.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Charming as always, Lae’zel.”

“I am not charming. I am merely stating fact.”

Halsin cleared his throat. “Another druid you say, Karlach?”

Karlach grinned and nodded. “She’s the best! Can’t believe she wants to talk to us about working together. What a day!”

And what a day it had been. 

Or, tenday, more like.

~~~~~

The day after you’d told Astarion’s sleeping form that you loved him, he’d been nothing but clingy. 

You awoke to find him still curled tightly into your side, but now he was fully awake, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was unnerving.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He blinked rapidly before an easy grin rested on his lips. “Just making sure you still have a pulse, darling.”

You snorted. “Checking on your food supply, I see.”

Astarion angled his head to nuzzle his nose along your throat before kissing your pulse point. “What can I say,” he murmured against your skin, “we vampires have two instincts, as we learned from that book yesterday: ‘feed and make little vampires.’” He scrunched his face into a silent roar, baring his fangs and forming one of his hands into a claw. He slashed it through the air playfully.

“Yes well, the latter probably won’t be happening for a little while,” you said, shifting to sit up, but wincing in pain over the wound in your torso. 

Astarion was rolling off the pillows within seconds and coming around to help you sit up. His eyes were concerned, but he pouted and his voice was teasingly whiny when he said, “Pity.” He rested his forehead against your temple. “I do so miss being inside of you.”

You nearly choked on your own spit, which had him pulling away from you and laughing. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, watching as Astarion pulled his shirt over his head. 

“Hungry, my sweet?” he asked, still smiling.

“You’re really freaking me out,” you said, giving him a sideways look, “with how nice you’re being.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Fine. Starve.” With that, he exited your tent with a theatrical swoosh of the flaps that acted as a door.

You exhaled a disbelieving laugh, watching as the flaps swished back and forth before settling back into their closed position.

“SHE’S WHAT?!” you heard Karlach shriek, followed by loud, bounding footsteps approaching your tent. 

Astarion called after her in annoyance, “Don’t bother her!”

“Soldier!” Karlach’s head and shoulders popped their way into your tent. “So happy you’re awake!”

“Hi Karlach,” you laughed. “I’d get up but-”

Karlach shook her head. “Don’t move a muscle. I’m sure Shadowheart and Halsin will want to change your bandages and pump you full of potions but… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you said. “Thank you for helping while I was unconscious.”

“You’d do the same for any of us,” she said earnestly, still on her hands and knees in the entrance of your tent. 

You heard a dull thump outside that had Karlach yelping in surprise. 

“Out,” came Astarion’s sour tone, his tongue putting extra emphasis on the “t.”

Karlach looked back over her shoulder and then over to you. “He kicked my boot, the bastard! Proper hard, too!”

“I’d do a lot worse if you weren’t a walking furnace.” Another thump informed you that he kicked Karlach’s boot again.

Rather than retreat, however, Karlach settled her elbows into the dirt and rested her head in her hands. “Ask nicely.” She met your eye with a mischievous grin. 

You heard Astarion squawk incredulously. “Darling, tell her to move!”

Clearing your throat to keep from laughing, you said firmly, “Astarion. Be nice. That’s my dear friend, Karlach, you’re kicking.”

He muttered something you couldn’t make out, followed by a loud groan. 

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Dear, sweet, Karlach-” 

“Liking the sound of this,” Karlach nodded.

“-would you be so kind as to remove your humongous form from the entrance of my lovely bard’s tent?” It sounded as if the words were causing him physical pain.

Karlach looked back at you. “What do you think, Soldier?”

“He could probably do better,” you said with a smirk. But it was then that your stomach decided to growl loudly. 

“Woof,” Karlach said.

You could practically hear Astarion’s eye roll. “You know, if you let me in, I could remedy that little problem you’re experiencing.”

Karlach slanted her mouth to the side. “He’s probably right, Gale left behind a bunch of-” she waggled her fingers, “-magic-y warm food for you before he, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Wyll headed out this morning.”

You cocked your head to the side. “And you didn’t go with them?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “And miss you possibly waking up?”

You smiled at her fondly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Besides, I don’t trust myself around all the explodey mushrooms down here.”

Astarion cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, Fangs, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Karlach looked over her shoulder at him before looking back at you once more. “Let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me.” She pointed to her temple, referring to the tadpole connection, and winked. She crawled backwards on her hands and knees, purposely taking her time, before she fully exited the tent. 

Astarion took her place instantly, crawling into the space with a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, bread, and a pair of healing potions. He placed the entire thing on your lap, along with a fork, before settling onto the ground next to you. 

You blinked at him. “Breakfast in bed?” 

He scoffed. “It isn’t as if you can join us at the breakfast table.”

Smiling softly, you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you, my love. This is very kind of you.”

He still scowled, but his face softened when he took your hand from his cheek and kissed your palm. “I expect the same kind of pampering in return if I’m ever to practically die as foolishly as you.”

You laughed before picking up the fork and stabbing some egg. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

~~~~~

And for the first few days, it did feel like pampering: Astarion staying by your side at all times - reading to you, laying with you, changing your bandages… He only ever left to feed himself. He refused your blood, citing that you needed it more than him, even though your bleeding had slowed to a halt by the third day. 

It all felt very nice.

Until you felt well enough to get back on your feet.

The others had dutifully been wrapping things up in the Underdark; defeating monsters, freeing deep gnomes from their drow and duergar slavers, rescuing the halfling woman’s husband, and exploring an abandoned wizard’s tower and the temple to Shar, to name a few. Lae’zel had even gifted you a new longsword she’d found, Phalar Aluve - a sword with the ability to sing or shriek - claiming that this weapon would not have allowed you to be wounded as fatally, had you had it during the duergar battle in the decrepit village.

On the day they raided the Zhentarim cache Astarion had mentioned all those days ago, he’d remained dutifully by your side, much to your dismay and protests that you’d be fine without him for a few hours.

“Absolutely not,” he’d said, looking down his nose at you. “As if Halsin or Shadowheart could care for you as properly as I have.”

“You forget,” you’d responded, mildly annoyed, “that they’re the ones who taught you how to care for me.”

“And I’m the one who shall continue to care for you,” he huffed, finishing changing your bandages once again. By this time, you could sit up on your own with mild to no pain at all. You were perfectly capable of changing your own bandages, but Astarion had insisted on continuing to help you. 

You supposed it was nice that he wanted to take care of you, given how much he usually hated being responsible for anything, but he was taking the job a bit too seriously.

Luckily, Karlach and Lae’zel had lugged some chests they’d been unable to open at the Zhentarim storeroom back to camp, allowing your beloved rogue to take part in the raid, despite not attending himself, and thus allowing you a moment of peace to roll off your pillows and put on fresh clothes without his help.

You emerged from your tent to look at the spoils from the storeroom, standing up straight and walking on your own. Astarion hadn’t noticed at first, too busy fiddling with the lock of a particularly large chest, but the commotion created by your companions forced him to look in your direction. 

“You’re up!” Wyll exclaimed.

“Do you need any help?” Gale snapped the book he was reading closed.

“Give her some space,” Shadowheart said, assessing you with her eyes from a few feet away.

Astarion got up and hurried over to you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You smiled at him reassuringly. “I promise I feel well enough to be out here. I just wanted some fresh, Underdark air.” You looked over his shoulder at one of the open chests. “Find anything good?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing worth you getting out of bed for.” He looked you up and down and noticed your change of clothes. He sighed. “I could have helped-”

“I’m fine,” you maintained, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

Halsin approached the two of you and nodded approvingly. “It is good for her to be up and moving around. It’ll stretch the healing muscles and allow her to join the fray again much more quickly than if she stays in bed all day.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh, what do you know?”

“Astarion,” Shadowheart said in warning. “If she says she’s okay, let’s believe her. I’m sure she’ll tell you if something’s wrong this time around, right?” She made pointed eye contact with you. 

You held up your hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise.”

He watched you closely, narrowing his eyes and sniffing pompously. “Fine.” 

He made no move to leave your side.

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the chest he’d been working on, the thieves’ tools still stuck inside the lock. You patted the top of the chest and said, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Astarion watched you carefully before he made his way back to the chest and sunk to his knees. 

Not far off, Lae’zel was polishing her greatsword. “Does this mean you are well enough to accompany us to the crèche?”

“Well, I-”

“No,” said every other person at camp at once.

“Chk,” Lae’zel thrust her greatsword into the dirt in front of her. “Heal faster.”

“Trying my best,” you said with a shrug. 

Lae’zel rolled her eyes and returned to assessing her greatsword.

“If you’re going to be up and about,” Shadowheart said, “you should probably start packing up your belongings for when we need to enter the Mountain Pass.”

“Augh!” you exclaimed loudly, clutching your side. Astarion was up immediately and you leaned your weight on him, throwing your arms around his neck for support. “So sorry, Shadowheart,” you said in a fake strained tone, “my wound… it prevents me… from hard labor…” You flopped fully into Astarion’s side, closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue as if you’d just perished on the spot.

“Oh good,” Astarion said blandly, “she’s finally dead and I can get on with my life.”

You kicked him.

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart crossed her arms. “Such a shame she’ll never be able to annoy us again.”

“I’ll haunt you forever…” you murmured, wobbling your voice like a ghost.

 Shadowheart stepped forward and patted your arm. “I’ll ask for blessings from Lady Shar on behalf of your passing.”

“Thank you…” you murmured again.

Astarion bumped his hip into yours forcefully. “Would you get off of me?”

You pulled back and smiled at him. “See? I’m fine.”

He humphed and returned to unlocking the big chest, only to find it full of more thieves' tools. He sighed heavily and rested his forehead on the edge of the chest. You peered inside and laughed.

“Aw,” you said sympathetically and patted his shoulder. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Let me-” 

“No,” you said firmly. “Keep going through your useless chests, my love. I’ll be right over here.” You walked over to the makeshift kitchen area Gale had set up. 

Astarion watched you go, and you felt his protective eyes remain on you for the remainder of the night. 

~~~~~

It was like that now: Astarion trying to do things for you while you insisted you could do them on your own. 

It had bewildered you when he actually helped you pack for your trip back to the surface. He had little to pack of his own, given that he’d more or less lived in your tent throughout your stay in the Underdark. He was relentlessly cautious with you, insisting that Gale cast Fly on you so that you didn’t have to ascend the impossibly long ladder back up into the Goblin camp. And he rarely let you out of his sight, even when safely surrounded by your other companions. 

The Mountain Pass was beautiful: bathed in what seemed like permanently golden light that had Astarion blooming in the sun’s glow once again. When your group accidentally stumbled into a hostile party of undead while looking for a place to camp, Astarion had taken your hand and pulled you behind him to shield you with his body. 

“I can help!” you’d pleaded, watching your friends sling spells and swords at the skeletons.

“Let us handle this,” Astarion had growled, slashing his daggers through a ghoul that came a little too close to you for comfort. He kept you both to the outskirts of the fight.

Try as you might to help, Astarion held you back, glaring at you for drawing the attention of a ghast when you cast Thunder Wave in its direction. You gave him an apologetic smile before he fatally stabbed the ghast in the chest. 

Bloodied and burnt out, you and your companions finally found a decent place to camp, close to the monastery that Lae’zel was sure housed the crèche. She took the lead on making a plan to enter the building and find the cure that had been promised to her all her life. You sat by the fire, listening idly to her plans, knowing full well that no one - except maybe Lae’zel herself - wanted you fighting so soon after your injury. You also knew that, should the cure be legitimate, your friends would happily accompany you back into the crèche where you could have the tadpole removed. You chose not to linger on the thought of your adventure possibly coming to an end so soon.

Unsurprisingly, Astarion sat by your side, mending a pair of pants. His knee was pressed lightly into your upper thigh as he hunched over the fabric to see his thread better. 

“You could be doing that in my tent, you know,” you said quietly, watching his fingers nimbly weave the fabric back together with needle and thread. “It’s probably easier to see what you’re doing surrounded by candles from all sides than just this fire. I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

“I’m quite skilled at seeing in darkness, thank you,” he said, not looking over at you.

You exhaled softly and leaned your head on his shoulder, effectively stretching your right side, which housed your wound. He paused momentarily, then kept going. 

“I’m okay,” you said softly, barely audible above the roaring fire and the heated discussion of possible battle strategy amongst your companions a few feet away. “I’m not going to get hurt like that again.”

Astarion sighed and halted his work on the pants. “You can’t promise that,” he said, sounding annoyed. He spoke his next words quickly, equal parts irritated and vulnerable: “You have no idea what’s coming and neither do I or any of us and I know you’re capable of protecting yourself but the least I can do right now is make sure you heal properly and don’t get hurt again because if I lost you… I wouldn’t know what to do.” He cleared his throat and looked back down at the fabric in his lap. “Or… whatever.” 

You smiled softly and lifted your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “I adore you.”

He exhaled an amused breath through his nose. “You’re fine, too.” 

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

He sighed dramatically. “It’s been dreadful.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to imagine the sacrifices you’ve made.”

He brought his hands up to count on his fingers. “I’ve barely slept, I’ve been drinking animal plonk as opposed to your delicious vintage, I’ve hardly killed anything in the last few days, and I haven’t been able to sleep with you for just as long, if not longer.”

You were glad he wasn’t looking right at you, otherwise he’d surely see the flush on your cheeks. “You’ve been sleeping with me nearly every night.”

He nudged your unwounded side with his elbow. “You know what I mean.”

You smirked. “I miss you too,” you said. “And I’m sorry. You don’t need to be giving up all of that for me.”

He leaned his head on top of yours which had found its way back to his shoulder. “Just… heal, would you? You wretched thing.”

You reached your hand to rest on top of his knee. “You must be starving.”

“In more ways than one,” he growled teasingly in your ear. 

“I’m serious.”

“As am I. But your blood stays off limits until I’m sure you’re done bleeding.”

You made a frustrated noise. “I haven’t bled in days, you stubborn leech. And you nearly killed me the first time you drank from me, so really, what’s the difference?”

“Yes, but we weren’t us back then. You were just some bard that I crash landed on a horrid beach with.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed through pursed lips.

Now Astarion bent to kiss your cheek. “I’m just being extra careful, my sweet.” He moved his mouth to your ear. “And… it’ll be all the more exquisite when I finally taste you again.”

“Ah,” you said. “So you’re edging yourself.”

Astarion sputtered, “That’s not-” Then he smirked. “And what would you know about edging?”

You swallowed thickly. “Enough.”

He chuckled darkly. “Noted.”

It was quieter now, as your companions had dispersed to their own tents to prepare for tomorrow’s journey to the crèche. 

Still, Astarion kept his voice down. “I have an important question for you though, my darling.”

“And what would that be?”

“Whose belongings should we peruse first tomorrow while everyone’s gone?”

~~~~~

The only interesting items you’d found while snooping around camp the next day were cheap erotic novels hidden among both Shadowheart’s and Wyll’s possessions. 

Everyone, minus Halsin, who was sticking around the edge of camp planning a way through the Shadow Cursed Lands, had made their way to the crèche only a few hours before. 

“‘The Salty Mermaid,’” you’d said, waggling your eyebrows at Astarion who was rifling through Wyll’s tent. 

“You’ll never believe this, darling.” He turned to show you the same book, its illustrated cover even more worn than the copy you’d found in one of Shadowheart’s bags. 

“Shut up,” you said, leaning forward to snatch the book from his hand and holding the copies side by side. Both depicted a shirtless man gazing into the eyes of a beautiful, topless mermaid, her torso turned tastefully away from view. Their mouths were parted slightly in anticipation of a steaming kiss, ocean mist spraying over them and the rock they were perched on in the middle of the ocean. Wyll’s copy looked as though it had been read dozens of times over the span of many years, while Shadowheart’s was newer and gave the impression that it had been opened frequently, given the way the cover refused to rest against the first page.

“This is outrageous,” Astarion said, sitting behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at both books. 

You turned your head to look at him. “Didn’t take those two for naughty book lovers?”

“What? Oh, no, everyone in this camp is a deeply sad, depraved creature, that’s not it.”

You snorted. “Okay, so what-”

“It’s that they didn’t think to include us in their little book club!” His hand gestured wildly between the covers. “You and I read all the time!”

“We don’t know they’re reading them together,” you pointed out. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

Astarion looked at you skeptically. “Do you really believe that?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Your nights had been occupied spending time with the man currently wrapped delicately around your midsection. You couldn’t be sure that your companions hadn’t started a book club without you. It brought a small smile to your face, imagining your friends bonding with each other without your help.

Astarion didn’t wait for you to answer. “Let’s at least see what all the fuss is about.” He leaned forward slightly, careful not to jostle your right side and took Wyll’s book from your hand. He flipped open to a random page as you set Shadowheart’s book on your lap. You leaned your head against his, which was still resting on your shoulder, and read along with him. He tilted his head slightly to read slowly and seductively in your ear. 

“Fabian ran his calloused fingers along Allura’s scales. Her tail quivered in response.” He held out the “s,” as if hissing, and nipped at your ear.

You flinched in surprise and smacked him gently on the side of the head. 

He chuckled and continued. “‘Taste me,’ Allura pleaded. Fabian smashed his lips against hers and their tongues twisted together like two eels in the Sword Sea.”

You barely withheld a laugh. “Trying to seduce me with eels again, I see.” 

Astarion narrowed his eyes, rereading the passage in disbelief. “Oh, gods dammit.”

You nuzzled the side of his head with your own. “It’s working better this time,” you admitted.

“Oh?” Astarion pulled back and met you with a wicked grin. 

You nodded and watched his mouth as he leaned in to kiss you before pulling back just out of his reach. He opened his eyes and gave you a puzzled expression. 

“I didn’t say it worked completely.” You pushed his nose lightly to turn his face away from yours and back to the book in his hands. 

“Why you-” He dropped the book unceremoniously and brought both his hands to your cheeks to kiss you firmly. You laughed against his mouth before giving in and opening up for him.

“Astarion,” came Halsin’s voice from a few yards away. 

Astarion immediately disconnected the kiss and shot a deadly glare at the bear. 

Halsin hadn’t been looking. Instead he’d been focusing down at what he was holding - a half carved piece of wood, something that was beginning to look like a rabbit. When he finally looked up, he halted in his tracks. 

“My apologies,” he said, holding his hands up in a showing of peace, “I merely wanted to ask Astarion for a better knife. It appears my proper carving tools are lost somewhere within our wares.”

“Hi Halsin,” you said nonchalantly. 

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t mean to disturb your fun.”

“Fun? What fun? We never have fun.” You nudged Astarion who was still staring daggers at Halsin. 

Astarion sighed and settled his chin back on your shoulder. “Relax, darling, I’m sure Halsin knows all about the kind of fun we have together.” 

Halsin nodded. “Far be it from me to interrupt a spry couple preparing to partake in one of nature’s greatest gifts.”

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned in disgust and you felt your cheeks go red. “You make it sound awful.”

“It’s only natural-”

“Did you check our Traveler’s Chest for your carving tools?” you desperately tried to change the subject. “It’s possible one of us packed them in there by mistake.”

Halsin snapped his fingers. “Of course! And the Traveler’s Chest would be…”

You pointed in the direction of the chest, which was thankfully on the other side of camp. 

Halsin followed your gaze and nodded again. “I shall investigate the chest. Sorry once again.” He started to leave the two of you but turned back around.  “Remember to be careful of your wound.” He gestured to your right side and you absently held your hand to the tender area. “Nothing worse than an injury worsened in the throes of passion.”

“Goodbye, Halsin,” Astarion waved him off. 

Halsin chuckled once more, then left the area. You and Astarion remained silent for a moment, watching him go. 

You looked over at him. “Moment over?”

“So incredibly over,” Astarion lifted his chin from your shoulder and crawled around to sit next to you. “But the druid’s right. You’re still hurt.”

You huffed some hair out of your face. “And you’re still a drama queen.”

Astarion gasped and held a hand to his chest dramatically. “How dare you.”

“I’m fine!” you insisted. “Watch this!” 

You stood and leaned your body to the left, stretching your right side and lifting your right arm over your head.

“See?”

Astarion cocked his head to the side. “Impressive. Now stretch the other way.”

You remained upright and ramrod straight. “I don’t want to.”

“Because…?”

“Because…” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, fuck you! You know why.”

“Because you’re still sore-”

“Yes, because I’m still sore.” You sat beside him again and muttered, “killjoy.”

Astarion stood and reached for your hands, holding them in both of his own. “Call me whatever names you like, it won’t change my mind.” He leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

You frowned at him. “Asshole.”

Kiss. “Darling.” 

“Bat brain.”

Kiss. “Beautiful.” 

“Priss.”

Kiss. “My- hey.” He pulled himself back to look down his nose at you. “I’m not a priss,  I’m simply surrounded by frumps. And Shadowheart.”

You scoffed and reached up to brush your hand through his curls, mussing them ever so slightly. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pushing you away and reaching up to fix his hair. 

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him. 

He glared back and rolled his eyes. “Did I not just call you ‘beautiful?’”

“One of your frequent pet names,” you waved him off playfully and went to pick up Shadowheart and Wyll’s discarded books. “It means next to nothing.”

Astarion turned to watch you. “That’s not true.”

You laughed. “You call everyone ‘darling.’” 

“That’s different.” 

“How so?”

If he were still alive, you’d be able to feel his body heat as he stepped closer to you. He looked up towards the sky and moved his hands around as if searching for the correct words. 

“‘Darling’ has always been a lovely blanket term of endearment for victims whose names I didn’t bother to learn but needed to entice.”

You stiffened, thrown off by his honest answer. “Oh.” He met your eye. “People like feeling seen, and ‘darling’ does the job quite nicely. Call it a habit now, I suppose.”

You smirked at him. “You know my name, right?”

He smiled sideways in return. “Who are you again?”

“Good answer.”

“Honestly though, darling,” he said, before shaking his head and saying your name instead. “‘Darling’ isn’t anything special to me, that’s true,” he placed his hands firmly on your upper arms, just below your shoulders, “but you are.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying but failing not to shrink under his intense gaze. “Another good answer.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Look at me, please.” 

You met his eye again and saw his features soften. 

“I’ve never called someone ‘beautiful’ and not meant it.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really. In all the times you had to seduce people, you never called someone you weren’t attracted to ‘beautiful’ just to make things go faster?”

Astarion rubbed absent minded circles into your arms with his thumbs. “In those instances, I preferred referring to them as, ‘striking.’”

You snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I could say ‘dead serious,’ but that would be atrocious, so I won’t.”

“‘Striking,’” you repeated, laughing a little at the vagueness of it. “I guess that could mean anything.”

Astarion nodded. “Exactly.” He shifted his hands up to your shoulders. “But you, my sweet, are exquisite.” 

You smiled shyly. “I could say ‘aw shucks,’ but then you’d kill me, so I won’t.”

He pushed himself away from you again. “You are infuriating.”

Dropping the books once more, you reached for his wrist as he backed away. “No, no, I’m sorry,” you said as you brought his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me more about how beautiful I am.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically before his features settled into a seductive grin. He reached forward and pulled you closer by the waist. His voice was low and flirtatious when he said, “I told you on that first night I had my way with you that you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He shifted his head to nip at your ear, “I meant that.”

A shiver went through your body and you closed your eyes. “Really?”

Astarion scoffed. “I wouldn’t willingly attach myself to just anyone, darling.” He kissed your neck. “For one thing, there’s this gorgeous neck of yours.”

You let out an amused sigh. “Go on…”

“Your eyes,” he said, shifting up to bear his crimson gaze into yours, “they sparkle like anything. I can’t say I’ve ever seen eyes more lovely.” You blinked at him, unsure of what to say. He continued, “Especially when you’re laughing. Preferably at something clever I’ve said.”

That made you laugh. “You’re not always as clever as you think.”

He smiled back at you. “So long as I keep seeing that dazzling smile, I shall make a fool of myself.” After a beat, he clarified, “But only for you.”

If you weren’t careful, you might cry. “You sweet, stupid man.”

“Speaking of that smile; that mouth of yours. I could eat you right up.” 

He bent to kiss you deeply but you pulled away to giggle. “And you have!”

“And I have,” he agreed, succeeding in kissing you this time. 

Your mouth moved against his slowly, keeping in time with him, and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck. As the kiss became more intense, his tongue licking into your mouth, your heart picked up speed, which sent Astarion groaning against your lips.

“That delicious heartbeat,” he said dreamily, breaking the kiss. “It’s as sweet as any song you’ve ever played, my love.”

Your eyes shot open as he brought his face down to your throat again to kiss your pulse point. Based on his body language and the sensual way he continually kissed your neck, you had a feeling he didn’t realize what he’d said. He kept talking.

“Your heartbeat means you're alive,” he placed a kiss on your collarbone. “And that you’re here,” a kiss to your chest. “With me,” a kiss atop your clothed left breast, above your pounding heart. “Not to mention it’s the source of my favorite meal,” he pulled back to look at you with a goofy grin that he quickly morphed into one of seduction. When he saw your bewildered expression, his face fell into one of concern. “What is it?”

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, attempting to keep your composure. “Astarion,” you said, your voice full of adoration, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s wrong?” His tone was instantly serious and stern. “Did something happen?” He inspected your right side as if you may have started bleeding again. 

Laughter bubbled out of your chest at his sudden shift in demeanor. This man cared for you so deeply it almost hurt. And it was so blatantly obvious to everyone but himself.

“There’s nothing wrong, dummy,” you said, tapping the tip of his nose to bring his attention back to you. 

He looked at you questioningly and saw nothing but affection in your eyes. “Then…” he leaned in closer, drawn in by the softness of your features, “what is it?”

You leaned in as well, watching his mouth and subconsciously wetting your lips in preparation for what you were about to say. “I…” you eyes began to close, “lo-”

“Tsk'va!”

You and Astarion froze, your mouths inches apart. 

“That wasn’t you, was it?” he muttered. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, swatting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

Lae’zel was standing not too far off, covered in blood, staring at the two of you with an intense ire that had you both nearly jumping away from each other. “You feeble wretches are delighting in intercourse whilst the Lich Queen lies to her kin about purification and I nearly lose my life as a result.”

Astarion straightened and looked at his nails, bored. “Oh, is that all?”

You gave him a look before stepping forward to offer comfort. “What happened?”

Lae’zel looked between you and Astarion before furrowing her brows and marching off to her tent. “She may yet purify me!” she called angrily, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

The rest of your party stumbled into camp not far behind. They, too, were drenched in blood and looking worse for wear. You approached them immediately, Astarion reluctantly on your heels. 

“Is everyone okay?” you quickly looked over everyone and didn’t note any major injuries.

“We’re alright,” Wyll assured and nodded to Shadowheart, “no thanks to Shadowheart.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she groaned. “Let’s see if we survive the night.” She gestured towards Lae’zel who was angrily shedding her armor and shrieking frustratedly with each discarded piece.

You looked back at the others and repeated, “What happened?”

“Our little dream visitor had some rather enlightening news for our githyanki friend,” Gale sighed, wiping his brow. 

“Well hang on now,” Karlach said. “Her people, or rather, some random doctor lady, tried to kill her first!”

Wyll nodded solemnly. “Not to mention that fearsome god of hers threatened our lives.”

You inhaled sharply. Even Astarion looked surprised. “What?”

“Why do the gods favor you people?” Astarion crossed his arms. “They never answered me when I called.”

“Now, now, Astarion,” Gale said, “this was not a meeting on the most benevolent of terms.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “So were you able to kill her or something? Is that why you’re all drenched in what smells like an absurd amount of gith blood?”

“Kill a god?” Wyll laughed lightly. “Be serious, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugged. “I don’t know what you lot are capable of, we just met.”

“‘Just met?!’” Shadowheart scoffed incredulously. “And you think you could have taken on a god? You and what? Those sharp teeth of yours?”

“If you’d like to see what they’re capable of, darling, you need only ask.” He flashed her a malicious grin. 

“Astarion,” you caught his eye and shook your head slightly. 

“If killing that overgrown creep were an option, I gladly would have taken it,” Karlach punched at her open palm. “I can’t stand bullies.”

Halsin now entered the fray. “Peace,” he said calmly. “Everyone should get cleaned up and inspected for injuries, then we can discuss the events of the créche.”

You turned to look for Lae’zel, but her tent was empty. You assumed she’d gotten a jumpstart on the cleaning process. 

“Why is my book in the dirt?!” Shadowheart exclaimed. “Astarion!”

“I think it’s time I go for a hunt,” Astarion kissed you swiftly. “You can handle this, can’t you darling?” Then he took off at a brisk pace down the side of the mountain. 

~~~~~

After Lae’zel and the others had cleaned themselves up and bandaged their shallow wounds, you’d all sat around the fire to discuss what had occurred at the crèche and what the dream visitor had told Lae’zel of Vlaakith’s deception towards the purification process.

That night, Kith’rak Voss and his group of rebel githyanki warriors had visited you and your companions, telling you all that the Astral Prism held the key to Vlaakith’s undoing. He’d also promised to explain more and provide help once you reached Baldur’s Gate. 

“Why must they always be so cryptic,” Astarion had muttered to you from where you stood behind Lae’zel, allowing her to take the lead on this. “If the Prism is a source of unnamed power, then I think we have a right to know about it.” He pouted and you elbowed him lightly. 

As you were preparing to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands the next day, Elminster appeared, bearing a message for Gale from Mystra. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you’d steamed after the old wizard left, “you’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you.”

“She’s right,” Astarion agreed. You turned and gave him a surprised look. He shrugged. “Sacrificing Gale to the Absolute is a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling.” When you rolled your eyes, he amended, “And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.”

“I am touched, Astarion,” Gale said before turning his attention back on you. “Let’s save such certainty about my fate for the moment such a decision is upon us. You may feel differently, once we know what we’re truly up against.” 

Thus your party kept packing up in preparation to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands, which Halsin had discovered an entrance to, not far from your camp. 

Upon entering, the suffocating nature of the dark hit you instantly, and you felt a shift in your party the more you shuffled into the area. 

Astarion held out an arm to stop you from going any further, away from the lit fire you’d found near the entrance. “Can you feel that?” 

“You mean the impending sense of doom?” Karlach asked. “Yeah, I feel it.”

Astarion ignored her. “The dark, it’s… hungry. Best watch the shadows.”

Lae’zel scoffed. “How can darkness feel anything, let alone require sustenance?”

“That’s not-” Astarion sighed. “Oh, nevermind. Just… stay close to the light.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Wyll said, grabbing a torch from the lit fire near the entrance. 

Shadowheart gazed into the distance, straining her eyes to see into the dark. “This place… there’s power in these shadows, I can sense it.”

Astarion snorted. “Shadowheart feeling one with the shadows. A little on the nose there, darling.”

Shadowheart shot him a deathly glare that had him look over at you for protection. You patted his shoulder in response.

“She’s right, though,” Gale agreed. “I’ve never seen such a concentration of shadow magic. We must forge on, but carefully. It will corrupt any who lack the power to control it.”

“Best get a move on, then,” Halsin siad, grabbing a torch in one hand and your party’s ox cart with the other. 

Wyll took the lead with his torch, while the rest of you grabbed your own. You and Astarion brought up the rear as you all made your way through the darkness. He was uncharacteristically quiet as you went. 

“Everything okay?” you asked him quietly, making sure the others wouldn’t be able to hear you. 

Astarion’s eyes were darting around, on high alert, but he looked over at you when you reached for his free hand with your own. “It feels like we’re being watched,” he said, returning his eyes to scanning your surroundings. “Hunted, even. But there’s nothing out there,” he looked in your direction but was focusing on the darkness behind you, “only more darkness.”

You nodded, and joined him in scanning the surrounding area. 

“I much prefer it when I’m the one prowling in the shadows, about to strike.”

“Ooh,” you said, shaking your voice as if telling a scary story, “scaaaary.”

Astarion looked at you with a scowl that you could see was concealing a laugh. “Sorry, did you want something?” He stepped closer to you, bringing his face inches away from yours. “Or just looking for a distraction?” He looked down at your lips. 

“I-” you looked at his lips as well and watched as his mouth formed into a grin. 

“Look alive, lovebirds,” Karlach turned back to face you two. “Movement up ahead.”

Instinctively, Astarion pulled you to him, shielding your right side with his body from possible attacks.

It was then that your party came across a group of Absolute worshippers, seeking passage across the Shadow Cursed Lands to Moonrise Towers with the help of a drider named Kar’niss, who brandished a magical lantern of some kind. You all played along, brandishing your True Soul statuses in order to gain favor and join the cultists on their journey deeper into the shadows. You even offered to play the Spider's Lyre, which Wyll had found and given to you in the Underdark, in order to summon the drider. 

Astarion made it a point of keeping you close, despite the cultists giving you no trouble.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, bumping his hip with your own.

He scoffed. “Oh, so you trust the arachnid is totally sane and won’t turn on us at any given moment?”

“Well-” He made a good point. While Kar’niss had done nothing to prove he was an imminent danger to you, his words were erratic and he’d snapped at you earlier for offering to carry his lantern.

“Wait…” Kar’niss hissed suddenly, holding his lantern aloft in front of what appeared to be a long abandoned house. “Something’s wrong, Majesty.”

“He’s right,” Astarion said quietly, drawing his daggers, “I can sense blood pumping in that building.”

“Should we do something?” Wyll asked.

“Shhh,” Shadowheart hushed. “We don’t know where they are, exactly. Do you want them to spring out at us while they still have the element of surprise?”

“Not particularly,” said Wyll, just as Lae’zel said “Yes,” and drew her greatsword from her back.

“Who’s there?” Kar’niss called. “Show yourself!”

From within the house came a male voice, shouting, “Harpers, attack!” 

“Harpers?” Karlach repeated.

The man continued yelling orders. “Kill the cultists… and get that lantern!”

“HERETICS!” Kar’niss shrieked. “VILLAINS IN THE DARK!”

“Soldier,” Karlach turned to you, a frantic look in her eyes, “Those are Harpers!”

Your own eyes widened. Harpers were known for protecting the innocent from evils across the realms. It made sense why they would want to attack cultists of the Absolute. 

“Wait!” you shouted and ran forward as Astarion called your name, trying to stop you. “We can help!” You spoke to the man leading this gang of Harpers.

The man looked you up and down as Astarion approached you with his knives still drawn, ready to pounce. “Hurt her, and you die,” he growled, dropping into a low stance.

You exhaled. “Sorry about the guard dog.”

“Careful,” Astarion said lowly, “I bite.” He gnashed his teeth at the group of Harpers surveying you closely. 

A woman with long curly hair stepped forward. “Prove we can trust you.”

You nodded and took your lute off your back,strumming a quick tune that had the deep purple magic of Shatter sparking at your fingertips. You turned back towards the cultists, who were now sandwiched between the Harpers and your party. You friends took the hint and drew their own weapons. 

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss eclaimed. “We thought they were True Souls! Traitors! Heathens!”

“Darling, are you sure about this?” Astarion asked, watching you carefully, checking for any signs that you weren’t ready to fight. 

You looked over at him and winked, casting a powerful Shatter that sent the cultists flying in every direction. 

The battle that followed was thankfully not as bad as it could have been, thanks to the help from the Harpers. Astarion had remained by your side the whole time, maneuvering the two of you out of the way whenever an attack landed closeby. He dutifully shielded your right side, stabbing the hobgoblin rather brutally when he lunged at you. 

When the battle ended and it was clear that no one had been injured too severely, you approached Kar’niss’ lantern and picked it up. Its chilly glow appeared to protect you all far better from the Shadow Curse than your long since discarded torches. 

The male Harper who you’d pleaded to at the start of the battle now approached you. “Incredible magic,” he said, indicating the lantern. “I can feel the light lifting the shadows - even those within me.”

Astarion laughed quietly at his remark, and you kicked the vampire in the shin. 

“Find us at the Last Light Inn,” the Harper said, pulling out a map and pointing to a small building by the river. 

“Thank you,” you said, marking the location on your own map.

“Be safe,” he said with a nod. “And be brave. We expect no less. Thank you for your help.” With that, he and his other Harpers made their way deeper into the shadows, accompanied by their own torches. 

“Could we not have gone with them?” Karlach asked.

“Probably had other Harperly duties to take care of,” Gale reasoned. 

“We should probably start heading that way anyway,” you said. “My magic’s depleted and I could use some sleep.”

“Agreed,” Halsin said, stretching his arms above his head and grabbing the ox cart once again. “It will be a relief to rest these weary bones upon a mattress for once.”

“Hmm,” Shadowheart mused, “is grass not cutting it for you anymore?”

“Far from it,” Halsin said. “But even I can appreciate the pleasures of a warm bed every once in a while.”

~~~~~

“Unfortunately, there is only one room available,” Jaheira said flatly when you all entered the inn and approached her at her desk.

Astarion scoffed. “Didn’t you just say outside that there were beds, plural, if we needed rest?” 

“It would seem I lied,” she said, looking through a book that you assumed showed current room assignments. “Oops.” She didn’t sound remorseful. “Looks like you’ll have to decide amongst yourselves who gets the room. The rest of you can make camp in the back. There’s plenty of room under Isobel’s light to keep you sheltered from the Curse.”

“Thank you, Jaheira!” Karlach said excitedly.

Jaheira smiled at Karlach’s enthusiasm and held out a goblet of wine to her. “Please,” she said, her tone suddenly very kind, “be welcome.” She handed a goblet to you as well. “Have a drink.”

“Oh my gods,” Karlach muttered, sharing an excited look with you. 

“To your very good health,” Jaheira said, raising her own cup towards all of you. 

Karlach was practically vibrating with excitement next to you. 

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, Karlach,” you said with a smile. “She’s very excited to meet you.”

She giggled, embarrassed. “Tsh. Yeah.” Her face fell just then, as if realizing she wasn’t being formal enough with her hero. She stooped into a low bow. “I mean… It's an honor. M’lady.”

“I will gladly drink to your health as well, Karlach.” Jaheira’s eyes sparkled with amusement. 

You raised your goblet to mimic Jaheira’s and went to take a sip, but were instead met with the back of Astarion’s hand. Your mouth crushed against his skin.

“You did not seriously just take a sip from a drink given to you by a stranger,” he said in horrified disbelief. 

“I was trying to,” you offered Jaheira an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to kiss the back of your hand,” you said through clenched teeth. 

Astarion took the goblet from you. “Give me that.”

Karlach had been just about to take a sip, but thought better of it and watched Astarion. 

He sniffed the contents of the goblet. “Klauthgrass,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose. 

“It doesn’t spoil the taste,” Jaheira offered, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and shoved the goblet back into your hand, training his own hands above his sheathed daggers. “She’s trying to feed you a truth serum.”

“Astarion,” you said calmly, as if soothing a startled animal, “it’s okay.” You set the goblet down and reached for both of his hands, pulling them away from his daggers. “She just wants to protect her people. You can respect that, can’t you, my love?”

“Ah,” Jaheira nodded. “‘My love.’ It is admirable that the cub wants to protect his mate.” 

“She’s not-” Astarion sputtered. “We’re just-” He groaned loudly. “I don’t trust you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the Harper. 

“Oh no,” her tone was flat again. “How ever shall I sleep tonight.”

Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink. 

He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira.

Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well. 

“Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet.

“You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms. 

Shadowheart laughed. “Isn’t the whole reason you’re being so dramatic because your mate almost died?”

“Watch yourself, cleric,” his words were icy, but Shadowheart couldn’t contain her snort.

Jaheira took another sip. “Well over a century old and yet it hasn’t lost a hint of its flavor.”

“Let’s have a taste, then,” Wyll pushed his way forward and took the goblet from you.

“I must see for myself if Astarion’s suspicions are warranted,” Lae’zel took Karlach’s goblet, “and if the wine is as good as this woman says.”

“No, no,” Astarion said sarcastically, “let’s all partake in the poison! Shadowheart? Gale? Halsin? What’s stopping you?”

Shadowheart crossed her arms. “I’ve packed my own wine that I don’t plan on sharing with you all, thank you very much.”

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be reading a book he’d found discarded somewhere in the bar. “Pardon? Is something the matter?”

Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to Halsin who held up his hands in surrender.

“I rarely imbibe, the stuff goes right to my head. I doubt anyone wants to see that.”

“Mmm, yes, save it.” Astarion turned back to you and the others. “So we’re all going to tell the truth now, that’s great. Go ahead, Jaheira, ask away.”

“There’s an air about you,” she said, addressing you instead of the seething vampire to your right. “Something… alien.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Astarion muttered.

“Answer me true and do not lie,” she didn’t flinch when Astarion scoffed, and pressed on. “The parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

You could feel the effects of the serum willing your mouth to form a truthful answer. You let it. “It’s trying to change me. To win me over. But I’m resisting its temptations.”

Jaheira looked you up and down. “And you’re certain you will continue to resist?” 

You nodded. “Yes.” The truth.

“Good,” you saw Jaheira’s shoulders relax. “I will take your word for it. And hold you to it, too.”

You looked over at Astarion, whose arms were still crossed. He scowled at Jaheira who turned to address him this time.

“I have every reason to be cautious.” She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I’ve traced people like you.”

“Oh, have you.” Astarion rolled his eyes for what was likely the tenth time this evening.

Jaheira tilted her head. “People with parasites in their brains. All the way here from Baldur’s Gate.”

“A long journey, indeed,” Gale said.

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “Good of you to finally join us, Gale.”

Wyll cleared his throat. “And what of the city?” 

Jaheira turned to him this time. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading through the Gate. Quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation.” 

“Gods…” Wyll breathed. “My father…” Gale patted his arm reassuringly.

“We tracked them to this ancient village,” Jaheira looked down at a map in front of her displaying the entirety of the Shadow Cursed Lands, and pointed to a village not far off, “only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.” 

“Who was - is - he?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

Jaheira paused briefly when she saw Karlach yawn. “General Ketheric Thorm. Remember that name. He’s the leader of the Absolutists.”

“How can we help?” you stepped forward, determined.

“Ugh,” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, my sweet, is now the time to be playing hero?”

“The vampire is right,” said Jaheira. “We can save this discussion for the morning.”

“Vampire?” Astarion repeated, laughing lightly. “What do you- I’m not-” he slumped. “What gave it away?”

She smirked. “Nearly everything about you. And I have experience with your kind.”

You and your companions snickered, and Astarion shot you all death glares. 

“Yes well… it’s been such a delight chatting with you, Jaheira, but I think now’s the time to discuss the room situation.” Astarion turned around so that his back faced Jaheira, effectively cutting her out of the conversation. 

She laughed. “When you decide who gets the room, it’s next to the bar, on the right.” Just as she was about to leave and take care of other matters, she turned back. “Do keep it down if it’s you two who get the room,” she gestured to you and Astarion. “The walls aren’t as thick here as you think they are. Those sitting around the bar will hear you and tell me all about it and I’d… prefer to remain in the dark if it’s all the same to you.”

“Jaheira!” Astarion scoffed. “What do you think of me?”

“Prove me wrong, vampling,” she winked at you and went on her way.

Shadowheart placed her hands on her hips. “Go on, Astarion. Make a case for why the two of you are in desperate need of the room.”

Astarion looked at his nails. “Well, darling, it’s just that we’ve had such little time to ourselves-”

Halsin interrupted. “I’m… going to set up camp outside. I yield my claim to the room and will gladly sleep under the stars. Or… I suppose there are no stars here. Regardless-” he turned on his heel and walked out the front door to reunite with your ox cart full of camp supplies.

“I’ll join him,” said Wyll.

“Right behind you,” Karlach agreed.

“Okay,” Gale looked around at those remaining. “That leaves four of us, considering you two as a unit.” He pointed between you and Astarion, the latter of which looked offended, but you grabbed his hand and squeezed it before he had a chance to argue.

Lae’zel adjusted her greatsword in her arms. “It is tradition among githyanki that those who performed best in battle should have the most comfortable sleeping chambers.”

Gale furrowed his brow. “Is that true? I’ve yet to read anything about that in my extended research on the githyanki people.”

Lae’zel shrugged.

Shadowheart spoke next. “It’s just that I drained so much of my magic healing everyone on the battlefield today. I think I deserve to sleep in comfort to replenish my power since we have no clue what tomorrow brings.” Then she quickly added, “Since we’re in her domain, I’d say it’s as if Lady Shar herself wills it.”

Astarion snorted. “Like hells she does.” He turned to Gale. “And what’s your excuse?”

“The knees,” Gale said, bending his knees for you all to hear an audible crack. “Too many nights on the ground will do no favors for one’s aching joints.”

You could see where this was going. There would be a constant back and forth until a loud argument inevitably broke out in the middle of the inn. You knew it was a bit devious, but you decided to get the jumpstart on ending the argument. 

You took Astarion’s hand. “Come on, Astarion,” you said with a sigh, “we can rough it outside for another night.”

He didn’t budge. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“I am serious- Oh.” you paused in trying to get Astarion to follow you and reached for your right side. “Ow,” you said slowly.

Astarion said your name, his voice laced with worry.

“Oh gods,” you blinked your eyes several times, tears filling your vision.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Astarion brushed hair out of your face and placed his hands on your cheeks. 

“I don’t know,” you said shakily. “I suddenly got a sharp pain in my side. I think my wound may have opened again.” 

“Oh for gods’ sakes,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes and held out her hand to scan you for injuries with her magic. “You know what, if it’s that important to you, you can have it.” With that, she left after the others.

“Are you alright?” Gale asked. 

“I know what would make her feel better,” Astarion said, catching on to your ruse. 

“Do not say the room,” Lae’zel glowered at him.

“The room,” Astarion said anyway. 

“Chk,” she spat. “Fine. Have your precious alone time. But when they kick you out for pleasuring each other too loudly, I get the room in your stead.”

“Uh… if that’s the case, she can have it after you two.” Gale smiled painfully. “I shall concede as well. If only so I can grab some shut eye without your loud-”

“Ooowww,” you moaned.

“Good gods, man!” Astarion exclaimed, clutching you to his chest as if you were made of glass. “How can you think of sex at a time like this! My precious treasure is wounded!”

“I mean, Lae’zel alluded to it first-” Gale pointed to where Lae’zel had been standing, only to see that she had already left. “Ah. I guess I’ll take my leave as well.”

“Ow! Gods, it hurts!” you wailed. “Get out of here!” Astarion practically yelled at the wizard.

Gale sighed. “Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight Gale!” you called after him sweetly.

When he turned back to look at you, you were limp in Astarion’s arms, one of your own arms thrown dramatically over your eyes.

“Now look what you’ve done!” It was Astarion’s turn to wail. 

“Alright!” Gale turned and held up his hands in frustration. “I’m going!”

When he was finally gone, Astarion pulled you into him for a long, passionate kiss. “You are the perfect woman,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll have to remind you of that the next time I annoy you,” you laughed and took his hand, leading him to the room.

Jaheira’s voice sounded from the second floor, “I would appreciate it if you did not yell while my Harpers and our guests are trying to sleep.” Despite her stern tone, her expression revealed mild amusement. 

“Sorry, Jaheira,” you whispered loud enough for her to hear you from the railing she bent over. 

“Good night, cubs.” She waved her hand and left you and Astarion to settle into your room.

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unfortunately tumblr thought this piece was too long (WHOOPS!) so I had to split it into two parts. The second part can be found here.

[scarletwinterxx]

not dating huh? - xu minghao imagine

let me start this fic of by saying CONGRATTTTSSS TO SVT🥺🥺🥺 gosh i'm so so so proud of them, they deserve all those awards and all the recognition. ahhh i'm just so happy for them😭🥺🤍

i have a few more scenarios lined up, i was working on some of them while I was gone so expect a few more to be posted on the following days🤭 oh also... i'm seeing svt on january 😱😭 anywaysss that's all i hope u enjoy this one!

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re standing in the middle of the café, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of you, stirring absentmindedly as you glance around the room. It’s one of those quiet afternoons, the kind where people come to catch up or work, the hum of quiet chatter filling the air. You're talking to Minghao, and for the hundredth time, he’s insisting that you two are not dating.

“I told you, I’m not your boyfriend,” Minghao repeats, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his own coffee cup. His eyes are playful, but there's a hint of something softer beneath that mischievous glint, something you’ve come to recognize and ignore... for now.

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to keep the amused smile on your face from turning into something else. 

You've heard this a lot from Minghao recently. It's the constant not dating mantra, but every time he says it, he’s practically glued to your side. You don’t think anyone else believes him, either, but no one dares to ask.

“Okay, then,” you say, your voice deliberately casual. “So, you’re not my boyfriend, but you’re still following me around everywhere?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his lips twitch into a smile. “That’s just because I enjoy your company. Not the same as being a boyfriend, right?”

You can't help but laugh. You don’t even try to hide it this time. Minghao’s insistence is almost ridiculous, especially when he practically becomes your shadow. The two of you do everything together—grab lunch, watch movies, wander through bookstores, share inside jokes no one else gets—and yet, every time you bring it up, he acts like you’re being dramatic.

You lean forward, lowering your voice in a teasing tone. “So, if you’re not my boyfriend, then what exactly are we doing here? Just two people who happen to be spending all their time together?”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at you. Then, his expression softens, like he’s considering something. 

“We’re… friends,” he says, but the word sounds strangely hollow coming from him.

You roll your eyes. The word friend doesn’t even come close to covering what you two are. But you don’t push it. 

Not yet, anyway.

“Well,” you say, sitting back in your chair and crossing your arms, “I guess I can’t argue with that. But, I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

Minghao raises an eyebrow, his voice laced with humor. “Weird how?”

You take a slow, deliberate sip of your coffee, letting the silence stretch for a moment, before you lean forward and say the words you know will make him react.

“Well, I mean, if we’re ‘just friends,’ then why do you always call me babe?”

He chokes on his coffee. You can’t help but grin at the sight, watching him scramble for a napkin as his face flushes. Minghao clears his throat, looking at you in mock offense.

“I do not call you babe.”

“Oh, really?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow. 

“What do you call me then, hmm?”

“I… I call you your name?” he says, though it sounds more like a question than a fact. 

“You’re you. I don’t—”

“You totally just said ‘babe’ last week,” you cut in, leaning closer to him with a smile. “So, don’t lie.”

He sighs in defeat, leaning back in his chair again. “Fine, I admit it. But that doesn’t mean we’re dating, okay?”

You can see the faint blush on his cheeks, and it only makes your teasing grow stronger. You decide to push a little more, just to see how far you can take this.

“Well, babe, let’s go,” you say, standing up suddenly, picking up your purse. “We’re leaving. This place is too boring anyway.”

You say it with a grin, making sure to emphasize the word ‘babe’ as you glance down at him, just waiting for his reaction. You’re fully expecting him to say something, to try to deny the whole situation again. But instead, Minghao doesn’t even hesitate. He just stands up, his eyes locking onto yours, and then, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, he follows you toward the door without a word.

The bell above the café door jingles softly as you step outside, the cool air hitting your skin as you walk briskly down the street, Minghao right behind you. 

You can feel his presence there, just a few steps behind you, and you wonder if he’s as calm as he appears, or if he’s just trying not to make this more complicated than it already is.

“So,” you ask, breaking the silence. “Where are we going?”

He shrugs again, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “I don’t know. You said we were leaving, so I’m just following you.”

You glance back at him, his easy smile lighting up his face. It’s hard to tell if he’s messing with you or being completely serious. Either way, you can’t stop the flutter in your chest. 

The dynamic between you two has always been strange, but there’s a certain comfort in it, something you’re not quite ready to let go of.

“Yeah, well, if we’re not dating,” you mutter under your breath, “you’re definitely acting like you are.”

Minghao’s laugh reaches your ears before he says, “I told you, we’re not. I’m just… following my favorite person around, okay?”

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him. His expression is as serious as it ever gets, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to this than he’s letting on. You’ve been friends for so long, and even with all the teasing and back-and-forth, you can’t deny that the connection between you two runs deeper than anything you’ve ever had with anyone else.

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face, trying to figure out if he’s playing with you or if there’s a hidden truth behind his words. After a beat, he looks at you with that same look he always gives you when he’s not sure how to say something: a quiet sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m not dating you,” he repeats, but this time, his voice is softer. “But if I was, it would be a good thing, right?”

You smile, stepping closer to him. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice a little more tender than before. “It would be.”

And for the first time, you both stand there in that strange, unspoken space, where neither of you says anything else. But neither of you needs to. Because the truth is already there, unspoken, in the way Minghao watches you, in the way you both keep walking forward together.

Not dating, huh? You both know better.

[skepticalarrie]

To your anon who feels that One Direction is over and there’s nothing left of it:

Grieving for the band is a natural outcome of grieving for Liam, and I respect your feelings about it all. Might I offer that those feelings can change, for the boys, for you and others who feel like this today, and for future fans?

Here are a few examples from my lifetime. It sucked when the Beatles broke up, and while I liked some of their solo music, it wasn’t quite the same for me. Then two of them were gone, and it was awful. But the other two are still active in the industry. I’ve seen Paul McCartney twice in the last 10ish years. He’s old, but he puts on a great show, with Beatles tunes as well as Wings tunes (his post-Beatles band), and other solo work. Beatles music lives on. You know who knows a lot of Beatles music? My kids and my grandkids. Because I still play it all the time.

I recently saw the Doobie Brothers & The Eagles—both are missing original members, but their old music is still awesome and their show was amazing. And they had highly respected musicians sitting in with them (to fill out instruments & sound), and even one of their adult children. Fans loved the show, sang along to every word, shed some tears during some solos and film footage of the missing members. But the music lives on, and so does the joy.

Last example is Queen. I’ve seen them 3 times in the last 10 yrs. Adam Lambert does an excellent job with Freddie’s vocals and also with respecting & honoring him. Only two original members are left, but some of the “new” guys have been around a long time, and sometimes Roger’s son sits in on drums. They play all their hits plus new music. Shows are sold out on their worldwide tours because the music is brilliant, the shows are incredible, and fans want to be there to sing along.

Will 1D ever perform again? Not in the same way, but maybe. And the fans who love them and their music will be there. In the meantime, we have four solo artists who give us more amazing music, cover some songs from the band, and put on great shows. Enjoy what you can when you’re ready…and perhaps someday there will be more. I hope you’ll be able to be there should it happen. I hope you’ll share the 1D music we have and your love for it with the next generation. The music will live on if we want it to.

Thank you so much for sharing this, anon! I have nothing else to add ❤️👏

[evanbuckleyrecs]

Any recommendations on hurt-comfort Buddie that will make you cry? HEA please!

I started to answer this but accidentally clicked on a Tumblr link so I gotta start over 😂

I haven't read Buddie fics in a while so these are a bit older. (I'm going to catch up soon! I've just been in a phase where I'm either reading Teen Wolf fics or physical books)

Also haven't updated my bookmarks yet. Sadly a lot of great authors I'd normally recommend have turned anti-Buddie since April and I'd rather not promote them in Buddie posts if they're not safe to follow anymore as a Buddie fan.

Please check the tags of a fic before reading in case something is triggering for you!

the things that haunt me in the middle of the night by justhockey

2,4k, rated G

He gasps for breath and it feels like a reflex - like coming up for air after being sucked under. Like a desperate, manic thing.

He’s safe, he knows that. Knows he was never really in much danger anyway. But the sound of it all - the waves, the rain, the crashing and the thundering - it echoes in his head, ricochets through his bones. It lives inside of him, he guesses, even after all these years. That fear, the exhaustion, the crippling terror of finding the surface only to realise that Christopher was gone.

He rubs at his sternum, tries to breathe deeply, tries to blink away the memories of the day the water nearly took everything from him.

I let my guard down by bucksclipboard

6,5k, rated M

"It didn’t stop. Buck went from hoping the packages were from someone special to suspecting someone was toying with him. The hopeless romantic in him was slowly wilting. When he opened the latest letter, suddenly he was not so sure his secret admirer was of the good-natured kind. "

or: who needs police protection when you have eddie diaz by your side?

Cut me slack (I've watched your heart stop) by kat_atthewisco

Rated G, 5,4k

“Well, unfortunately I am calling you specifically for your role as Mr. Buckley’s power of attorney. He does need a couple of decisions made about his care that he’s not fit for at the moment. If you’re able to get here soon that would be best, I can’t tell you much over the phone.” To her credit, Deirdre does sound apologetic, and Eddie’s panic has begun to ratchet back up.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, is he- please, how bad?” Eddie repeats.

In which Eddie gets The Call from Cedars-Sinai while he's off work thanks to a healing injury. Being Buck's emergency contact is suddenly a very real thing.

Never More To Leave Here by devirnis

Rated T, 10,2k

"Can you remind my brother that we were supposed to get lunch?” Maddie asks.

“Uh sure,” Eddie says slowly, confused. “But why don’t you just call him yourself?”

“I did, a couple times, but he didn’t answer. I assumed he was still with you?”

Eddie thinks back to last night, to Buck specifically making plans to go back to his own place so he wouldn’t be late for lunch with Maddie. Buck had texted him when he got home, just a simple night :) that still made Eddie’s heart flutter, so obviously Buck had made it back to the loft… But there haven’t been any texts from Buck all morning. Not that that is necessarily unheard of, but especially over the last few weeks it’s become rarer and rarer for even a few hours to go by without Eddie’s phone dinging with a message notification from Buck.

A small tendril of worry curls around Eddie’s ribs.

BTHB: locked up & left behind

Diagnosis: Dumbass by snarkymuch

Rated T, 2,7K

Christopher scrunched his face, then stopped rummaging through his pack to grab something from the ground—something that turned out to be his phone.

“No, nope—who do you think you’re calling?” he asked, trying to reach for it, but Christopher had already hit the button, dialing someone—whom he’d bet anything was his father.

Christopher pulled away, out of reach, phone to his ear, then a moment later saying, “Yeah, I’m okay, dad—yeah, I know—no, but he fell out of a tree—”

“He is fine, though!” Buck yelled, hoping to stop the inevitable freakout from Eddie. “Eddie, do you hear me? I’m fine!”

--or--

Buck takes Chris out for a light hike, somehow ends up falling out of a tree, and Chris patches him up while waiting for his dad to arrive.

Presumed Dead by inkonmyheartandonthepage

Rated G, 4,4K

The fresh air was supposed to have been good for Buck. A small hike that he had done a million times. A nice hike that gave him a workout and at the same time allowed him to sift through his thoughts and feelings and to focus on what he really wanted.

Instead, he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere at a rest stop watching some asshole drive away in his jeep.

OR

The 118 crew arrive a fender bender only to find it's Buck's jeep on fire and the body inside dead and burning.

The monsters turned out to be just trees by Ink_Dancer

Rated T, 8,4k

Buck and Eddie are searching for a missing person, and they're already lost in the woods when Buck gets injured and makes their situation a lot more complicated. With the sun going down, they're forced to spend the night outside, with only each other for warmth and shelter.

(set post-buck's recovery from the firetruck, but no other specific time markers. nebulously within the show's canon.)

It's what my rotting bones will sing when the rest of me is dead by heartbeatdiaz

Rated T, 12,4k

"Eddie? Eds, can you hear me?” Buck rubs his knuckles against Eddie's sternum, a little too harsh, a little too desperate. "Eddie!"

Eddie croaks out a weak, barely there, whine as Buck's knuckles do the trick and his eyes open in slits.

"Evan?" He chokes out, his voice so hoarse and raspy that it must have been hurting his throat. "You're real?" He whispers in awe, his hand twitching as his side like he wants to reach up to Buck— touch his face— but he's too weak to do that. Eddie's brow furrowed but a small smile graces his lips, barely there. "I didn't give up. I made it home to you."

or;

the one where a call goes wrong and leaves everyone thinking eddie was dead, buck finds about the will through a letter and comes to some other revelations in the process.

and in which eddie finds his way back home and finally gets to be happy with the love of his life.

BTHB Prompt: Missing and Presumed Dead

Let me go by tawaifeddiediaz

Rated T, 8,1K

For the first time since he met him, he wasn’t sure where Buck was, and it was driving him insane. His shift ended three hours later than Eddie on Tuesdays, and today, he had texted saying that he was going to pick up groceries.

After that, he hadn’t returned back home.

Kindness: What Connects Us by FandomLife54

Rated T, 9,6k

Still off balance, Buck slams his left heel onto the roof, heaving forward to catch the collar of that yellow shirt. And there’s no conscious decision making here. It’s all instinct, and he’s grateful for it. If he’d given his overzealous mind the chance to consider another way, he would have missed his shot. Instead, his arms hurl the boy into the hands of another survivor...

And his right foot misses the edge.

OR

Buck catches Chris before he rolls off the firetruck, and it's him who falls back into the retreating waters of the tsunami. Unconscious and seriously injured, he's unaware that his team has been searching for him, never giving up as the days pass.

A leaf falls on loneliness by iimpossible_things

Not rated, 11,1k

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

And I watched a part of myself die 'cause no amount of freedom gets you clean by himbobuckley

WARNING: rape/non-con. Rated T, 10,2K

Buck goes out drinking after a particularly tragic call and the night takes a turn for the worse when he's targeted and assaulted. Struggling in the aftermath and unsure how to handle it, Buck tries to distance himself from his friends and family, believing that with time he can simply move past it on his own. Eddie notices something is wrong with Buck and desperately tries to get through to his friend, fearing the worst.

or:

Buck goes through the fucking ringer. eddie notices something's horribly wrong. you can contact my lawyer for emotional damages.

or:

“I heard about what happened yesterday,” Eddie says softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. And that I didn’t know. I should’ve gone out with you, or made you come over, or-”

“Eddie,” Buck interrupts. “It’s- it’s okay. I just went out drinking. It’s fine.”

“Drinking alone?”

“Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah, alone.”

“Hey listen, why don’t you come over tonight? We can do a movie night. And… I have something to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Buck murmurs, feeling the tears welling up again. “I don’t think I can tonight.”

“Hey, wait Buck-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blue skies by spaceprincessem

36,7k, rated T

“Most babies are born as accidents,” She says suddenly, like she’s decided that Buck has passed, that she can trust him with this.

Buck doesn’t really have an answer because that question hits way to fucking close to home. A year or so ago he would have said, yes, I was an accident, so I know how that goes, but Buck knows better now. Knows that he would almost give anything for that answer to still be yes. Evie’s finger works under the seal to rip it open, a stack of important looking papers dumping out onto the table in front of her.

“Not me,” she says without looking up as she organizes them into a neat stack, “I was engineered.”

And.

And Buck’s pretty fucking sure a giant, cataclysmic hole has ripped right open, dragging him down to the earth’s core where he vaporizes into dust.

{or Buck meets another savior baby and everything comes crashing down}

Leave The Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania

Rated M, 44,4k, fandom classic

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says.

“Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says.

“I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies.

“Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.”

--

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

Over The Age, Over Again by mintedwitcher

Rated E, 16,5k

EXCERPT:

He would’ve fallen down the cliffside if it hadn’t been for Bobby on the winch. Because that… that’s Buck’s jeep. There’s no denying it, no mistaking it. That is Buck’s jeep. Hanging almost sideways off a ledge, the driver’s side doors flung open with the force of the fall. And further down… no. No it can’t be… a man, smashed against the rocks. A massive pool of blood. But Eddie can see the familiar white sneakers against the dirt.

No Sight For Heart Eyes by znks

Rated E, 20,5k

“Buck, Karen, and Eddie stayed on the couch and talked while the kids settled on the floor to draw. It all felt so wonderfully normal that Eddie found himself forgetting that he hadn’t just closed his eyes in serenity as he leaned against Buck.

That’s what made the spell breaking so painful.

“Dad! Look! I drew the firetru- Oh, wait, it’s okay you can see it when you’re all better!” Christopher said it so cheerfully, not even hesitating before going back to swapping out pens with Denny.

But Eddie felt it like a shot to the chest.

He couldn’t see his son’s drawings.

Buck and Karen had barely paused in the conversation, but Eddie could hear how strained it became, both of them obviously knowing exactly how heartbreaking the moment had been. Buck’s arm wrapped more tightly around Eddie’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder.”

losing your sight for a week sucks but at least eddie has buck to guide him through his healing or at least through his own house

This has inspired me to go read more recent hurt/comfort Buddie fics! I haven't been super active on this account but hopefully I can update this soon :)

[cheese-water]

The 5 Stages of Grief ft. Charlie Slimecicle

Stage 1: Denial

Stage 2: Anger

Stage 3: Bargaining

and

Stage 4: Depression or is it Anger again? I honestly can’t tell, but I’m pretty sure he cares about his child now…

Stage 5: Acceptance?

At least for now…

EDIT:

hhahhhhaahhhahhhaaahaahhhhaaaa so much for “acceptance”

[starry-scarl3tt]

is this what addiction feels like

thank you so much for every single person out there who is just as mentally deranged as i am, i love you with all that is left of my heart 🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️❤️

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

—

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B–Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[norrisainz33]

Just a Crush || OP81

☆ summary: Swimmer, y/n, is headed to the olympics and little does she know she’s f1 driver oscar piastri’s celebrity crush

☆ pairing: oscar pisatri x olympian!reader

☆ f/c and warnings: none

☆ requested: this was suggested!! tysm for the wonderful idea for a swimmer reader 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

ynuser made a post

liked by yourbff, thenzteam, vogue, yoursibling, oscarpiastri, iamrebeccad, and 87,457 others

ynuser: your girl is in her model era 🌿 thank you to vogue for having me! make sure to check out the july issue where i talk about what it means to me to be headed to the olympics to represent new zealand, my daily routines, and my life outside of swimming! see you all in paris 🤍

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yourbff: you are so effortlessly gorgeous please 😫

thenzteam: we are lucky to have you y/n!

user1: my favorite kiwi

user2: omg not y/n revealing she’s a huge fan of f1!! wait till oscar hears about this

user3: oscar who?

user2: he’s a formula 1 driver who has a massive crush on y/n

user3: omg not a vroom vroom aussie for my girl 😭

user4: stop they would be perfect 😭 they give the same energy

user2: he’s hiding in the likes 👀

iamrebeccad: some of the best shots i’ve ever seen! congrats on being in vogue and going to the olympics ❤️

ynuser: i took notes from the pro 🫶🏻

user2: omg rebecca is here too

williamsracing has posted a video

user12: LOSCAR MY LOVES

user5: alex and logan are my fav duo im going to miss them so much

user6: james when i catch you!!! how dare you break up our family

user4: GUYS Y/N MENTIONED

user9: the way oscar blushes omg

user10: mans is down bad we have to get her to notice him

user11: alex best be texting lily rn to make that connection! our boy has like no game

user12: stoppp i’m sure he has some 😭

user11: idk he’s so quiet and reserved

user12: nahhh it’s always the quiet ones ok

user8: y/noscar is my roman empire

user13: let’s get my man to the paris

ynuser posted a story

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user10: hey babes, congrats on the olympics. im here to lyk abt a very cool, very polite young man named oscar piastri

yourbff: make us proud y/n

ynuser: i’ll do my best 😭

user2: you should visit monaco and oscar piastri next

lilymhe: yayyyy let’s goooooo y/n!!! i’ll be cheering for you!!

ynuser: omg lily!! it’s been too long since i’ve seen you! let’s do something once i’ve won the gold 😉

lilymhe: yes please 🫶🏻

lilymhe: also alex told me to tell you that you have got to come to a grand prix soon - zandvoort maybe?

oscarpiastri: good luck y/n!

ynuser has made a post

liked by alex_albon, thenzteam, oscarpiastri, vogue, ilonamaher, lilymhe, and 98,657 others

ynuser: you’re looking at the fastest woman in the 1500 freestyle! semifinals here we come 🇳🇿

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yourbff: being able to be poolside cheering you on is my favorite thing

ynuser: i love you

alex_albon: congrats y/n! can’t wait to see you soon 😉

user16: ALEX WHAT ARE YOU EOING HERE

user18: SEE YOU SOON????

user22: alex is taking his job as matchmaker seriously

thenzteam: aotearoa is so proud you ❤️

ynuser: 🤍

oscarpiastri: congrats y/n!! you’re going to get the gold i just know it

ynuser: thank you oscar!! i’m certainly going to try

user2: oscar jumping up and down in his driver room rn

landonorris: user2 he is celebrating yes

user2: LANDODNJE

logansargeant: oscarpiastri thanks for saving my dog from that burning building the other day

alex_albon: thanks oscarpiastri for lending me your lambo last week

ynuser: wow! oscarpiastri can you lend me your lambo?

oscarpiastri: ynuser that can be arranged

thenzteam has made a post

liked by ynuser, nz_swimming, yourbff, iamrebeccad, alex_albon, oscarpiastri and 67,455 others

thenzteam: she’s done it!!! y/n has won gold in the 1500 freestyle! you have made new zealand, aotearoa so very proud 🌿🇳🇿

view all 203 comments

ynuser: beyond proud to be a kiwi! 🤍

yourbff: you are a star!!! i’m so proud of you

thenzteam: we love you 🫶🏻 now it’s time for you to get some rest!

user18: LETS GOOO Y/N!!!!

user20: i love watching women succeed

lilymhe: CONGRATS MS GIRL

alex_albon: yes!!! congrats ms y/n!!!!!

oscarpiastri: bwoah!! let’s go!

user22: oh oscar is this all you’ve got

landonorris: user22 nah he’s got more just give him a minute

oscarpiastri: lando please

ynuser has posted a story

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lilymhe: i missed you so much my olympic golden girl. i’m so glad you’re here 🫶🏻

ynuser: i missed you too my queen 🧡

user28: OMG YOURE IN ZANDVOORT OMG OMGOMGOGKGOGMGMGG

iamrebeccad: the way i jumped for joy when you told me you were coming!!! i can’t wait for dinner tonight

ynuser: neither can i!! i am really looking forward to meeting carlos too

user44: zandvoort!!! on race weekend!!!!! you’re giving our polite cat a chance!!!!

user45: girly we know exactly where you are 🤭

ynuser has made a post

liked by alex_albon, iamrebeccad, lilymhe, oscarpiastri, thenzteam, and 91,234 others

ynuser: some much needed downtime after paris but don’t worry i still got some laps in 🥹

tagged: lilymhe, iamrebeccad, mclarenf1

view all 867 comments

user56: not her tagging mclaren and not oscar LOL

user87: THOUGHT YOU COULD SNEAK IN THATBLAST PIC HUH

user45: that’s gotta be oscar

user87: it’s absolutely him ain’t no way

mclarenf1: was wonderful getting to have an olympic gold medalist in our garage this weekend!! thank you for visiting 🧡

ynuser: thank you for having me mclaren 🧡

oscarpiastri: hey that’s my car

ynuser: yeah and you didn’t let me borrow it like you said you would 😭

oscarpiastri: i’ll lend you one that’s a little less dangerous! you’re precious cargo after all 😉

landonorris: ok , leave me out of the pics… i thought we were friends??

ynuser: my bad dawg! didn’t realize we were chill like that

landonorris: well we’re not anymore!!

alex_albon: my work here is done! team torque for the win

logansargeant: mission accomplished

lilymhe: girls u know everyone can see your comments

user45: CONFIRMED! THANKS ALBONO AND LOGIE

user46: AHHHHHHHHHHHH

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: another olympic reader!!! i love sports player reader. next up - olympic!tennis!reader.

a/n: made some updates to my blog and made a masterlist wahoo!! ty for all the support

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

© norrisainz33: please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[bluemoon-fever]

needy

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader

summary: steve rogers is a very needy man.

word count: 2.45k

warnings: fluff, smut, dub-con (reader is tipsy, but not drunk), unprotected sex, possessive steve, allusions to DD/lg (but not really), D/s undertones, daddy kink, soft!dom!steve, begging, hand job, oral (male and female receiving), rough sex, fingering, light choking, spitting, dacryphilia, praise kink, grinding, mention of safe words, nipple/breast play, cum play, creampie, aftercare, it's filth, but it's also fluffy MINORS DNI

a/n: so i've been having this in my head for over a week, and i'm excited to finally share. i also have something else planned with steve (maybe a mini series or something. i'm still planning). while all can read, i do write with black/poc readers in mind! i hope you all enjoy! Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated! <3

not edited.

DO NOT COPY OR STEAL THIS POST. I do not give permission for my work to be posted on another site.

A symphony of giggles and clumsy steps lets Steve know that you’ve just arrived home. He’s at his desk, working on a new art piece. It’s a drawing of you sleeping soundly in your shared bed based on an image he snapped a few days ago. He goes to hide the drawing, wanting it to be a surprise for you when he’s done.

He hears you fumble with your phone and tell your friend through a fit of giggles that you made it home safe. Then, Steve hears the sound of you taking off your heels and walking into the kitchen. He sighs, waiting for you to finally finish up whatever you were doing and come back to him. It had been about three hours since he last saw you, and he had missed you.

On his days off, Steve cherishes your time together. It’s very rare that he gets days to be home, draw, and just relax, but when you told him you had plans to go to brunch with your friends, his mood soured a bit. He didn’t want to keep you from his friends, but he was feeling very selfish over you. He wanted you all to himself. This morning, he tried to convince you to stay in bed, but after about an extra 15 minutes of cuddles, you told him you had to get ready. He threw a pout at you that made you giggle, and you kissed his cheek all sweet before you got up to get ready. He watched as you got dressed and put makeup on which he constantly told you, “You don’t need it.”

“Thanks, babe, but I just wanted to be dolled up. It’s been forever since I’ve gone out.” Steve winces at your words. He had just gotten off a long mission, and since he had been back, he had been more focused on relaxing than taking you out on dates. Even though you never complained about it, he knew you were in need of a fun outing. That’s why he couldn’t be too mad that you were so quick to agree to brunch with your best friends. You knew he wasn’t in the mood to be out and about, and he didn’t want you to sacrifice your need for socialization just for him.

Well, he did, but he would never ask you to do that. Not when you’re his perfectly sweet, beautiful girlfriend.

Steve volunteered to drive you to brunch, but you said you already agreed to a carpool. When he volunteered to bring you back home, you shot that down (unintentionally). One of your friends agreed to be the designated driver. Steve held in a grunt, but his frustration dissipated slightly when you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and lips. “I love you! I’ll be back before you know it.”

And here you were, but what was taking you so damn long?

Steve was about to rise until he heard you slightly stumble towards the room. Your cheeks were flushed red, a sign of the bottomless mimosas he knows you downed at brunch. Your lipstick was long gone, leaving a slight pink tint on your lips. The rest of your makeup looked fine, and you were actually glowing. Your outfit, a black mid-length, bodycon dress, clung to your curves perfectly. Steve felt his dick start to stir. 

God, he wanted needed you so bad.

“Hi, baby,” you said. You held a bottle of water in your hand and took a sip as you walked in the room. You weren’t drunk, but he could tell you were tipsy. You threw a playful smirk as you sauntered towards him. “I missed you.”

For some reason, Steve didn’t want to give into your sweetness. While he had missed you and missed your body, he wanted you just as needy as he was. He wanted you to need him so bad you were begging for it. While his exterior remained stoic, something feral bloomed inside of him that he had to stifle his own smirk.

You moved directly in front of him and leaned down to give him a kiss. When you didn’t feel him return it, your face flashed concern. Did you do something wrong? Was he mad at you? You began to feel nervous under his gaze. Rather than say anything, you moved to straddle him and began to burrow into his lap. You faced him directly and wrapped your arms around his neck. When his expression didn’t budge, you buried your face into his neck and inhaled his scent.

God, you needed him so bad.

As you shrunk yourself in his lap, Steve gave a small smile. Seeing you become so little was making him harder. He knew after one drink that you were affectionate and needy. At events, you’d seek him out, attaching yourself to his side or finding some way to touch him. He had you right where he wanted you. You had mumbled something into his neck that took him from his own thoughts.

“What was that?” he asked, keeping his voice firm.

“How was your day?” you said softly, almost at a whisper. You turned your face and looked up into his sparkling blue eyes. You were so damn sweet he felt he was getting a cavity. “Are you enjoying being off?”

“It was fine,” he said, telling the truth. It was just fine. If you were with him all day, laying naked next to him, it would have been everything he needed. But seeing you concerned about him, being so sweet and kind, made him want to just pick you up and make sweet love to you in his bed. But a strong part of him didn’t want that; he wanted to ruin you and make you more pliant. “How was brunch?”

“It was nice,” you began, playing with the hairs in his beard. “But I really missed you, Daddy.” 

Fuck, he thought. Here you were, his perfect girl, wrapped up perfectly in his lap and pliant. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He gripped your face in his large hands and began to kiss you passionately. You didn’t even try to keep up, letting him push his tongue past your lips and claim your mouth. You began to whine, and Steve felt you begin to grind against his hard-on. He shifted his hands to your neck and pulled you back.

“If you missed me so much, baby girl, then show me.” Your eyes were blown wide with lust. Your lips swollen and pink. You nodded and began to pull his dick out of his sweatpants. You began stroking him, creating a steady rhythm that made Steve catch his breath. “Fuck angel.”

You shifted off his lap and moved his rolling chair back. You settled yourself between his legs. You began giving kitten licks to the tip of his cock before staring up at him with the kindest eyes; Steve had to fight the urge to blow a load on your face. You teased him a bit more with the licks before swallowing his own length down. Steve gripped the back of your head, pushing his length further down your throat. You struggled to take all of him, and the sensation of it made him pulse a bit down your throat. He pulled you off of him and took in your state. Your eyes began watering, your mascara starting to smudge under your eyes. Your mouth was wet with saliva. Steve wishes he could take a picture of you, seeing you ruined made further awakened a beast within him.

You reached for his cock, moving your mouth back on him. He watched in amazement as you tried to deep throat him on your own. You began looking up at him, your eyes looking as big as possible. How you managed to make yourself still look innocent while sucking his dick was something.

“Look at my pretty girl, sucking her Daddy’s cock. You’re doing so good.” You keened over his praise. He watched as you attempted to move your hand under your dress to gain some relief, but he grabbed both of your hands and held them above you. He removed your mouth off of him as gently as he could. You stared up at him waiting for his next words.

“Get on the bed.” He let your hands go and watched as you moved quickly to kneel on the bed. Steve didn’t even bother making it, leaving your bed sheets at the foot of your mattress. You placed your hands in your lap. He got up and cupped your face in his hand. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before his hand moved to pull the thin strap of your dress down. “How are we feeling?”

“Green,” you told him. You gave a small smile. “I need you.”

“I know. Be patient, baby.” If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black…

He pushed your shoulders back as a sign for you to lay back on the bed. He moved to pull your dress off, you lifting your hips to help him. You were left in just a lacy pink thong and strapless bra. You moved to pull the bra off and placed it on the floor next to your bed. You grabbed his hand and placed it on his chest. You were so desperate for some sort of relief.

Steve began massaging your breast, his fingers pulling at your nipple. You let out a breathy moan from the sensation, happy to finally feel something. Steve’s eyes darkened when he saw your hand slip inside your panties, and you began to play with yourself.

“How bad do you need me? How bad do you need your Daddy?” he asked, almost mockingly.

“I need you s-so bad,” you cried out. “I’ve missed you so much. Thought about you the whole time at brunch. Please, I need you.”

Steve removed his hands, causing you to whine. When you looked up at him, you saw him frantically stripping out of his sweatpants and white tank top. He didn’t even bother with underwear, secretly praying that you came home exactly like this, and he would have easy access.

His mouth began an assault on your neck. He pulled your hand out and roughly pulled your panties down, flinging them somewhere in the room. He kissed down your body, spending precious time kneading and kissing on your breasts before he found himself in between your legs. Without asking, you opened yourself up to him. “Please, please, please,” you whined.

Steve dove in, essentially making out with your pussy. You cried out, and he placed his left hand on your stomach to hold you down. His other hand began to push into your core, finding that spongy spot that instantly had your hips bucking. He looked up at you through his thick lashes, watching your face contort into pure ecstasy. He found your bundle of nerves and began to suck while continuing to play with you like you were his favorite instrument (you were). You immediately began singing out, a sign you were close. It was music to Steve’s ears, your incoherent cries.

Steve lifted up, removed his fingers from your core, and watched as your face fell in betrayal. “If you’re going to come, it’s going to be on my dick,” he spat at you. “Open.”

You opened your mouth, and Steve spit down your throat. He captured into another filthy kiss, you grabbing onto his back to pull you into him, trying to become one. He lined up himself at your entrance before pressing in quickly, filling you up quickly. You broke the kiss to moan, tears spilling from your eyes from the pressure. Steve felt himself grow harder as he began to lick at your tears. You felt so defiled, so nasty, and you couldn’t get enough. You began scratching at his back, desperate for him to move, for him to finally let you come.

“D-daddy, please. Please move. Please!” you begged. “Please, I need it. I need to cum. Please let me cum!” Tears began to spill from your eyes. Your face was so utterly fucked out that Steve could have came right then in there. But you were giving him everything he wanted, and now, he finally could oblige.

He began roughly fucking into you, pulling your legs into his arm to change his angle. Your back arched off the bed, and your moans grew louder. Normally, Steve would cover your mouth, not wanting to face your neighbors after this, but he didn’t care. He wanted the whole world to hear him fucking his perfect, sweet girlfriend on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. You grabbed at your breast and Steve brought his face down to one, popping one of your hard nipples into his mouth. You clenched harder around him.

“Steve, I’m s-so close. May I cum? Please, may I cum?” you asked so nicely. 

“Yes.” You came with a cry, your body shaking as Steve continued to fuck into you. Seeing you fall apart gave him a second wind and he kept fucking into you. You fell into a second orgasm, your eyes beginning to close in exhaustion, but Steve didn’t relent. He pulled out and turned you on your side like a ragdoll as you laid limp on the bed. He immediately rutted back into you, his pace relentless. His release was building up. “Come on, baby. Come with Daddy. Just give me one more.”

Steve came with a roar. He looked down at your coated juices on his dick and fucked it back into you. He couldn’t wait to see himself leaking out of you. Honestly, if you gave him a minute, he could go again and have you filled with him for days. The idea of you filled with him, possibly making his child made him cumming again.

He collapsed on top of you, softly kissing your face. You started giggling before turning and grabbing his face in your hand. You captured his lips in a long, soft kiss. You whined as he pulled out of you, and Steve shifted next to you. Looking down at your legs, his eyes darkened seeing his spend leak out of you. He gathered it and pushed it back inside of you. You winced at how sensitive you were, but Steve knew you loved when he’d play with your mixed releases. 

Steve rose and grabbed your water bottle, making you drink a considerable amount before placing it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He lifted you up and placed both of you under the covers of your shared bed. He pulled you into his chest as you lazily rubbed circles into his chest and him on your shoulders.

“I love you,” you whispered before softly kissing at his chest and closing your eyes.

“I love you too.” Steve was happy. His perfect girl was finally in his arms, just like he needed.

[nerdy-novelist017]

The Ride (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 2)

Wow, I truly didn't expect all the love for the last post! Thank you so so much! Here's a part two baked fresh just for you lovelies! ;)

( Also! I'm going to work on putting together a masterlist for my fics for him since I have so many ideas)

Ps. please send me requests for this man i'm going feral over here from all the possibilities

Part 1 here

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 1.9k

-Minor NSFW Content-

Summary- You thought getting on the bike would be the hardest part. Having to unwrap your legs from his waist and get off at the end of the night was significantly more difficult.

*******

Despite the fact that you knew there were multiple people surrounding you, all cheering, your eyes were glued to Benny’s form as he swung a leg over top of his bike. He kickstarted the motorcycle, the muscles in his thigh flexing through the faded pair of jeans he wore. The engine roared to life and it took everything in you not to jump back. Benny glanced over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes all but dared you to run away, to take it back and return to the safety of the car. 

But some underlying competitive streak in you flared and you clenched your fists tightly. You approached his bike and he took your purse and Tupperware bowl, tucking them away in his back compartment. He leaned forward and awkwardly swung a leg over his bike, attempting to repeat his action as you mounted, but the movement caused your dress to slide up to reveal a generous view of your upper thigh. Blushing, you glanced at the onlookers who cheered and whistled at the sight, but Benny seemed to ignore them. Without looking, he reached back, his hand enveloping your thigh, sliding it higher so that your foot found the footrest. Heat instantly blossomed from the contact and you physically resisted clenching your knees tighter around him. 

“Hang on tight, Little Bunny,” he murmured as he moved his hand to grab your arm, gently guiding it forward to wrap around his waist.  He revved the engine and you tighten your grasp over his waist, eyes closed as the bike began to slowly roll forward over the grassy field. The cheers subsided into the wind that tugged gently at your hair. You’re going on an adventure, it seemed to say, but you refused to open your eyes.

Heart drumming in your chest, you hoped to spend the entire ride with your eyes screwed shut, pretending to be anywhere else, anywhere safer. But then the bumpy and uneven field soon turned to smooth blacktop as he maneuvered the two of you onto the backroad. You felt the bike increase in speed slightly and you dared to peek an eye open. Corn fields blurred as you sped by, the setting sun seeming to light the horizon with a brilliant show of deep oranges and purples. A gasp escaped your lips and you pressed yourself closer to him in a desperate measure to not fall off, hands flush against the curve of his abdomen.  

He rode with one hand, you realized, and it painted a picture of a cowboy in your mind. Had this been the 1860s, Benny would have ridden his horse like this, a model of a true outlaw with his dangerous persona and ruggedly handsome appearance.

The world sped by, or rather you sped by the world as Benny drove down the center of the yellow lines. You couldn’t stop the squeal that escaped you as he leaned the bike to go around a turn. He took you down roads you’ve never been before, pointed out interesting things and places you’ve never seen. True to his word, he didn’t go very fast, never faster than the speed limit at least. But regardless, it was an adventure – both frightening and fun and your heart never seemed to return to its slower rhythm. Despite the fact that you've never ridden on a motorcycle before and the uncertainty of your next destination, there was strange sense of safety that invoked you as you breathed in Benny's scent, hands clasped tightly to him. As the sun completely dipped below the horizon and the temperature dropped, he finally asked you where you lived. 

When he did eventually pull up to your house (hours later), the rumble of the motorcycle seemed to echo off the houses, disturbing the peaceful silence of your quiet neighborhood. He cut the engine and the toe of his boot kicked out the kickstand, shifting your combined weights to the side slightly and the air was once again filled with silence. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned back ever so slightly, his head turning to glance back at you over his shoulder.

He held an arm out for you as you awkwardly dismounted, heart pounding again. A strange sense of disappointment panged in your gut as the bottom of your heels made contact with the blacktop. You stood there before him, eyes now level with his as he remained seated casually on his bike. Keep driving, you wanted to tell him. Keep driving and let's find our way to the end of the world together. You wanted to hop back on the back and wrap your arms around his waist. You wanted to ride with him till the sun came up over the horizon, just this once, just because you’ve never stayed out till the sun came up. Your family would worry, your father would be pacing up and down the hallway just inside, but something in you longed to throw caution to the wind, to do something naughty. 

You bit your lip as you broke eye contact with him and looked down to your feet. What were you thinking? You played life by the rules. You were a good girl, that’s what your parents called you. That’s what your teachers called you. That’s what you were raised to be. That’s all you knew how to be, what you were comfortable with. Benny . . . he made you uncomfortable. He filled your belly with butterflies, made your heart pump harder than normal, made the spot between your legs tingle. All things that dangerously threatened to upend the perfectly planned life you had. Trouble, plain and simple.

You got what you wanted – a ride home and a bit of excitement. You got close enough to the fire without getting burned, got to play a risky game for the evening. Now it was time for you to go back to your routine life. That perfectly . . . boring life. 

“Thank you . . . for the ride,” you said softly, the adrenaline of the adventure smothering into ashes. 

He nodded and you watched as his cyan gaze moved from you to your house behind you. “You still live with your family?”

“Yeah,” you replied, heat touching your face. “Why?”

He looked back at you. “Just gotta know what kind of house you want after we’re married.”

“What?” you balked at him, stomach dropping like you just took a plunge off a bridge.

He smiled and leaned an arm forward, resting casually on his bike as if he didn’t just say something shockingly direct. He offered no help, just watched as you attempted to sputter a response.

“M–married? We . . . I don’t . . . even know you.” You breathed out a nervous laugh. You went for one ride with him! You had only had a handful of sentences exchanged between you, the majority of those spoken with a crowd cheering around you. Who did this guy think he was? 

He shrugged as he slid his hands into the front pocket of his jacket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. “We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity. “I’m not marrying you!”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” He looked amused as he flipped open his lighter, the flame casting his face in an orange glow as he lit one of his cigarettes. Your protests wavered slightly as you watched his hands cup around the flame in an effort to protect from the wind and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the cigarette tucked between his lips. A phantasm of his hands cupping your breasts, his tall frame hovering above you, lips pressing softly against your collarbone tainted your mind and you took a step back to put physical distance between you and this man. 

Swallowing thickly, you continued, “Well, I don’t even know your last name–”

“Cross.”

“–And I don’t even know if I like you!”

“I think you like me,” he said confidently and you snapped your jaw shut at the accusation. “Why else would you let me drive you home?”

“W–what if I just used you to get me home?” you countered quickly. 

“Did you use me, Bunny?” he drew out the sentence with an almost painfully seductive smile. You furrowed your brow, irritation flooding your veins. He was quick, you’d give him that.

Benny studied the way your lips pursed and he wondered if that was something you did while you were angry or if it was your way of finding another excuse. He wanted to spend the rest of his life finding the answers to your facial expressions, the meaning behind your almost undetectable quirks he was discovering with each minute spent in your company. And my god, those those lips . . . his eyes fell down to those soft lips of yours, fascinated by how he wanted to feel them wrapped around his—

“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Cross,” your voice brought him back to reality as you reached forward and grabbed your purse and empty Tupperware bowl from his bike. “But I–I have no intentions on marrying you. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever see you again.”

“Hmm, okay,” he feigned being hurt by your words. “Whatever you say, kid.” 

You shot him a frustrated look. “What’s with all the nicknames?”

He held up his arms in mock surrender. “You don’t like ‘em?”

"I don't think they're very accurate."

He raised his brows at you, unconvinced.

“Yeah? Well, I got a nickname for you.” you retorted. 

“And what’s that?” He played along to your game. 

“Trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Mh-hm.” You nodded and lifted your free hand to brush the wind-whipped hair from your eyes.

He shrugged and spoke around the cigarette in his mouth. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. You think I’m trouble, Bunny?”

An exasperated sigh left your lips and Benny felt a swell of pride at the reaction. This was fun, teasing you like this. The blush tainting your face, a clear sign of your flustered reaction, made his heartbeat quicken. 

“Goodnight, Benny,” you said a little firmer as you turned and walked up the sidewalk to your house. 

“Goodnight, Bunny,” Benny called out as he watched the sway of your hips as you climbed the front steps. You shot him one last look over the curve of your shoulder before you opened the front door and slipped inside. Benny sat on his bike outside your house, his mind reeling as he finished his cigarette. He hadn’t felt this excited in a long time and hadn't felt this kind of adrenaline since his first ride. This was a new kind of ride, Benny realized. Something exhilarating and arousing gripped his heart when he looked at you in your pretty little dress with your innocently wide eyes and pouty lip. The primal instinct of taking you in his arms and laying you down onto your shared bed, his body shielding you from the rest of the world played in his mind the movie. He wanted to grab your hand and show you just how exciting life could be with him. Not to change you, he’d make sure your integrity was protected, but to broaden your horizon.

And maybe it made him selfish, but Benny's never had anything as good as you in his life and because of that, he wanted to be your guide throughout every adventure going forward.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

How about Aegon or Aemond corrupting jace's twin? Maybe Aegon does the corrupting and Aemond is into her?

The list of morally wrong things in this one is astronomical, but it’s House of the Dragon so it’s okay. Also, this is part 1 (let me know what should happen in the next part!). I wanted to wait until it was fully finished to post, but this is 6k already so I'm splitting it

Warnings: 18+, smut, uncle/niece incest, corruption, fingering, oral (m receiving), non-consensual touch (not by Aegon or Aemond), protective!Aegon,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all began when a letter from your grandsire arrived at Dragonstone, inviting you to spend summer in King’s Landing. You hadn't seen your grandsire since his fiftieth namedays, which was about two years ago, so you were more than pleased to accept his invitation. The gardens were beautiful in the summer…and you hadn’t seen Haelena in a while. 

It was absolutely not in the hopes to see your uncles again.

‘’Are you out of your mind? You’re going straight to the dragons’ den! Have you forgotten how they treated us all these tears we lived there?’’ Jacaerys said, walking into your bedchamber like it was his own.

The news of your summer plans must have reached his ears after his lesson with the Maester. 

‘’They’re not horrible people, you just never got along with them,’’ you fired back at your twin brother as you continued packing your bags for tomorrow.  

Growing up, your brothers had a few differences with Aegon and Aemond — many stupid fights and a lot of bullying on both ends —, but you never had the same treatment. Mayhaps it was because you were spending more time with Haelena than the boys. Or mayhaps they just took their teasing too seriously. 

Jacaerys was not letting it go. ‘’They called you a bastard in your back, like they did Luke and I.’’ 

The first time you heard the word from Aegon’s mouth, it hurt you. Being a bastard was badly seen. Especially for the children of the heir of the Iron throne. His slur branded your mother as a whore. 

Having heard, Jacaerys had come forward, the two pushing and shoving until Ser Criston and Ser Harwin separated them. When informed that a fight had occured in the courtyard between Aegon and Jace, your mother was mad at Jacaerys but also flattered that he had defended her honor. 

‘’We both know the truth about our father, Jace,’’ you reminded him, refusing to be blind. 

Although you and your brothers were conceived from an infidelity, you didn’t feel shame in being your father’s child. You remembered Ser Harwin being around in King’s Landing and making your mother happy. He was a kind and honorable man. Leanor was rarely ever present. 

‘’If the court finds out about our father, I won’t be recognized as heir. They’ll never allow a bastard to sit on the Iron Throne.’’

‘’We’re Targaryens, and that’s all that matters, all you need to sit on the throne,’’ you insisted. ‘’Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing.’’

⁂

At your return from King’s Landing, you’ll be meeting suitors — which you dreaded. That meant that this summer was going to be the last summer before becoming a wife. The thought of getting married made your stomach churn. Marriage was not something that interested you — at all. Like your mother, you would much rather ride your dragon and travel than live in a Lord’s castle and start a family.

Your arrival was announced to the King, who summoned you in the throne room. 

He stood from the throne as you approached, a smile spreading across his face. ‘’Ah, there you are,’’ Viserys said warmly, stepping down to meet you. ‘’It's good to see you back in King's Landing.’’

You returned the smile. ‘’Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,’’ you replied respectfully.  

‘’You’ve grown,’’ Viserys remarked, his gaze appraising you. ‘’And you inherited your grandmother's beauty.’’

Though you never had the chance to meet Queen Aemma, you knew it was a compliment. The King always spoke fondly of his late wife.

‘’I’ll be ten and eight soon,’’ you informed him. 

‘’Already?’’ The King raised an eyebrow and you nodded. ‘’Time flies, doesn’t it? We’ll have a tourney in your and Jacaerys’ honor. My first grand-children turning ten and eight, it deserves to be celebrated.’’

⁂

You changed out of your traveling dress, then went looking for your aunt and uncles. 

First, you spotted Aegon soaring overhead on Sunfyre, the golden dragon gleaming in the sunlight. He had gotten so large and beautiful. You’ll have to ask Aegon to ride together next time he goes. 

Next, you made your way to the training yard, where you knew Aemond often spent his time. As expected, you found him there, sparring with Ser Criston, his movements swift and precise. He was much better than your brothers at sparring, you mentally noted.

You called his name excitedly as you stepped down the stairs, which you realized was a mistake when he almost got taken down by Ser Criston. You apologized, but Aemond shook his head. 

‘’No harm done,’’ he assured you, putting away his sword and walking over to you. 

The last time you were in this training yard, you kicked Aemond’s ass. You were only kids, but it was still one of your greatest victories. Sword-fighting was in your blood. With a little bit of training, you would be as great as the boys in this yard.

‘’Can you still hold a sword, Princess?’’ 

⁂

You and Aemond cleaned up just in time for dinner, where you greeted the Queen and Helaena. They had the same hairstyle, which reminded of you and your mother, Rhaenyra. Children look up to their parents.

After dinner, you, Helaena, Aemond and Aegon retired to the latter’s chamber and spent the evening talking, laughing and eating small cakes and other sweet treats that you had requested from the kitchens.  

‘’These pastries are divine,’’ you said, loving the bitter raspberry mixed with the sweetness of the tart. ‘’We don’t have anything like this on Dragonstone.’’ You took another bite, humming at the taste.

Just as you finished your third tart, Aegon stood and excused himself. ‘’It's been wonderful having you here, dear niece, but duty calls.’’

You glanced out the window, noticing the silver glow of the moon and the twinkling stars against the dark sky. ‘’At late hour?’’ 

Aegon paused for a moment, a confident smirk spreading across his face. ‘’Some duties can only be fulfilled at night,’’ he declared cryptically, his gaze flickering mischievously towards Aemond, who could only shake his head in response.

‘’I wouldn't exactly call it duty,’’ Aemond remarked, trailing off as Aegon interjected with a mischievous grin.

‘’A treat, then,’’ the older prince continued, redirecting his attention to you with a knowing look. ‘’You enjoy pastries. I, however, have a preference for women.’’

Confusion clouded your expression. ‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’Sex,’’ Aegon declared boldly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

Your gaze fell to your feet, color rising in your cheeks. ‘’Oh.’’ 

Aegon's lips twitched with amusement at your reaction. ‘’Ever had sex, dear niece?’’ 

‘’Aegon,’’ Aemond interjected, his voice a warning.

You shook your head. 

It was a good thing that Helaena had fallen asleep or she would have covered her ears. Sex always made her uncomfortable. 

‘’Not even with yourself?’’ Aegon continued. 

Confusion struck your face. ‘’Eh, no.’’

‘’You’re missing out.’’ 

⁂

Every night, you watched from your window as Aegon sneaked out through the secret passageway of the Red Keep. You had discovered these passageways when you were playing hide and seek as kids. Aemond always complained that hiding there was cheating, but you and Aegon did it anyway.

You couldn't help but wonder what was so great about sex that made him go out every night.  

One night, you decided to follow him. The curiosity was too much to resist. 

You snuck early through the secret passageways and waited for any sign of Aegon's approach. The damp, narrow corridors brought back memories of your childhood games. 

Finally, you heard his familiar footsteps echoing down the passage. As he rounded the corner, you stepped out of the shadows. 

‘’What is my favorite niece doing here?’’ Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow. He had a dark cloak over his shoulders, covering any signs that could give his identity away in the city. 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. ‘’I want to come to the pleasure house with you.’’ 

Aegon stared at you for a moment, then laughed. 

‘’I'm serious, Aegon. I…I want to know about sex.’’ You tried to make your voice confident, knowing Aegon would send you to your chamber if he sensed a sliver of uncertainness. 

Taking your hand in his, Aegon led you through the maze of streets and alleys. It was bustling with people. Merchants and artisanal liquor sellers were pushing their beverages at you, almost forcing you to have a taste. Some people were drunk and stumbling about, while some were playing instruments with surprising skill, their melodies blending with the occasional fights breaking out nearby. You could hear obscene sounds from darkened alleys, adding to the chaotic symphony of the night. 

It was your first time coming to the city, and the overwhelming sights and sounds made you clung to Aegon, not wishing to get lost. 

He came to a stop when you reached a dark wooden door. Aegon pushed it open and pulled you inside. 

The stuffy air hit you immediately, making you wrinkle your nose. Aegon took off his hood, but didn’t let go of you. You were under his responsibility tonight. Around you, people lounged around in various states of undress, some lost in laughter, others in more intimate activities that brought a pink tint to your cheeks. 

Aegon made a stop to the bar, ordering two cups of wine. One for him, and one for you. 

‘’Drink,’’ he said. ‘’It’s nothing like what we have at the Keep, but it'll help you relax.’’ 

You took the glass and sipped tentatively, the sour taste of the wine making you grimace. He was right about this wine being disgusting. You had to force it down your throat. 

‘’What do you do when you come here?’’ you asked, looking around with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Aegon leaned against the bar as he downed the rest of his drink. ‘’I get my cock sucked. Or I fuck some whore. Depends how I’m feeling that night.’’ 

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks flush. ‘’What of me? How do I…’’ You bit your lip, the words shy on your tongue. ‘’I don’t have a cock.’’ 

‘’You don’t need a cock for pleasure.’’ Aegon set his empty cup on the bar. ‘’Come with me.’’ 

You followed him through the mass of people, avoiding touching or being touched by anyone. Some of these people were very handsy and pushy, asking for things you didn’t quite understand. 

One the way, a woman approached Aegon, her dress barely clinging to her body. She smiled seductively at him, her eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to him. ‘’Care for some company tonight, my prince?’’ she purred, hoping to make some good money tonight. 

Aegon glanced at you, as if gauging your reaction, then back at the woman. ‘’Not tonight.’’

The whore looked at you behind Aegon, giving you a full stare down, and glared. Did she take you for another whore? In your silk dress and jewelry around your neck?

You followed your uncle to a room, gasping in shock when you saw a woman being penetrated by two men. One was standing at her head, her mouth wrapped around him. Spit was dribbling from her mouth, but she didn’t seem to care. And the other was thrusting into her from behind, loud moans leaving their mouths. To your right, a woman with saggy breasts was bouncing on a bearded man’s cock. She craned her head back to kiss her partner, sweat covering both their bodies. 

It was not at all what you had expected. No one seemed shy or embarrassed of exposing themself in front of so many people. In fact, they didn’t seem to care at all. They were just there to take what they needed. 

‘’Don’t listen to what your Septa told you. Sex is not just for baby-making, sex is for pleasure. For the woman as it is for the man,’’ Aegon purred into your ear as you watched the people around you. ‘’Men find pleasure from their cock.’’ He pointed to a man getting his male part sucked, his head thrown back and moaning. ‘’And women from their cunny.’’ He pointed to two women in a corner, one with her hand between her partner’s legs. She seemed to be feeling great pleasure, you noticed.  ‘’Although most people here indulge in penetrative sex, penetration is not necessary for pleasure. You can find that same pleasure — at least similar to — by yourself.’’

‘’I want to try,’’ you stated, wanting to feel the same pleasure as her. 

Aegon shook his head. ‘’We’re only here to watch. I’m not letting any of these men get their hands on you.’’

You frowned. ‘’How am I supposed to learn?’’ 

Aegon motioned for one of the unoccupied whores to come up to him. Her hair was brown and very long. He gave her body a few caresses, then pointed at you as he explained something to her. She nodded in understanding and took your hand, leading you to a corner where a ‘bed’ was not being used.

‘’Larissa is gonna teach you the ways to pleasure,’’ Aegon explained. 

⁂

On your return from the brothel, you said a giggly ‘good night’ to Aegon and disappeared inside your chamber, excited to undress and try what Larissa had taught you. You had studied her movements, which had triggered tingly feelings between your legs. 

You unlaced your dress and boots, then flopped down on your bed. You opened your legs, exposing your pussy, and took a short moment to look down at it. It was different from Larissa’s. Your hair density was different and you didn’t have the floppy skin she called ‘petals’, but you didn’t think too much of it. All bodies were different, she said. 

The cool air of the room made the throbbing between your legs worse. Was this how it was supposed to feel? 

Tentatively, you lowered one hand between your legs, right against your throbbing core, and breathlessly gasped when you made contact with your sensitive skin. You threw your head back against the wall and closed your eyes at the new found sensation. 

Wetness stuck to your fingers and you pressed harder against your core, causing your eyelashes to flutter. ‘’Ahh.’’ 

Your fingers traced the seam of your slit, spreading the wetness around. Each touch sent waves of sensation through you, making you want more. Taking it to the next level, you swiped between your folds, causing you to moan as soon as you met your sensitive flesh. 

You continued doing so, humming in delight and feeling yourself relax more into the sensations your fingers were bringing. Why had no one told you about this kind of pleasure before? It was much better than eating raspberry tarts. 

Another moan slipped past your lips, the tingly feeling between your legs intensifying. You pushed your hips down onto your hand and sighed softly, arching your back from the bed. But it wasn't enough. 

Something inside you was tingling. 

Finding no better ways to relieve these tingles, you slid your middle finger inside of yourself. Immediately, your walls closed around your finger, warm and wet. It felt strange — and sinful. You began moving it in and out, your mouth opening to form an ‘O’ shape. 

‘’Oh Gods…’’ 

You began pumping your finger in and out a bit faster, thinking it was what you needed, but it did not make the tingles go away. It did feel good, but after a moment, your hand was getting tired and the tingles were growing more intense. 

‘’What am I doing wrong?’’ you asked aloud, feeling frustrated. 

⁂

On the morrow, after your afternoon tea with Helaena, you knocked on Aegon’s door. He rarely left his chambers during the day — other than for dinner or to ride Sunfire —, so you knew he would be there. 

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Aegon in his usual princely attire. His silver hair was tousled, and his eyes had a tired look. 

‘’I need your help,’’ you said, not wasting time with formal greetings. ‘’Something seems wrong with my body, I’m afraid…’’ 

Aegon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. ‘’What do you mean?’’

You hesitated, second thinking if you should be going to him about your intimate problems. After all, Aegon had boy parts, how could he help you? ‘’What Larissa taught me last night, it is not working. I tried, but I cannot…make the tingles go away. My finger is not enough.’’ 

Aegon's expression shifted from curious to alarmed as he glanced on both sides of the halfway, making sure no one had heard you. If anyone knew of your little escapade into the city, Aegon would be in a lot of trouble. 

Then, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter quickly. The room was somber despite the large window dorning over the city, and the bed was unmade. You couldn’t say you were surprised by the latter. 

Aegon shut the door behind you, pulling you out of your observation, and turned to face you. ‘’You should be more careful of the matters you speak about outside closed doors. You would be surprised by the number of ill intentioned ears that are waiting for bad whispers in this castle.’’

You nodded, having not thought of that. On Dragonstone, there weren't as many maids or servants.  They mostly assisted your mother and the younger children, or busied themselves with cleaning tasks in the lower floors of the castle. 

‘’Take a seat,’’ Aegon invited, sitting down in a large velvet chair at the center of the room and gesturing towards a loveseat right across for you. ‘’And tell exactly what you mean by ‘not enough’.’’ 

You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words. ‘’I do not know how to put it into words… All I know is that when I inserted my finger inside myself, it felt good. But the tingles intensified and my finger wasn’t enough anymore. A-am I broken, Aegon?’’ 

He laughed quietly at the last remark. ‘’Broken? No. You’re not broken, my darling. You’re simply not doing it quite right. You see, in order to truly satisfy yourself when you’re all alone…a finger simply isn’t enough.’’ Aegon leaned in his seat, speaking closer to you. ‘’Would you like me to show you how to truly do it, properly?’’

You were most certain that you should not be doing this, but going back to the brothel was not a possibility at the moment. It was likely closed during the daytime and, although Helaena was a woman, you doubted she could be of help. 

Aegon stood and pulled you with him, guiding you to his bed. ‘’Lay down. Make yourself comfortable.’’

You scooted back until you hit the pillows, glaring at the sheet when your foot got stuck in it. If Aegon would make his bed in the mornings, it would not have happened. 

Once you were settled, he pulled your dress up, letting the layers bunch at your hips and pushed your legs apart. You were completely exposed to him, and rather than feeling uncomfortable under your uncle’s gaze, you spread yourself wider, desperate to feel good. 

‘’Gods,’’ Aegon growled under his breath. His hand gently rubbed your inner thigh, caressing your soft skin. ‘’You have one magnificent cunny, dear niece.’’ He moved his hand up the inside of your thigh, gently playing with your soft sparse hair there, almost teasingly. ‘’Makes me want to kiss it.’’ 

You whined, feeling a tinge of shyness at his compliment. ‘’Aegon…’’ 

‘’I mean it. I’ve seen a lot in my short life, but none ever compared.’’ He pressed his fingers firmly against you, making you mewl from the contact. 

It felt different from your own fingers. More pleasurable. 

Aegon kept up the circular motions, using a bit more pressure, as he watched your expression flicker with pleasure, your mouth open and eyebrows knitted as a moan slipped from your lips. He began swiping his thumb over your clit and it made you moan so loud anyone who was passing in the hallway must’ve heard. 

Your reaction made Aegon chuckle, amused. He brought a finger over your lips, shushing you. ‘’If you do this again, you’re gonna alert one of the maids. We don't want that, do we?’’ He stroked a piece of your hair, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on.

You shook your head. ‘’I-I’ll be quiet,’’ you promised.

‘’Now, I’m going to put my fingers inside of you,’’ he explained as two fingers slipped down and entered you, sinking between your folds.

You gasped and pushed your hips against Aegon’s hand, realizing this was exactly what you needed. ‘’Ahh, this feels so good.’’

Aegon’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with desire as he felt your hips move against him. ‘’See, nothing is broken. You just needed uncle Aegon’s help.’’ He increased the pace a bit, his fingers moving rapidly as your breath came in short gasps and moans as your mind got lost in the sensations. 

Your whole body was on fire, trembling by need as his thumb started rubbing your clit again. You felt the heat inside yourself intensify, you could feel the release you so desperately craved was building. 

You whined, grabbing the sheets next to you. ‘’A-Aegon, something feels strange. I think— I think I’m going to pee.’’ 

You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on not wetting the bed. How embarrassing would that be?  

‘’You’re not going to pee. Don’t worry.’’ Aegon continued his ministrations. ‘’This is good. This is exactly what you want.’’ 

‘’No. I’m going to pee, I’m going to—’’ You interrupted yourself as your back arched off the bed as your final release hit you, your hands fisting one of the pillows so hard you almost pierced a hole with your fingernails. 

Aegon’s free hand covered your mouth just in time, muffling your cries while you rode out your pleasure on his hand. 

⁂

You sat on your vanity chair while servants were cleaning up the aftermath of your bath. Your chamber smelled of lavender oil, which you poured into the water to help get a great night of sleep. The beds were luxurious in the Red Keep, but it lacked the comfort of home. 

‘’Will it be all, Princess?’’ your handmaid asked after brushing your freshly washed hair. 

You thanked her for her service. ‘’Yes. Thank you, Dyana.’’ 

‘’I will see you in the morning, Princess.’’ 

Dyana left your chambers, and you waited for the servants to do the same. You didn't want to press them, but you were impatient to watch them leave. 

Once everyone was out, you laid on your bed and pulled up your nightgown. 

At supper, you had sat across Aegon and your eyes had fallen on his hand holding his goblet of wine. Precisely his long, thick, and dexterous fingers. You knew it was sinful to have such thoughts during a family meal, but you had been unable to keep yourself from thinking about the intense pleasure Aegon's fingers brought you. You had to clamp your thighs under the table, feeling a needy ache in your cunny. 

Your fingertips skimmed over your folds, and you let out a small moan. You've been waiting all evening to do that. Your index finger slipped down to the pearl Aegon touched this afternoon and you made small, soft circles around it. A jolt of pleasure went up your spine. That felt so good. You continued rubbing soft circles, causing arousal to leak down your cunny. 

You ceased the attention to your clit and brought your middle finger down to your entrance, spreading your wetness before sinking your finger inside. A sweet moan echoed in the room, but you reminded yourself to be quiet. Always quiet. 

Closing your eyes, you imagined Aegon slipping his long, thick fingers deep inside you. Your walls clenched down on your finger, and then you slipped in a second. 

‘’Ah, Aegon.’’

Like the night prior, your fingers were too small to reach where you needed. Frowning in frustration, you searched around your chamber for something that resembled a finger. There was a forgotten spoon from when you had tea brought up — too small — and a wooden stick used to roll parchment paper — too big. Lastly, you saw your hairbrush on your vanity. Perfect. The handle of it was smooth, it shouldn’t hurt.

You wiped your fingers on the sheets and got up to grab it. You brought the hairbrush handle down to your cunny and paused. Although you were alone in your chamber, you couldn’t help but worry you would get in trouble if anyone found out about this. Shaking that thought, you cautiously pressed the handle to your hole, and steadily pushed it in. You felt your cunny squeezing and slighting bucking your hips at the brush. 

The sensation was foreign, but not unpleasant. As you pressed the handle deeper, you let out a soft gasp, quickly covering your mouth with your free hand to stifle any more sounds. You moved the brush handle gently at first, allowing your body to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

Your other hand moved back to your clit, resuming the soft circles that had felt so good before. The combined sensations were intense, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your breath was short and your eyes fluttered closed as you imagined Aegon with you, his fingers instead of the brush.

The handle moved in and out, your movements growing more urgent as tears formed at the corner of your eyes, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your hips rocked against it, whining needily as you felt the pressure building, your muscles tightening as you edged closer to climax. Your walls clenched around the handle, and with one final push, the pleasure overwhelmed you. Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, your back arching off the bed. 

You stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the handle still inside you. That felt… You couldn’t find any words to describe it. 

Slowly, you pulled the hairbrush out, and placed it on the bed. Its handle was coated with your slick but you didn’t bother to clean it, pulling the covers over your body and drifting to sleep. 

⁂

‘’Good morrow, Uncle,’’ you greeted, crossing paths with Aemond in the halls of the Red Keep after breaking fast.

Aemond gave you a short nod.  ‘’Good morrow, Princess.’’

‘’Are you heading to the dragonpit?’’ you asked, noting the faint scent of smoke clinging to his black leather riding doublet. 

‘’No. Returning, actually.’’

A pout formed on your lips, disappointed. ‘’That's unfortunate. I was heading there and hoping we could go together. I would go with Aegon, but he is not a morning person, as you know.’’

‘’We could go in the morrow after breaking fast?’’ Aemond suggested, watching as a smile lit your face. 

⁂

Just as you were about to seek servants and ask them to prepare you a bath, Aegon knocked on your door and asked if you wanted to join him for another night in the city. He didn’t have any friends to accompany him, and Aemond was too much of a prude to go to brothels. Although you were younger, you didn’t have a stick up your ass. 

On the way, Aegon dropped a few gold coins and got you sweets from a street baker. He wiped the cherry glaze on your lips with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth. 

You sat at a table and indulged in wine amongst the men. Around you, women were dancing in their smallest clothes, entertaining the customers inside the brothel. Beside you, Aegon watched the curious fascination on your face while sipping his wine, pleased to see you were having fun. He made sure to drink enough to relax, but not too much he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye out.

When you finished your cup, Aegon rose to his feet and took you to the back of the brothel. Excitement was bubbling in your stomach, hearing the sounds of pleasure coming from men and women behind each of the curtains. 

As you entered one of the rooms, a woman came up to Aegon and begged to suck his cock for free, desperately wanting a taste of the prince. She was only wearing a piece of cloth tied into a skirt, her small breasts and pointy nipples bared to all. 

‘’Watch and learn, little one. Your future husband will enjoy this,’’ Aegon said with a wink. 

He shoved his breeches down, exposing his surprisingly large cock to everyone in the room. You stared at it with wide eyes. Were all the cocks big? You peaked around you, searching for comparisons, but nothing seemed to come close. 

When you drew your eyes back to your uncle, the woman was kneeling before Aegon, his cock already in her mouth. The action surprised you, but you took notes and watched as she bobbed her head down his shaft, sucking and slurping as spit dribbled from her mouth. Your eyes flickered to Aegon, who was groaning, taking pleasure from the woman’s mouth. 

‘’Agh, fuck,’’ he slurred, his head slightly back. ‘’That mouth is made to suck cocks!’’ 

On the ground, the woman looked satisfied to please him. She moaned as Aegon grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced himself deeper into her mouth, groaning obscenely until he released his semen down her throat. Some spilled from her lips, but Aegon didn’t wipe it off like he did with the cherry glaze. He pushed her off him and re-dressed himself. 

‘’Do all men enjoy this?’’ you asked. 

He chuckled softly before responding. His eyes met your wide, curious gaze. ‘’Oh yes, most men enjoy it very much. Now, would you like another cup of wine?’’ 

You smiled. ‘’Please.’’ 

You sat on a couch by yourself, waiting for Aegon’s return. Before you, a woman was getting her cunny pounded by a bearded man. She moaned loudly, grabbing at her nipples. The sight made you think of the hairbrush you had inserted in yourself last night. It had filled you up nicely, but you couldn’t help but wonder how delightful a cock must feel.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the man who approached you until he grabbed your hand and placed it on his cock. You froze, a bewildered look on your face. He said something, but you couldn’t hear it, too focused on how clammy and hairy he felt. You tried to retract your hand, but he gripped it tightly, forcing you to rub him.

The Gods must have heard your prayers because Aegon returned with the wine and saw what was happening. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in anger. He quickly stepped in, his presence commanding attention.

‘’Let go of her or I’ll cut your fucking cock,’’ he threatened through clenched teeth, his hand on the dagger tucked into his belt. His voice was low and deadly, leaving no doubt that he meant every word.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise when he heard Aegon, and his grip on your hand loosened enough for you to slip away. You wiped it on the skirt of your dress, trying to erase the feeling of the stranger’s cock. Washing them with soap and water would have been better, but there was no bassin to do so.

‘’I-I apologize, my prince. I did not know the whore was yours—’’ the man stuttered, making excuses, but  Aegon didn’t want to hear them. 

He grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against the wall, bringing the dagger to his throat.  The man's eyes widened further as the dagger's blade pressed against his skin, fear flashing on his face. ‘’She’s not a fucking whore,’’ Aegon’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes burning with rage. 

The man swallowed hard. ‘’I-I apologize again, my prince. I meant no disrespect.’’

Aegon took a step closer, the dagger still at the man's throat. ‘’Don’t. Touch. Her. Again.’’ He looked down at his manly parts, then back at his face. ‘’Unless you want to lose your little cock.’’ 

 ⁂

The journey back to the Red Keep was silent. Aegon's grip on your hand was tight, his knuckles white from the tension. He was fuming, his eyes still narrowed in anger, his mind clearly still consumed by anger from the incident at the brothel. He kept you close, his gaze scanning the surroundings to ensure no one else tried to approach you. 

When you finally reached the safety of the castle, he stopped in his tracks and turned to you. Guilt was consuming him. What happened was his fault. If he hadn’t left your side, this man would not have forced your delicate hand on his filthy cock.

Aegon opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. He walked past you, abandoning you in the secret passages. 

—

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[fastandcarlos]

My Home : ̗̀➛ Carlos Sainz

summary: the journey of how your long distance relationship is reunited once again 🛬

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, ynusername and 892,742 others

carlossainz55: day 50 of missing my best friend and all the little ordinary things that she somehow made feel extraordinary ✨⛅️

42,068 comments

username1: it’s so impressive how these two make long distance work so well 🥹

ynusername: can’t wait to come home and be back with you again 💞

carlossainz55: @/ynusername just a few more days to go amor 🥺

username2: is it bad that I’m also counting down the days until they’re reunited again??

danielricciardo: you two are incredible managing to keep things going even though you’re so far apart 👏🏻

username3: carlos always knows how to break our hearts with a soft caption 💔

charles_leclerc: you’ve managed to do a really subtle job of letting us all know how much you miss her 😂

username4: the fact that he trusts her enough to cook with her too…

alexandrasaintmleux: if it makes you feel any better I also can’t wait for yn to be home 🥳

username5: can’t wait for these two to be back together again and blessing us with content!

landonorris: I keep telling you that we can go for coffee together but you don’t listen!

carlossainz55: @/landonorris there are certain things that just aren’t the same with you 🫢

username6: 50 whole damn days since we last saw the dream team side by side 😭

georgerussell63: and here I am thinking a week is a long time to be without my girl…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, lilyzneimer and 113,048 others

ynusername: day 64 of being away from your handsome face. can’t wait for beach days like these once again soon 🩵

15,897 comments

username7: sorry yn but do you expect me to be okay after posting that middle photo!?

charles_leclerc: btw he’s had a countdown going down on his phone everyday since you left 😂

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc embarrassed to say I’ve got one too, on my home screen as well 😊

username8: please someone just end their suffering already and reunite them 💕

maxverstappen1: pls come and get your man soon, fed up of dealing with his lovesick whining 😝

username9: how anyone could survive being away from that handsome face is beyond me 😂

landonorris: just to clarify, you’re talking about carlos’ handsome face…you never know, it could be mine 😇

ynusername: @/landonorris as happy as I am to see you soon, it’s definitely carlos’ 😂

username10: he really is the definition of a soft boyfriend isn’t he…

alexandrasaintmleux: cannot wait to see your beautiful face opposite me at a coffee table soon ☕️

username11: over two months they’ve been apart and now in a matter of days they’ll be together again, like a fairytale ✨

carlossainz55: home is ready and waiting for you, as are my open arms 🫂🥰

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I can’t wait to be back in your hold again 😍

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 128,069 others

ynusername: race day -1, settling down for my last race away from home, you got this darling ❤️🏎️

17,492 comments

carlossainz55: sorry that I couldn’t bring home the win love, maybe next time when you’re back there with me 💞

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 ik you were secretly holding on so I got to be there in person 😂❤️

username12: I can’t begin to tell you how happy this post makes me knowing you’ll be home soon 🥺

username13: now this is the kinda setup I need for race day!!

carmenmmundt: wish I was there to snuggle under that blanket with you

lilymhe: @/carmenmmundt I’ve already bagsied the blanket for movie night when yn’s home 😘

username14: notice how it’s carlos in the lead with yn watching too ☺️

charles_leclerc: thank god I don’t have to deal with his moping around without you for anymore races 🙌🏻

georgerussell63: petition for you to make hot chocolate for all of us when you’re back in the paddock too 😏

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 not a chance with how needy you guys are 😂

username15: it’s adorable how yn has always made sure to be watching the races even though she’s away with work

landonorris: I’ve lost count of how many times he’s told me that you’ll be at the next race, he’s so excited yn!!

username16: their interactions somehow melt my heart every single time they update 🫠

danielricciardo: on behalf of every driver, please save us from carlos telling us how much he misses you constantly asap

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 1,583,293 others

charles_leclerc: my last few days of filling the large yn shaped hole that has been in my sweetie’s life ❤️🥹

104,587 comments

username17: I’m not ready to say goodbye to this pairing soon 😭

ynusername: thank you for taking such great care of my best friend leclerc ❤️

username18: charles has somehow become carlos’ emotional support system over the past couple of months lmao

danielricciardo: I also don’t think I’m stable enough for this bromance to end just yet…

username19: I’m sure yn is beyond grateful for the fact that carlos has had you by his side charles

carlossainz55: what would I do without my honey right by my side!?

username20: I’ve got high expectations for alex next time yn has to go on a work trip 😂

landonorris: guessing that carlando means nothing to you anymore then @/carlossainz55

carlossainz55: @/landonorris every time I came to you you just laughed in my face remember?? 🙄

username21: why do I get the feeling yn is coming home just to be a third wheel…

alexandrasaintmleux: can you boys just get a room and have done with it please 🤦🏻‍♀️

charles_leclerc: @/alexandrasaintmleux just tell us you’re jealous without telling us you’re jealous

username22: the way he just calls him sweetie as if that’s the norm 🥹

alex_albon: please come and meet me to pass on all your tips and advice for next year 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial and 129,573 others

ynusername: day 1 of being back in my favourite place on earth…home 🏡❤️

21,958 comments

carlossainz55: the house finally feels like a home again with you back inside 💕

username23: I can’t believe they’re finally back together again, this is so exciting!!

charles_leclerc: welcome home yn!! can’t wait to catch up with you this weekend!!

username24: apparently carlos was front of the line at arrivals making sure he got to her as quick as he could 😭

scuderiaferrari: we’re looking forward to welcoming you back into the garage this weekend ❤️

ynusername: @/scuderiaferrari can’t wait to catch up with the whole team and watch a race again!!

landonorris: I’m happy you’re reunited but I’m more happy that he’s finally gonna have a smile on his face again

username25: the way he carries her suitcase so effortlessly has me all kinds of giddy

georgerussell63: welcome back to monaco, we’ve all missed you so much!

username26: I’ve never been more excited for two people that I don’t even know…

maxverstappen1: he cancelled our game of padel today for this…I’ll let him off just this once 😂

ynusername: @/maxversrappen1 if you ask carlos he’ll say it’s definitely worth it 😂

username27: this means we finally get to see yn back at race weekend again 🎉

alexandrasaintmleux: I need to see you asap, missed you so much 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55 and 124,068 others

ynusername: reunited with my second home, I forgot how good red looked on me. good luck to the best team on the grid this weekend, so happy to be back and cheer you on in person 🫶🏻☺️

22,604 comments

username28: damn we really did miss seeing you at a race weekend yn 🏎️

carlossainz55: you have no idea how happy I am to have you back with me again 💞

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I bet it’s just as happy as I am to be back with you and the team again ✨

username29: hoping for a great result this weekend now that carlos has you back again

landonorris: patiently waiting for you to come and visit me, or do you plan on betraying me like carlos did??

ynusername: @/landonorris I promise I will come and see you at some point this week 🫂

username30: what are we supposed to do when red no longer is your colour next year??

danielricciardo: you must be pretty close to trying on every colour of the grid now 😂

carmenmmundt: um excuse me there better be a carmen plan somewhere in your schedule for this weekend 👀

username31: the camera somehow focused on you more than the cars in quali today 😂

oscarpiastri: it was lovely to finally meet you after hearing SO SO many stories about you!

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri I can only apologise for how much he talks about me ☺️

username32: the moment we’ve all been waiting for for so long 🤩

username33: please never leave us for a race weekend without you ever again!!

charles_leclerc: this has by far already been my most peaceful race weekend in a very long time all thanks to you!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, ynusername and 1,048,271 others

carlossainz55: turns out my lucky charm really was the missing piece all along. thank you my love for coming back home and bringing me the luck I needed to be top of the podium again 🏆😍

89,473 comments

username34: does this mean that yn is never allowed to leave for a race ever again???

charles_leclerc: couldn’t be prouder of the race you put together this weekend, good job sweetie!!

username35: we’re all so proud of you carlos and your lucky charm 🫶🏻

scuderiaferrari: congratulations on such an amazing result carlos, the whole team is so proud of you ❤️🏎️

username36: he really was waiting for the moment for when yn could be there to celebrate too 😭

georgerussell63: that was incredible, saving your best for your girlfriend I see 😉

alex_albon: smashed it my friend, there was no catching you today 🚀

username37: this weekend has just reminded me just how much I adore these two humans!!

landonorris: buzzing to see you back where you belong on that top step mi amigo

username38: yn has to stick around forever now if she’s a lucky charm!

danielricciardo: it’s funny the effect a loved one can have isn’t it!? we all knew you were racing just to impress yn anyway 😂

username39: this weekend really couldn’t have gone more perfectly 😭

ynusername: I didn’t think you were being serious when you said you were waiting for me 😂

carlossainz55: @/ynusername a race win isn’t a win without you by my side 💕

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[hongjoongtime117]

Jenga and Jealousy

Pairings: Kim Hongjoong/Reader, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung

Genre: SMUT (MDNI 18+)

Word count: 12.6k

Warnings: choking, orgasm denial, Hongjoong is heavily tattooed and pierced, reader is a brat, unprotected sex (wrap it up, pleaseeee!), drinking, oral (F/M receiving), phone sex (sort of?), jealous Kim Hongjoong, pet names (baby, gorgeous, pretty, Kitten), Hongjoong has a Captain kink. Lemme know if I missed anything? lol

Summary: Wooyoung and San attempt to be your wingmen and invite Hongjoong over for a game night. Spicy Jenga makes for a jealous Hongjoong.

SPECIAL THANKS TO @mlwood1498 for helping with the spice when my brain was STUCK

“Yah! Y/N! We’re having a friend over tonight for drinks and games. You cool with that?” Wooyoung shouts from the kitchen where he’s making breakfast for him and San. You go to join him in the kitchen, Wooyoung’s cooking making your mouth water.

“I mean, I guess that depends on which friend, Woo” you sigh, already knowing it’s gonna happen whether you’d like it to or not. He was only asking out of courtesy. “Did you make some for me, too?” You plead with a pout and big doe eyes you know he can’t say no to.

“Pftt, of course I did. I definitely don’t want you in the kitchen. You almost burned down the entire apartment in your previous attempt to cook” he says, rolling his eyes ever so dramatically. “And the friend is Kim Hongjoong. Ya know, the one you’re always eye fucking?”

Your cheeks turn hot from the blush creeping across them, and San howls with laughter.

“I do NOT!” you scowl as you smack Wooyoung on the shoulder.

He turns away from the stove to face you and sees your bright red face. “I’d say the tomato color you're currently sporting tells me otherwise” a soft, veiny hand coming to pinch your cheeks.

“Yeah, Y/N. You make it so obvious” San says through his giggles. “Listen, we’re just trying to potentially be your wingmen tonight.”

“I dont NEED wingmen, you assholes!”

“Y/N, when was the last time you got a good dick down?” Wooyoung is looking at you, an eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer.

“Look, I don’t have a live in fuck toy” your eyes motioning between him and San. “It’s… been a while” you sigh dejectedly.

“Yeah, Y/N, we knew that. Which is why we’re trying to be good besties here and help you out. Even though you just called me a fuck toy” San says, feigning offense.

“Looks like we’re getting Y/N some dick tonight” Wooyoung lets out his high pitched cackle.

“I never even agreed to this” you whine. “And I think maybe you should pay more attention to your cooking than my sex life, before you burn the apartment down.”

“Just think about it, Y/N. We’re obviously not gonna force you into anything” Wooyoung shrugs.

“Does he even know the intentions of having him over? How do you know he’d even be down for it? And how would you even know if he’s gonna be a good fuck?” You shoot your questions to Wooyoung and San a million miles a minute.

“First off, Y/N. He has an idea of why he’s coming over. Second, if you weren’t drooling like a dog over that man, you would also notice the way he eye fucks you right back. So I know he’s more than down. I just didn’t want to give him any expectations, in case, ya know, you were gonna turn down some dick from the man of your dreams.”

Wooyoung always has to tease. God, you can’t stand him sometimes.

“And as far as your third question, I’m not going to go into too much detail on how I know. Just know that I do.”

After the three of you finish breakfast (which was amazing of course, living with Wooyoung was like having a personal chef) you head to your room and flop down on your comfy bed. You unlock your phone and open instagram to mindlessly scroll for a bit. Except the moment you open it, Kim Hongjoong is staring back at you.

You stare, open mouthed, at the insanely gorgeous photo he’s posted. His dark brown undercut styled perfectly. The wink, further drawing you in with his long, pretty eyelashes and the eyebrow piercing bringing attention to his well shaped brows. The simple diamond stud adorning his left nostril. The neck tattoos peeking from the collar of his button up. And at last, the part of the photo that had you thinking that maybe this night might not be such a bad idea after all. His pierced tongue poking through his perfect set of teeth and plump, shiny, also pierced lips.

You lock your phone and toss it across your bed. You scream into your pillow with frustration, thoughts of what Hongjoong could do with that pretty mouth flooding your brain. How good that sharp nose would feel against your clit as you ride his face, fucking into you with his (most likely) very experienced, jeweled tongue. The thoughts made the temperature in the room become increasingly uncomfortable.

“Fuck, I need to get a grip” you say to yourself as you push yourself up until you’re sitting on your knees in the middle of your bed. The bed that may soon be occupied with you and Hongjoong, playing out your current fantasies.

You rummage through your messy dresser drawers in search of something sexy and unexpected to put under the baggy sweats and sweatshirt you were planning on wearing tonight. After some digging around, you find your full body leather harness that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. This way, if things go right, Hongjoong will be pleasantly surprised. And if this doesn't go as planned, you don’t look like you were desperate for his touch.

At the particular moment you decide to toss the harness onto you bed, Wooyoung and San decide to burst into your room, unannounced.

“Ya, have yall ever heard of knocking? Scared the shit out of me! And what if I was standing here naked!?”

“Relax, Y/N. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before” Wooyoung says casually, ignoring your dramatics. “Besides, the only person I’m really interested in seeing naked is San. And maybe Hongjoong.”

San raises an eyebrow and side eyes Wooyoung. “You can’t be for real, Woo?”

“What!? I've heard some things and I wanna know if they’re true. That’s all.” Wooyoung shrugs, as if that’s something completely normal to say in front of your boyfriend.

“Wait, what kind of things?” you ask, curiosity lighting you on fire.

“Y/N, I already told you, you aren’t getting a word out of me. And from the looks of what you’ve got picked out, you’re planning on finding out for yourself.” He nods his head to your chosen fit for the night.

“Is that all you’re wearing tonight?” San seems a little surprised, as you’re usually not that forward. “Kinda just screams ‘I’m desperate, come fuck me now’” he chuckles.

“No, you fucking dummy! I’m wearing sweats and a sweatshirt over it!”

“Ahh, get him with the element of surprise. Ok, I see you, Y/N.” Wooyoung smirks as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“What the hell did you guys even come in here for in the first place?”

“Oh, we wanted to know if you wanted to go to the store with us to grab snacks and drinks for tonight. We’re leaving in 5.” San takes Wooyoung by the hand and they head back to the living room.

You throw on a simple graphic tee and ripped black jeans for your endeavor to the store. You head to meet San and Wooyoung in the living room. “Ok, let’s goooo!”

The entire ten minute ride to the store consisted of Wooyoung and San hounding you with questions about the evening that was about to unfold.

“So you’re really about to let us be your wingmen tonight, huh?”

“Wooyoung, I swear to God if you don’t shut up. I’m going to spend the entire night in my room.”

“Aw, come on Y/N. I know Hongjoong is really looking forward to tonight.” San joining in on Wooyoung’s teasing as your cheeks begin to turn a rosy pink.

“Ugh, let’s just go grab what we need and get back home. I’m in desperate need of a shower” you sigh as Wooyoung parks the car.

You guys grab a cart and begin filling it with an array of chips and candy. San tosses in a box of pepero.

You shoot San a questioning glance. “And what are those for, San?”

“Oh, you already know Y/N,” a mischievous smirk spreading across his face.

You give yourself a harsh face palm and slide your hand down your face. They really were trying incredibly hard to make tonight’s tensions as high a possible.

Heading into the aisles of alcohol, Wooyoung picks up the cheapest, probably most vile option he could find for vodka. “This should work!”

“Woo, that’s literally the worst option out of everything here!”

“Duh, Y/N, it’s supposed to be a punishment, not enjoyable.”

“Punishment?” A perplexed look crosses your face.

“Yeah, we’re playing a game with certain challenges. But if you decide not to follow through, your punishment is a double shot of this shit,” he says waving the bottle in his hand. “Among other rules we’ll explain when Hongjoong arrives.”

“Why do I not trust this?”

Defeated, the three of you head to go check out with the massive amount of snacks and the bottle of alcohol you’ve thrown into the cart.

Upon returning home, you help San and Wooyoung unpack everything and you rush to your room in order to get yourself prepared for tonight’s events. You definitely need an ‘everything’ shower.

You step into your private bathroom, and turn the shower on to a comfortable setting. You’re going to be there for a while. This is the first time you’ve gotten laid in at least a year. First impressions matter, and you wanted to make a damn good one on Hongjoong.

Stepping under the warm water, calming your nerves just a little, you lather yourself with your favorite vanilla and jasmine soap. You deep condition your hair (if his hands end up in it, you want him to enjoy the feel of your soft hair). You make sure everything is smoothly shaven. You hop out and lather yourself with your matching body lotion and wrap your fluffy towel around you to head back to your room.

Staring at the leather contraption on the bed, you realize you’ve never actually worn this particular item before.

“Hey, fuckers! I need help!” you shout through the apartment.

“San and Wooyoung at your service” both bowing as they enter your room and try to stop the giggles from escaping.

You hand them the puzzling pieces of leather and wonder why you even bother wearing anything at all at this point.

“I can’t figure this out,” you whine, a pout decorating your lips.

“Oh, I’ve got this!” Woo says ever so cockily. “Drop the towel, babe.”

Hesitant for a second, you remember that being roommates for so long, they’ve definitely seen their fair share of your body, so you toss your towel aside.

San and Wooyoung work quietly, bending, twisting, poking, and prodding you until you’re fully situated in the body harness, that does nothing to cover, and everything to accentuate.

Wooyoung turns you around to admire their work. San lets out an appreciative whistle. “If Hongjoong doesn’t fuck you stupid once he sees this, he’s insane.”

“Ok, ok, get out now!” You hurry them out of your bedroom, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Hongjoong is supposed to arrive in a half an hour. You’ve got to throw on your sweats and sweatshirt, and try to relax and calm yourself before the man of the hour shows up. You busy yourself with prepping the snacks for the night.

As soon as you’ve spread out the snacks, vodka, and shot glasses on the glass coffee table, you sit down, nerves finally calm, and the doorbell chimes loudly, startling you.

“Hey, Y/N you want to go answer that?” San says cheekily.

“Do I have a choice?” you banter back, rolling your eyes.

You shove yourself off the couch and head across the living room to make your way to the door. You take a deep breath before carefully opening it, finally coming face to face with Hongjoong. He flashes you a smile with those perfect teeth and you catch yourself looking at the lip ring shining right in the middle of his plump bottom lip. God, those lips look so kissable. He’s dressed in a black button up and dark denim Levi’s.

“Hey, Y/N!” his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“Hey, Hongjoong!” You smile back as you step aside to let him in. He kicks off his heeled boots and sets them by the door.

He follows you into the living room, where Wooyoung and San are comfortably spread out on the larger couch, leaving the small love seat to you and Hongjoong. Nice play, boys.

“Hey, Joong!” the boys greet in unison.

“Hey! Thanks for inviting me over. I’m excited to have a night to relax. I’m usually so busy working on music that I just don’t ever have time to do stuff like this!”

“Of course! Sit back and relax, man.” Wooyoung gestures to the love seat that you’re currently standing behind.

He plops down and makes himself comfortable. All three of them have noticed you still have yet to move from your spot. Hongjoong tilts his head back to look at you, his exposed, tattooed neck looking really suckable right about now.

“You can come sit with me. I don’t bite. Unless, ya know, you’re into that sort of thing? I don’t judge,” he snickers, and again, for the nth time tonight, your cheeks heat up with blush.

You sit down next to him, hugging your knees to your chest, as that’s your most comfortable way to sit. “Don’t start your shit, Kim Hongjoong.”

“Ooo, someone’s feisty!” he teases, and you lightly smack his arm. Just from the slight impact, you can tell he’s got some impressive arms under his button up. San and Wooyoung are watching the whole thing unfold and can’t help but howl with laughter at the exchange.

As the laughter from the two dies down, Wooyoung suggests putting on a movie. “How about a scary movie, Y/N? Your favorite!”

You shoot Woo the most evil side eye you can manage. Your roommates know you despise scary movies.

Hongjoong notices the interaction and begins to taunt you. “What? Are you scared Y/N?”

“Pffftt, no? Why would I be scared? It’s just a movie.”

Hongjoong gives a knowing smile and you’re definitely going to make Wooyoung pay for this later.

San and Wooyoung get comfortable on the couch and the intro to the movie begins. Hongjoong decides to make himself comfortable as well, turning so his back is resting against the arm of the love seat, one foot on the floor, the other resting gently behind you.

“Come here, Y/N, relax a little.” Hongjoong puts his arms around your waist and pulls you to sit between his legs, your back resting against his well defined chest. He wrestles a blanket hanging from the back of the couch and places it over the two of you. He nuzzles into your neck and you can hear him sharply inhale.

“Damn, Y/N, you smell amazing,” he whispers into your ear, and the ghost of breath that tickles your ear gives you goosebumps and sends shivers down your spine.

You try to ignore your growing arousal at being so close to him. “Pay attention to the movie, Joong” you whisper back.

The moment you both focus your attention back to the screen is the very moment a scene makes you jump and you pull the blanket over your face, partly to hide your embarrassment, and partly from fear.

You hear Hongjoong chuckling lowly in your ear. “It’s just a movie, right Y/N? Not scared, my ass.”

You return his teasing by repositioning yourself onto your side and placing a harsh bite right to his bicep. His eyes widen just a bit, and you see the fire ignite in them behind his long lashes. He snakes his arm up your body and places his hand, decorated with tattoos and rings on your throat, not squeezing, but resting it there, and he feels you gulp.

His voice vibrating against your ear that is now resting against his chest, “Mmm, so you do enjoy biting. You better be careful, Kitten.” he warns.

Through the remainder of the movie his hand stays placed on your neck, rubbing against the unmarked skin with his thumb. You hadn’t paid attention to a damn thing that happened in that movie since he wrapped that pretty custom necklace around you.

The credits begin rolling and you receive a quizzical look from Wooyoung and San. “What are you guys doing over there?”

“Someone doesn’t know how to keep their teeth to themselves.” Hongjoong says with a cocky smirk.

“Oh, yeah. That doesn’t surprise me. She learned from the best, see?” Wooyoung giggles as he grabs San’s arm and sinks his teeth into his forearm.

“Yah, Woo! What the fuck was that for?”

“Since when do I ever have a reason for biting? It’s just fun!” Wooyoung simply says with a shrug

Hongjoong is amused by the quarrel between the two boyfriends.

“I have to agree with you, Woo. It’s definitely fun.” You hear the mischief in his voice before you even realize what’s happening. He tilts your head to the side and nips the bare skin of your neck. This elicits a moan from you and you quickly slap your hand over your mouth. “Mmm, so responsive, Kitten.”

Wooyoung leaves the comfort of San’s lap, stands up and claps his hands together, pulling you from the trance Hongjoong has placed you in. “Ok, who’s ready for drinks and drunk Jenga!?”

“What the fuck is drunk Jenga, Woo?” curiosity coming through in your voice.

“Ok, here. Let me explain. So me and San have taken the liberty of writing little challenges on each of the blocks. So when you pull your block, you either do what the block says, or take your punishment, in the form of two shots. If you knock the tower down, you must sit in the lap of another player for the rest of the game. The others get to decide who.”

“Alright, let’s get the real party started!” exclaims Hongjoong.

Wooyoung heads to grab the game while everyone else repositions themselves in their spots to have better access to the coffee table.

Wooyoung returns and begins setting up the blocks, while you try sneaking a peek at what’s written on them.

“Yah! Y/N, if you try cheating, I’m gonna give you your punishment now!”

“Ok, ok. I’ll behave!” Hongjoong snickers next to you.

“And what exactly is so funny, Joong?”

“You saying you’ll behave. That might be true. For the moment.” He leans to whisper into your ear “But I’m planning on changing that, Kitten.” The pet name made your head spin and your pussy throb.

With the game finally set up, it’s a battle of rock, paper, scissors to find out who is the first victim of the Jenga blocks. This of course happens to be you.

You kneel in front of the coffee table and steady your hands to pull out a block. San and Wooyoung know you are the worst at Jenga. Despite that, you expertly pull a block from near the top of the stack and internally face palm yourself.

“Feed someone a sip” you read aloud.

San and Wooyoung are whooping with excitement and they both immediately decide that this will be a challenge for you and Hongjoong.

“You ok with that, Joong?” asks San.

“Yeah, of course. I’m not a pussy.” he snickers.

You roll your eyes at his cockiness and pour a shot of the vile alcohol. Shot in hand, you straddle Hongjoong’s lap, taking him by surprise.

“Not so cocky now, huh, Joongi?” mischievous grin spreading across your face. Your free hand roughly grips his chin and tilts his head back, his eyes widening in shock as he bites his plump, pink lips.

“Open up for me Joong” you assert in a very seductive tone. He does as told, and you pour the shot into his waiting mouth. He swallows and lets out a noise confirming his distaste for the bitter spirit.

You press yourself against him and lower your lips to his ear. “Good boy” your breath ghosts against him.

Wooyoung is loving your controlling behavior towards Hongjoong and is smacking San’s leg, trying to control himself from embarrassing you and ruining your feisty streak. You slowly climb off Hongjoong’s lap and reclaim your spot next to him on the loveseat. Hongjoong is still speechless and reeling from the pet name. After a few moments, he murmurs out a soft “fuck, I’m in for a hell of a night” to himself.

“Didn’t expect Y/N to give you a run for your money did you, Joong?” Wooyoung giving his best witch cackle.

“I mean, she’s always so quiet and shy. But they do say those are the ones you should watch out for. I should have known better. It’s ok, two can play that game, right Kitten?” Hongjoong shoots you a sideways glance.

You pressing your thighs together to help control the heat that is radiating from your core doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He’s not the only one in for a long night.

Next is San’s turn.

“Slap an ass. Oh come on, why did we even put this? This is too easy! We’re all in agreement that this is a Woo and I challenge?”

“Absolutely” you and Hongjoong agree together.

“How do you want me, Sannie?” Wooyoung urges.

“Hmmm, let’s make it a little more interesting shall we? Pants down and across my lap, Youngie.”

Wooyoung’s cheeks flush red at the request, but follows San’s orders and pulls his pants down enough to give San full access to his firm, toned ass, and climbs across San’s lap, ass in the air.

“Awww, don’t be shy now. You know you enjoy the attention, baby.”

Wooyoung whines low in his throat at the comment and prepares himself. San gently rubs Wooyoung’s cheeks before pulling his arm back as far as possible and landing an extremely hard, loud slap to Wooyoung’s right ass cheek. He lets out a whiny moan at the impact and buries his face as best as he can to hide the fucked out look he probably has on his face right now.

“Don’t hide. Stand up, pretty, let them see.”

San helps him stand and turns him around, ass on display for you and Hongjoong.

“He’s not gonna be able to sit for like a week, San. Damn.” Hongjoong lets out a long whistle at the bright red, swollen handprint adorning Wooyoung’s ass.

“He’s usually used to this shit by now, but like damn, that’s an impressive one, for sure, San” you add.

San pulls Wooyoung’s boxers and pants back up and Wooyoung kneels at the coffee table to take his turn. Wooyoung pulls a block from near the bottom of the stack, the tower wavering a little, but he manages to pull it out without incident.

“Lick? Mmm, shirt off, Sannie.”

San quickly pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere onto the floor. He places his huge arms across the back of the couch and spreads his legs. Wooyoung drops to his knees in front of San and lightly runs his hands up his thighs to rest on his petite waist. Wooyoung licks his lips, and San looks down at them, adoring his singular dot that embellishes his bottom one. Wooyoung then takes his wet, slippery tongue and starts from San’s navel, languidly licking up the middle of his body. He runs his tongue right up the middle of his rock hard abs. He stands, tongue never leaving his boyfriend's body, and perches himself on San’s lap while continuing to run his hands up his body, rubbing his thumbs over San’s perked nipples, as his tongue finally reaches his neck.

San moans at the sensation and Wooyoung can feel his dick twitch beneath him.

“Mmm, you like that, Sannie?” Wooyoung hums in his ear.

San takes a hand and places it on Wooyoung’s neck, pushing him back gently. “Stop being a brat, Youngie.”

You catch movement from Hongjoong out of the corner of your eye, and you can tell he’s desperately trying to regain some confront from the bulge that’s forming in his jeans from the Woosan interaction. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t absolutely drenched from watching them either.

“Damn, I’m feeling a little lonely over here” teases Hongjoong, eyes dark.

“Well, it’s your turn next, Joong. See what fate lies for you in the Jenga blocks.” Wooyoung nods to the tower in the middle of the coffee table.

“Alright, here goes nothing!” Again, another amazing player at Jenga, Hongjoong plucks the block from the tower easily.

“Blowjob shot?” he reads with a raised eyebrow. “Ok, so who am I taking this off of?”

“I vote Woo!” you and San blurt out at the same time. Hongjoong chuckles in amusement and pours a shot bringing it over to Wooyoung to get started on their challenge.

“You aren’t gonna back out Joongi?” you say playfully.

“Kitten, I never back down from a dare.” Still half hard, he taps Wooyoung’s knee to get him to spread his legs enough for him to fit himself in between them and places the shot glass onto his lap. He crosses his hands behind his back and places his pierced lips around the top of the glass and tosses his head back, downing the shot effortlessly.

“Damn, that was fucking hot” you whisper breathlessly.

You are a mess right now. And if the smirk on Hongjoong’s face when he heads back to sink into his spot next to you is any indication, he knows.

Hongjoong’s inked hand grips your thigh tightly, too close to where you want them, but not close enough. “Looks like we’re back to you, Y/N.”

You study the tower, looking for a block to pull that’s not going to cause the tower to crumble. You find the perfect one and slip it out of its spot.

“Body shot! Ok, this one is actually kind of fun.”

San and Wooyoung give you a look and you already know once again that you’re paired with Hongjoong for this challenge.

Running his jeweled tongue over his perfect lips, he quips “Body shots are definitely fun Y/N. Let’s do it.”

You stand to grab the bottle of death from the table as Hongjoong lays himself across the love seat, hands behind his head that’s resting on the arm.

“Gotta unbutton the shirt, Y/N” he gestures cockily with his eyes to the neatly pressed button down.

You roll your eyes at him, climb onto his muscular thighs, and begin working the buttons, starting from the top. When you make it towards the bottom of his neatly tucked shirt, you pull it from his pants and slide it off of him.

The sight before you makes your jaw drop slightly. His intricately tattooed chest, and huge pecs lead you right to his perked nipples, each sporting a metal barbell. Your tongue tingles and mouth waters with the need to taste and tease them. Hongjoong moves his legs a bit to snap you back to reality.

“Like what you see, huh Y/N?” devilish smirk playing across his lips. “You’ve still got a challenge to complete.”

You can feel your body heating up as you slide further down to position yourself comfortably enough to pour the shot into his navel and take it. As you go to pour it, two things stop you in your tracks. The first, the dangly chrome silver star bringing attention to where your mouth is soon to be. The second, the sailor font showing just over the waistband of his dark denim jeans. The strength of your curiosity outweighs any rational thought, as you pull his waistband down just enough to see the full script.

“Captain?” you quirk up an eyebrow.

“It was a dare,” he shrugs. “And I told you I will never back down from a dare, Kitten. But, focus now. You’re keeping everyone waiting.”

Without further hesitation, you pour the bitter liquid into his navel and very slowly and deliberately lap it up. Hongjoong removes his hands from behind his head, placing one on the back of yours as you continue to lick and suck, knowing damn well the shot is long gone. Hongjoong is fully hard as he grips your hair, gently lifting you off of his abdomen and looking through his long lashes, down at you with hunger filled eyes.

“I think it’s gone now, Y/N” he manages to breathe out.

“Damn Y/N, you trying to suck his soul out through his belly button?” Wooyoung pesters.

“Yeah, you did a number on him just now” says San, having to add in his two cents, of course.

“I was just doing the challenge, like you guys said” you brush off their teasing as you clamber off Hongjoong so he can move his legs to give you back your spot on the love seat.

“Hell of a way to do that, Y/N” Hongjoong spits out.

The rotation has made its way back to San who pulls a ‘dicks drink’ block. All three men pour their shots and down them, less than enthusiastic.

“God, that really does taste like shit” Wooyoung chokes out.

“Told you, asshole!” you say, giggling at their suffering.

Next up is Wooyoung, carefully choosing his block as they are becoming fewer, and the possibility of the tower crashing down becomes greater. A playful smile fills his face as he shows the group the block reading ‘Pepero game’. Wooyoung leans to whisper into San’s ear, and he definitely enjoyed what he heard.

“Ok, since me and San have already decided, and majority rules in this game, Y/N, come here. You’re doing this one with me.” Your eyes widen but you honestly aren’t the least bit surprised. Wooyoung has always loved stirring the pot.

You raise yourself from the loveseat and head over to Wooyoung, Pepero already waiting in his mouth. San scoots over a bit, giving Wooyoung room to scoot over, so you can sit comfortably next to him. As you sit, your eyes glance over at Hongjoong for a brief moment, noticing his tense posture and the clench of his jaw.

Feeding off the fact that you know Hongjoong is becoming increasingly jealous, you take Wooyoung’s face in your hands, and the Pepero into your mouth. You take small, slow bites, the stick disappearing between your lips until they’re centimeters from Wooyoung’s. You close the almost nonexistent gap between the two of you, and press your lips to his. The kiss starts off leisurely, but grows needy rather quickly. You and Wooyoung sharing moans into each others mouths. You partly blame the alcohol. And the rest of the blame goes to Hongjoong, for working you up the entire night.

San sees how hot things are getting between the two of you, and Hongjoong’s extremely pissed off expression that he’s trying unsuccessfully to hide, and decides to interject.

“Alright, challenge over you two!”

San is pulling Wooyoung back and your lips part with a wet pop. You both are panting, trying to catch your breath. In spite of Hongjoong’s jealousy, he is insanely hard, and is fighting every voice in his mind to take you right now in front of San and Wooyoung, and let them know who you really belong to.

You happily make your way back over to Hongjoong, knowing you have very successfully riled him up.

“How ya feeling, Joongi?”

He turns himself on the loveseat, grips your neck in warning, cold rings giving you chills, pulls your ear to his mouth and growls.

“Oh, you thought that shit was cute, huh Y/N?”

Gulping at the suddenness of his aggressive behavior, but being the brat that you are, you decide to see how far you can push his buttons.

“Judging from the way your dick is straining against your jeans, I’d say you thought so too, Joong.”

“I’d watch your mouth if I was you, Kitten.”

“Hmm, does it do tricks?” you say with a giggle as you go cross eyed attempting to look at your own mouth. Hongjoong lets out an exasperated growl and pushes you away by the throat.

He turns his attention back to the tower on the table and seals his fate for his turn.

“Kiss. Hmmm, since I’m the guest tonight, I’m vetoing the majority rules.”

There’s a fire in his eyes as he beckons San over. “San, come here.”

San opens and closes his mouth a few times, thinking of protesting, but heads over to you and Hongjoong on the loveseat.

Hongjoong stands just before San reaches him, and grabs San by the shirt and aggressively throws him onto the seat next to you. He knows you’re just as riled up as he is, and he’s gonna make you watch. Payback is a bitch. Hongjoong perches himself onto San’s lap and you and Wooyoung exchange shocked glances.

Hongjoong wraps his arms around San’s neck and begins lapping and leaving hot, wet kisses from his neck, to his ear, along his sharp, defined jawline, until he makes it to San’s lips. San is losing any ounce of control as he grabs Hongjoong’s tiny waist, as Hongjoong begins grinding against him, seeking the slightest bit of friction to help his raging hard on. San and Hongjoong are a mess of teeth, tongue, saliva, and throaty moans, and you’re convinced if Hongjoong was pantless, they would absolutely be fucking each other right here in front of you and Wooyoung.

Nothing can hide just how aroused you are at this point, a wet patch soaking through your sweatpants. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be faring any better. You know how much he enjoys watching, so this is torture for him. Hongjoong finally parts from San, resting their foreheads together with a breathy ‘fuck’, and Wooyoung lets out a low whine.

“Haha, that’s karma for you two” San grins, looking at you and Wooyoung.

“That’s so unfair” you squeak out.

Hongjoong slips off of where he was perched on San’s lap, allowing him to return to his very horny boyfriend on the opposite couch. Hongjoong notices the wet spot you’re currently dealing with and shows a toothy smile.

“Judging from that nice wet spot, I bet you thought that shit was cute, huh?” throwing your words back at you.

“Fuck you, Joong.”

“Oh, you will.”

You shoot him daggers as you go to pull yet another block from the dwindling tower.

“Strip and sit on someone’s lap for a turn. Really guys?” you whimper.

“Yes, really. And me and Youngie have already decided whose lap that’s gonna be. Come here, pretty.” San motions you over. “Any objections, Joong?”

Hongjoong is balling up his fists so hard that his white knuckles are showing through his meticulously tattoos hands.

“Nope, none at all” venom seeping through his clenched teeth.

San and Wooyoung are fully prepared for what you’re wearing underneath your baggy clothes. Hongjoong, on the other hand, has no idea, and his dick is already leaking profusely. He throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to wait out your turn.

“Come on babe, lose the clothes” Wooyoung provokes.

You swiftly remove your sweatshirt and sweatpants and toss them aside. In nothing but your skimpy leather harness, that leaves the best parts of you completely exposed, you settle yourself onto San’s waiting lap. Your soaked pussy is already leaving a mess on San’s pants, and feeling his hard dick underneath you is doing nothing to help matters.

“Joong-ah” San coos at Hongjoong who still hasn’t taken a glance in your direction. “Come on. Look at how pretty Y/N is” San purrs right next to your ear, making you clench around nothing.

Hongjoong lifts his head from its resting place, eyes still tightly shut as he rubs his face with his hands in frustration. He drops his hands from his face as he hesitantly begins to open his eyes, letting out a long, deep breath in the process. The second his eyes land on you, every bit of sanity he was holding on to has dissipated. His dark eyes are ablaze, and he’s licking his lips furiously with his pierced tongue. His decorated hands head for his neatly styled locks and he begins pulling at them in want. No. NEED. He needs to taste you, to feel you. IMMEDIATELY.

“Fuck, Y/N. Are you trying to kill me?” Hongjoong says with the neediest whine you think you’ve ever heard come from a man.

Now that Hongjoong is focused on you, in an attempt to add fuel to both yours and Hongjoong’s fire, San places feather light touches across your body. Ghosting his fingers up and down your arms, your thighs, your sides, your neck. You shiver, despite the heat coursing through you.

“Shit, my lap is wet” San moans out, making eye contact with Hongjoong over your shoulder.

Hongjoong’s forearms are resting across his thighs, hands folded together, and if looks could kill, San would be a dead man. Envy is pouring off of Hongjoong in waves, and something about that is insanely fucking attractive to you. Wooyoung is whining and whimpering next to you and San, desperate for a tinge of attention.

San cups his boyfriend’s dick, straining desperately against his tight jeans. “Be a good boy, and be patient.”

“Ok, my turn” San says, completely unphased by the death glare given by Hongjoong.

He contemplates for a minute on which block to pull. He pulls his choice and the tower threatens to fall, but his quickness prevents the catastrophe.

“Take a shot, simple enough. Y/N, will you pour me one?” You slide off of San’s lap, onto your knees in front of the table to pour the shot, Hongjoong’s eyes following your every move.

San unconsciously clears his throat, yanking Hongjoong from his thoughts of you on your knees for him. Hongjoong glances at the man across from him, only to see the ever present dark patch now covering San’s lap from your leaking pussy.

You place yourself back into San’s lap, handing him the shot that he downs in one quick swallow, burning be damned. Hongjoong is running the barbell in his tongue across his teeth, giving himself anything to focus on but the sting of jealousy bubbling under his skin.

“It’s your turn, pretty,” San directs at Wooyoung. Wooyoung takes his pick, the tower is almost useless at this point, and you know at your turn, this thing is definitely crumbling.

Wooyoung pulls ‘kiss’ and needily engulfs San’s lips, the latter swallowing Wooyoung’s moans and gasps. They disconnect with a wet smack, saliva still connecting them until San licks his lips. “My needy boy,” San’s smooth voice says to Wooyoung.

Hongjoong is up next, beyond ready to be completely finished with this game of pure torture and takes the last logical option to keep the tower at bay. He doesn’t even bother reading the block aloud, fearful his voice will betray the possessiveness he’s trying to hide at watching you on San’s lap, reveling in his touches. He simply tosses the block on the table and strips down to his boxers.

“Ah, lose pants,” a devilish smirk taking over San’s features.

Your mouth is watering. You can see the imprint of Hongjoong’s huge, thick cock begging to be freed. You swallow hard and lick your lips, trying your best not to drool at the sight.

It is again your turn and you have no possible way of not knocking down the tower. You attempt anyways, choosing one from the middle, and pull the block out halfway before all remaining pieces tumble down onto the table.

“HA! You have to sit in someone’s lap for the rest of the game,” Wooyoung shrieks.

“I’m already in San’s lap though?” Hongjoong shoots you a look that you can immediately decipher.

“No, no babe. You have to sit in someone else’s. San, send her over to Joong.”

San pats your strap covered hip, silently ordering you to stand. You stand, but hesitate to head over to Hongjoong, the glint in his eyes enough to send your full body into a mess of goosebumps. Wooyoung begins resetting the tower as you take slow, calculated steps towards a very angry, very horny Hongjoong. As you reach him and turn to sit in his lap, he grips your hips with such strength, you know it will leave bruises later, and you yelp as he pulls you down onto him.

Wooyoung almost has the Jenga game ready to play again, but you decide now is a good time to test just how far Hongjoong’s sanity has gone by wiggling your ass just slightly against his throbbing dick. He bites down onto the flesh of your shoulder hard, leaving a deep indent of his perfect teeth and you let out something between a sigh and a moan at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

“You know what, fuck this!” Hongjoong finally lets his resolve break, and Wooyung and San jump at his sudden outburst. “I’m done with this fucking game.”

He stands the both of you up and roughly flings you over his shoulder and makes his way to your room.

“Joong, what are you doing?” You protest, hands flailing, trying to find some form of stability.

“What I should have done when I first got here, instead of playing that damn game. You think it’s fun to tease, Kitten? Just you wait.”

“Haha, oh shit. She’s in trouble,” Wooyoung says to San, failing miserably to hold in his laughter.

You reach your room and Hongjoong swiftly places you down and slams the door and clicks the lock in place. He turns to you, features insanely feral, grabs you around your throat, just enough to catch you off guard and pins you against the door. He places hot, messy kisses up your neck to you ear.

“I need to know that you fully consent to what is about to take place, Y/N.” You hum your approval in response. He nips the lobe of your ear, “I need words, Kitten.”

“Yes, Joong. Please,” you manage between pants.

“Mm, no baby, tonight it’s ‘Captain’” he growls as he forcefully slides his leg in between yours.

You grind hard against his thigh as he’s kissing you like his life is dependent on it, hand still wrapped neatly around your throat. The mix of his lip and tongue piercing as he’s tongue fucking your mouth makes your pussy throb.

“Look at you, already a fucked out mess and you haven’t even gotten my cock yet” his whispers against your lips.

“Jump” he demands, and you do as told, and he grips you tight as you wrap legs around his tiny, slutty waist.

He carries you to your bed and with no regard for safety, tosses you onto it. He pulls you to the edge of it, his arms wrapped around your thighs, as you squeak at the sudden movement.

“You enjoy teasing, huh, Y/N?” he grits out as he rolls his rock hard cock against you, drenching his thin boxers in your juices.

He kneels before you as his hot breath tickles your core. “Two can play that game, Kitten.”

“Hongj-!” A sharp slap, followed by a bite to your inner thigh springs a low grunt from you and stops his name from escaping your lips.

“How quickly you forget, gorgeous. I told you, it’s Captain.”

You prop yourself onto your forearms and with one arm, your hand grips his dark locks with an unnecessary amount of force, trying to guide his face to your dripping pussy.

“Captain, please” you whine needily. He removes your hand from his hair.

“Where has that cocky little attitude gone, Y/N, hmmm?” he mocks you, looking at you from between your legs, eyes hazy behind his long, pretty eyelashes. “Keep your hands to yourself unless I tell you otherwise. What’s your safe word, Kitten?”

“Utopia” you manage through bated breath.

Once he gets that final piece of information, he begins nipping the flesh of your thigh from your knee, almost to your throbbing heat, very slowly. You lay yourself back down as you fist the sheets in an effort not to place your hands on that beautiful man, who is determined to take you apart piece by piece. You feel his ministrations stop for a few moments, and you think you have a moment to catch your breath. Before you can take a full breath of air, his hot, wet tongue delves past the strap barely covering your dripping cunt. He groans as the taste of you explodes on his tongue.

He rests his head against your thigh for a moment and sucks in a few deep breaths. “Fuck Kitten, you taste so good. Been dreaming about this for months. It's seriously been fucking with my head, you have no idea what you do to me.”. You stare down your body at him, trembling at the dark look he returns as he leans in again and drags the hard ball of his tongue piercing between your slick swollen folds.

Your head falls back and you arch as the jewel teases over your clit. He hums and groans as he explores you, his hands holding your thighs open in a bruising grip. “Fuck Y/N the things I want to do to you,” he groaned against you, the vibrations of his raspy voice against your core driving you wild.

“C-Captain, please!” you whine.

“Mm, what is it Kitten?” he asked, nipping at your thigh with sharp teeth. “Am I making you feel good, baby?”

“Yes…but please let me touch you,” you beg.

He reluctantly leaves his spot from the floor and towers over you as you scoot back to give him room between your legs on the bed. You instinctively wrap your legs around him as he grabs your hands and runs them over his body. He presses his body further into you and nips against the soft flesh of your neck.

“Hmmm, you think you deserve to touch?”

“Please, I’ll be good” you whimper in desperation.

“Then go on baby, make your Captain feel good.”

That was all the permission you needed before you wrapped your mouth around one of his pierced nipples, the metallic taste causing you to hum against him. You lick and suck his sensitive bud, also mixing in a graze of your teeth every so often. You make sure to give his other perky nipple attention as well, lightly rubbing your thumb across it. After a while, you switch sides, making sure each side receives equal care. Hongjoong lets out little pants at the feeling. He swears he could cum just from this alone.

Patience wearing thin, he grips your hair and tugs you off of his nipple with a wet pop, a string of spit still connecting you. He takes in your fucked out expression and before you can complain at the loss of something in your mouth, he returns the same favor to you. He bites and licks and sucks and pinches until you are a blubbering mess under him, back arching at an impossible angle.

“Awww, look at you crying, Y/N. We’re just barely getting started” he mocks as he gently cups your face, wiping the tears that have managed to escape.

“Captain, please! I- I need…” you say between gulps of air.

“You need what, Kitten? I thought I told you to use your words?” he grins at you with a raised eyebrow.

He’s enjoying just how much you can’t form a coherent sentence. You place your arm over your eyes to try and hide just how much he’s affected you. Although it’s absolutely pointless, because he knows. And he’s ready to break you.

While you’ve had your eyes covered, trying to regain control of your breathing, and give Hongjoong a proper response, he is now fully naked in all his glory, standing at the foot of the bed.

“I need you” you whine helplessly.

“Oh, you can have me, baby” lust dripping from his voice as he leans over you to take your arm away from your face. He kisses you, aggressive and hungry, and when he goes to pull back, you chase after his lips.

Now that you’re fully sitting up, and actually see Hongjoong, the sight you came face to face with had you salivating and ready to devour him whole. His hard cock and flushed red tip leaking precum, and just as pierced as the rest of his body. 8 delicately placed and fitted barbells, creating his Jacob’s ladder, and a Prince Albert decorating his tip. Your tongue tingles with a need to have him in your mouth. You lick your lips a let out a hushed ‘fuck’.

“Someone likes what they see, do they?” he says, a cocky smirk playing across his face.

“God. Fuck! Captain.. I need it.” You’re so desperate to have your mouth, your hands, your pussy, around his huge, thick, pretty length. You slide off the bed and you immediately drop to your knees on the plush carpet in front of him.

“Such a good girl, so eager.” He takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding you to look at him. “As hungry as you are for my cock, you need to be careful, Kitten. Do you understand?” You nod your head and he grips your chin a little tighter.

“Yes! Yes, Captain!” you blurt out before he can render you the reminder.

“Then go ahead and satisfy your appetite, baby.”

He lets go of your chin and your hand makes quick work of spreading his precum, slicking up his dick. He throws his head back in pleasure, finally getting a bit of friction. You place feather light kisses up each side of his length, and a few well calculated ones against his hips. His cock twitches, leaking out another drop, begging to be swallowed, and you smile into his skin. He feels your smile and he entangles his fingers in your hair and pulls you back from his hips. He tugs your hair hard enough that you are forced to make eye contact with the absolute demon right now that is Kim Hongjoong.

“I’m getting tired of you being a little cock tease, Kitten. Suck me like you’re starved, or I finish myself off on my own in front of you, and walk out, leaving your pussy dripping and empty. Or maybe I could go ask San and Woo for some help. I know they would be more than happy to.”

As much as the brat in you wanted to test that, the look in his eyes told you he was being serious, and your hole was begging for attention.

You run your hot, wet tongue on the underside of his shaft, paying special attention to each ‘rung’ of his ladder, up to his flushed red pierced tip and lap up the pearl of precum that has settled there. You finally take him into your mouth with a renewed fervor and the moan he lets out is purely pornographic.

“That’s a good girl” he pants, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail. The praise makes you dizzy and as much as you want to deep throat his cock, he never lets you take him in too far in fear that he could cause some damage.

You make up for that by making it extremely messy for him, allowing every drop of spit you can manage to coat him. The drool is dribbling from the sides of your mouth, and dripping off his dick onto the carpet underneath him. You can feel him throbbing in your mouth, and by the grunts and small moans you can tell he’s close.

Before he lets himself give into ecstasy, he gently and reluctantly forces himself from your skilled mouth and tongue. He takes one look at you and has to grab the base of his cock to stop himself from tipping over the edge. You’re looking up at him with big doe eyes, mouth still slightly open, and your chin and chest soaked from the show you put on for him.

“You just sucked my fucking soul out through my dick. Fuck” he lets out in disbelief while he attempts to even out his breathing.

You stand on shaky legs, and wrap your arms around him to reach behind and grab his tight, round ass and pull him flush against you. You place little bites into the sensitive flesh of his neck, licking after each one.

His hums of pleasure spur you on, until you can’t even take the torture anymore and you whisper against the shell of his ear.

“Please fuck me, Captain. It’s so wet for you.”

You bring one of his hands right to your sopping pussy and begin fucking yourself against it, hoping he’ll give you what you want. He groans, long and low, at the slick now covering his hand, and without warning shoves two fingers inside of your needy hole. You let out a silent scream at the euphoria of something filling you after so long.

“You want my cock? Beg for it, Kitten.”

He continues to fuck into you with his delicate but precise fingers, the wet sloshing of your pussy and your elevating moans filling the room. He sucks deep purple marks into the skin of your neck and chest. The bratty side is winning for the moment, you refusing to beg for him. His fingers find your sweet spot and curve into it, causing you to almost crumble to the floor.

“Come on, beg for it, baby. I can tell you’re close, you’re about to take my damn fingers off with how hard you’re clenching them. So bratty, that you won’t even beg to get your greedy hole stuffed with my cock, hmm? You don’t need my fingers then, either.”

He promptly removes the fingers that were inside, abusing the spongy spot inside of you, and you do indeed crumble to the floor this time.

He looks down at you, the start of tears forming in your eyes from the sudden denial of release, and licks his fingers, being sure to drag his pierced tongue in between them.

“P-please, Captain. Please!” you stutter out, worried that if you don’t, he might really not let you cum tonight.

“Please, what?” he asks sharply, eyebrow raised, still cleaning his fingers from your arousal.

“Please fill me with your cock and fuck me dumb. Make me cum on it. Please, please, please!”

“Bed. Now. Face down, ass up. And I hope you know, I’m taking no pity on you. The amount of teasing I’ve endured from you tonight doesn’t deserve it. Playing with San and Woo in front of my face? Dressing like a little slut? Do you know how insane that makes me? I’m gonna make sure I’m the only thing you think of. Only me.”

His possessiveness only mildly scares you, but you’re too far gone to think about anything else but him fucking your brains out.

“Only you, Captain. Only need you.”

You feel the bed dip behind you, and hear the loud slap before your brain registers the hot sting on your ass. You groan as he places another on the opposite cheek to match, your heated skin tingling as the pain morphs to pleasure. He continues his assault on your ass, voice a deep growl.

“You wanted to piss me off, didn’t you? You wanted me to be rough, hmm?”

All you can do is sigh and whimper in agreement.

He kneads your burning cheeks before running his hands up to your waist and grabs your hips with a bruising grip. He ruts his dick against you, coating it in your wetness, but being careful not to give you what you truly desire.

“Don’t tease, Captain.”

“Don’t tease? You mean don’t do to you what you’ve been doing to me all fucking night?”

He removes his hands from your hips, and one snakes up your body to pinch a sensitive nipple, and the other goes straight for your clit, rubbing purposeful patterns into the bundle of nerves. You jolt at the rush of pleasure and he hums in approval.

“You really are so sensitive, Kitten.”

He dips two fingers inside of your pulsing pussy, and you immediately tighten around them. The heel of his palm is still giving your clit just enough friction. The fire in your gut is increasing at an alarming rate and he can feel your spasms around his fingers, and your legs trembling just slightly, and he knows you’re so close.

“C-Captain. Fuck, I’m so close. Please.. don’t stop!” you plead.

“Oh, baby, I know. Like I can’t feel you throbbing around my fingers, Kitten.” his condescending tone almost pushing you over the edge immediately. Except right before the knot in your stomach snaps, he stops.

“Fuck!” You let out a strangled sob at the second denial of pleasure.

He chuckles as your frustration grows, knowing he is fully enjoying what he’s doing to you.

“Don’t act like you don’t want my pussy just as much as I want your cock” you choke out into the pillow below you.

“Mouthy are we?” He lands another harsh slap on your ass. A hand flies into your hair and tugs, maneuvering your head to the side, so he can get a better look at your flustered face.

“Oh trust me, I do. But my will is much stronger than yours, clearly. I can do this all night.”

He definitely doesn’t want to, but he can. He’s so ready to be buried deep inside you, but he doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction quite yet.

He leans over you to place hot, needy kisses over your back and shoulders, and his hands are back to play with your hard buds, rolling them between his fingers.

“Captain, fuck. P-please just fuck me already. I’m -I’m losing my fucking mind.” Your final plea before you really do lose it.

“Aww, how can I say no when you asked so nicely?”

He straightens himself up and pulls your sore ass cheeks apart, watching your wetness drip out of you as you flutter around nothing in anticipation. “Shit, you’re so wet for me. Gonna drown Captain’s dick, hmm baby?”

“Y-yes. God, yes.” you manage, barely above a whisper.

He teases his pierced tip at your entrance for just a moment, and groans at the slickness. Before you can voice your displeasure at the lack of dick filling you, he very slowly pushes himself into you. So slowly that you can feel every inch, every thick vein, and every single piercing finally engulfed in your tight heat. So slowly, so he can appreciate watching himself disappear and you stretching around his cock.

When he bottoms out, you both let out a lewd moan along with a breath neither of you knew you were holding. His long, thick cock is filling you perfectly and you’re fisting the sheets, trying to get used to the stretch. He’s still, brows furrowed in pleasure, needing to give himself a moment before he moves, or he will cum. Very quickly, and very hard.

“Damn, your pussy fits my cock so nicely. So beautiful and tight.”

You reflexively squeeze him at the words, and he throws his head back with a guttural moan. You’ve had enough of him being still, enough of his teasing, enough of not being fucked into the mattress, so you begin to fuck youself back onto him.

“Just so fucking impatient, aren’t you, Kitten?” He grunts through clenched teeth.

In a matter of seconds, he’s thrusting to meet your movements, pounding into you hard. His pierced dick is dragging against your walls in just the right way, a feeling you’ve never felt, but it’s all you’ll ever think about now.

The sloshing sound of your pussy, the slapping of wet skin against skin, and moans from him, and whimpers from you fill the room. The Prince Albert is hitting your sweet spot with every deliberate thrust of his hips. The Jacob’s ladder adding an extra layer of pressure to everything. You are whimpering and whining and drooling into the pillow below you. Hongjoong is panting and groaning, admiring how your juices coat his dick with a beautiful shine.

“Nng, Captain, it’s so good! God, fuck me harder.”

“Harder? You want me to just ruin this pussy for anyone else, don’t you?”

“Please, please, please!”

“Can’t say no with you begging me so pretty, baby.”

His thrusts do indeed get harder, every drag of his dick allowing that jewelry to make magic and hitting right where you need it, and kissing your cervix in the process too. The heat in your belly is spreading like wildfire, and you want it to be extinguished in the form of finally being able to cum.

Hongjoong can tell you’re teetering right on the edge again. And again, he stops right before you can cum.

“Hold on, just a moment, Kitten. There’s something I have to do.”

“Kim Hongjoong, I swear to fucking god!” Tears are streaming down your face at this point from now being pulled from your orgasm for the third time tonight. You find the strength to push yourself up onto your forearms, catching your breath from dropping from your denied high so quickly.

“Who is Hongjoong, baby?” he lightly giggles as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, his hard dick still nestled inside of you. He places a FaceTime call, and leans over you to set his phone on the shelf in the headboard.

The call picks up, and it’s San on the other end. Your mouth drops in shock.

“I just wanted you to see me ruin her for the shit she’s pulled tonight.” Hongjoong says simply.

“Looks like we both had the same idea in dealing with our brats tonight.”

You watch San moving around, clearly trying to find somewhere to set his phone, and when he leans back from in front of his camera, there’s Wooyoung. In the same state you are. You’re both matching positions, fucked out faces, and tear ridden cheeks.

There’s a silent exchange between San and Hongjoong, but by watching San on Hongjoong’s phone you can definitely tell they’re communicating something.

“Look at you two, so pretty for us.” San coos.

In perfect sync, both San and Hongjoong reach under you and Wooyoung, placing their hands on your throats and pushing you up to sit on your knees, backs flush to their chests.

“We’re all going to watch you two fall apart on our cocks. How’s that sound?” the mischief thick in Hongjoong’s voice.

You and Wooyoung both let a small whimper escape as you make eye contact with each other, knowing you’re absolutely fucked. Hongjoong fits even more snug inside you from this angle and it has you gasping for breath, and dropping your head.

“Youngie, you’re gonna watch Y/N, and Y/N you’re gonna watch Youngie. Understood?” San says with authority that makes both you and Wooyoung shiver.

Wooyoung immediately answers with a soft ‘yes’. You, however, are silent for a beat too long for Hongjoong’s liking, and he clutches your face, lifting you head to look at San and Wooyoung through the lit up screen.

“San asked you a question, Y/N. I believe he expects an answer” he snarls in your ear.

“Y-yes, San.” you breathe out.

“If only she was half as behaved as Youngie, she could have cum already. Three times.”

You knit your eyebrows together in irritation, remembering how many times you've been denied your release, and at the fact that Hongjoong’s dick is sitting heavily inside of you, but he’s not moved an inch since he and San have co-conspired against you and Wooyoung.

San laughs loudly at Hongjoong’s statement.

“You think my little Woo here is behaved? You think he’s got my cock in his tight ass, and his dick pretty and leaking, and tears running down his face because he’s been a good boy? You forget, he was being just as much of a tease as Y/N was tonight, Joong.”

“Shit. Woo looks pretty like that” you mumble. Hongjoong definitely still manages to hear you.

“I agree, Kitten. And so do you. Isn’t that right, Woo?”

“So fucking pretty” Woo huffs.

“Think it’s time we teach them a lesson, San?”

You see the devilish grin appear on San’s face and you know Hongjoong has one to match.

Hongjoong thrusts into you incredibly hard, and you choke on a sob as the wind is knocked from your lungs. If it hadn’t been for his pretty tattooed hand around your throat, you would have fallen forward, face first into the bed.

He continues his relentless abuse on your pussy, your slick dripping down your thighs and making a puddle on the sheets below. His pierced tip hitting your sweet spot, and the others raking your walls with each well placed snap of his hips. The noises he’s eliciting from you have become very loud and very lewd. He lets go of your neck and with the next thrust that gives him an opportunity to shove his fingers into your parted mouth, he does just that.

“Suck ‘em, baby. Make ‘em nice and wet for me.”

You give his fingers the same attention you gave his dick earlier, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, cascading down your chin and chest. His unoccupied hand goes to tease a nipple, collecting some of your saliva along the way to make it wet. Your eyes flutter shut for a brief moment at the pleasure lighting every nerve in your body on fire.

“S-Sannie, please. I-I can’t. Too much, need to cum!” Woo’s high pitched pleas snap your eyes back open. You were supposed to be watching him, and hoped that Hongjoong hadn’t noticed your temporary disobedience.

“You’ll come when I say you can, pretty.” San’s voice is gruff as he ruts into Wooyoung, almost animalistic.

Wooyoung’s precum has left a wet patch on the bed in front of him. San reaches around and grabs Wooyoung’s wet, red, and angry cock, and begins stroking him at a tortuous pace. He places soft kisses along his shoulders and neck. Wooyoung is sniveling as San takes his free hand and wipes the tears streaming down his face.

“Come on, you can take it, baby. Show them what a good boy you are.”

San’s praise and Wooyoung’s sobs made you tighten even more around Hongjoong, releasing sobbing moans of your own against his fingers.

“Such a good girl for me, Y/N. Taking everything I give you. So wet and so tight, just for me, hmm baby?”

He slides his fingers from your mouth, and runs his hand down your stomach, pressing on the bulge there formed by his cock that you’d only just noticed. You can’t even string together enough words right now to form a sentence if you wanted to. Hongjoong hmphs at your inability to answer.

“This is what you wanted right? To be fucked dumb on my cock?” His voice is tight, and from his even faster pace, you can tell he’s close. All you can do is frantically nod at his words.

San looks just as close to cumming as Hongjoong feels. Hongjoong’s hand leaves your stomach and brings it straight to your clit with just the right amount of pressure and pace to have your eyes rolling back and your mind going blank.

“Captain, fuck. I-I can’t. Please. Please let me cum!”

San is vigorously stroking Wooyoung and you can see him struggling against San from his overstimulation. You and Wooyoung are both seconds from cumming and if they don’t let you this time, you’re sure you’re going to pass out. You and Wooyoung flick your eyes back to each other, as San and Hongjoong place a hand on each of your throats, putting just enough pressure to make your heads spin, but not enough that you can’t breathe. They speed up even faster against your clit, and Wooyoung’s dick. Both of your breathing is uneven, chests heaving, and nothing can control the sobs and moans that escape the both of you.

“Cum for me, Youngie.”

“Cum for me, Y/N.”

You and Wooyoung look right into each other's eyes as you convulse and cum around Hongjoong and San’s cocks. You string along a chant of ‘Captain’ and a few choice words as stars dance around your vision as it goes white. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, and the already arousal stained sheets double in their pool of wetness as you squirt. Wooyoung’s garbled moan of San’s name joins yours of the Captain’s as thick, white, seemingly never ending ropes of cum spurt from Wooyoung’s cock.

The sight of you two falling apart for them, had them following seconds behind you. You were a rag doll as this point, as Hongjoong continued to fuck into you, chasing his own pleasure. After a few more quick, sharp thrusts, he cums with a long, whiny moan as he sinks his teeth into your bare shoulder.

San fills Wooyoung’s ass as he cums with a resounding growl, burying his face into Wooyoung’s neck. After a few moments, he pulls out and gently lowers an exhausted Wooyoung into a clean spot on the bed.

Hongjoong does the same with you, and your eyes close as soon as your head hits the pillow. You can hear San and Hongjoong whispering to each other, barely able to make sense of their words. Until you hear “We’ll have to do this again, minus the phones.”

San hums in agreement. “I think that’s an amazing idea, Joong.”

“We’d better go take care of our good little babies. We’ll talk in more detail later, San.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

Hongjoong grabs the water bottle and fruit snacks from the nightstand next to you.

“Sit up for me baby, you need this.”

He sits in front of you and helps you sit up and unscrews the cap off the water bottle and brings it to your lips. You gulp it down like you’ve been stuck in the desert with no water for 3 days.

“Good girl, eat these too.” he says as he feeds you your favorite fruit snacks. You hadn’t even seen him prepare all of this beforehand, and you smile contentedly as his care.

As your brain clears, you take his hands and interlace your fingers with his.

“That was amazing.”

He cups your face and flashes his toothy grin at you. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I wasn’t too rough? You’re ok?”

“Joongi, you were perfect. I’m ok, I promise. We put a safe word in place for a reason.”

“Indeed we did.” he laughs lightly. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go run us a bath, we’re a mess.”

His naked form heads to the en suite bathroom and fills the tub with water just hot enough to relax the two of you, but not enough to be uncomfortable. He pours a splash of lavender oils and bubbles into it and swirls them around.

He returns to you on the bed with a warm washcloth and gently cleans you up a bit before he scoops you up bridal style and carries you to the bath.

He carefully sets you down, letting you test the steadiness of your legs, before he begins ridding you of the body harness. Once he’s finished and tossed it to the side, he lends you his arm so you can step into the bath. You sigh deeply, the hot water relaxing your sore body. Hongjoong clambers in after you and makes himself comfortable behind you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and he circles his arms around your waist as he litters your face and neck with soft, tender kisses. You giggle, and you can feel him smile into one of his kisses.

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that?”

“Nahh, far from it. But you, Kim Hongjoong? You just might be.”

“Pfft, absolutely not, baby. But for you I’d try to be.” He sees the bite mark he left on you and kisses it, satisfied that you’ll have a reminder of him, even if for a little while. “Looks good on you. I’ll be sad when it’s gone.” he says without even thinking.

“You could always make more, you know.”

He blinks and shakes his head. “Sorry, didn’t realize I said that out loud.”

You laugh at his realization. “But you did, and I meant what I said.”

You two fall into deep conversation, talking about dreams and aspirations, what you hope your future to look like, past relationships, family, anything that comes to mind, until the water turns cold. You begin to shiver a bit and that puts Hongjoong into motion.

He climbs out of the tub and you pout and the loss of him around you.

“Come here, it’s cold now, let’s get you into some comfy PJs.”

You take his hand and follow him and he dries you off as best as he can. He dresses you both in a fluffy robe to head back into the room. He urges you to sit on the bed while he rummages through your dresser to find something for you to wear.

“Ah ha! Here we go!” he says triumphantly as he heads to you with a matching purple silk pajama set.

“There should at least be some sweats in there for you that’ll fit that tiny little waist of yours, Captain.” you say playfully. He fishes those out as well, and heads back to you on the bed.

“I’m capable of dressing myself, Joong.” you say through tiny giggles as he helps you into your pajamas.

“Yeah, I know, but like… I just wanted to help. Sue me.” he retorts, acting like he is truly offended.

He gets onto the opposite side of bed and pulls you to him, laying you both down, clutching you tightly to his chest. He tucks you both into your down comforter and nuzzles into your neck.

“So warm.” he whispers into your neck. If he were a cat, you’re damn sure he would be purring right now.

“Hey, so what’s this I heard you talking about with Sannie? Something about doing this again? Without the phones? I was kind of out of it, but I think that’s what I heard?”

“Shit, I definitely thought you were asleep. But I mean, I would like to explore the option, if all parties involved are in agreement.”

“You’ll hear no objections from me!”

Just then your phone dings.

Wooyoungieeee

Holy shit, that was amazing. We should make out and piss them off more often ;)

You type out your response to him rather quickly

I think that might be in the plans, Woo lol

“Well, Woo is down” you show Hongjoong your text from him.

“And clearly so are San and I. So that settles that then. We are absolutely putting down some ground rules for you two naughty brats, though.” he showers your cheek with kisses.

“Ok baby,” he says with a yawn, his hand on your stomach under your pajama shirt rubbing little comforting circles, “I know we’re both exhausted, you especially. Let’s get some sleep. We can talk more about all of that tomorrow.”

“Ok, Joongi. Thank you again for tonight, and thank you for taking care of me.”

“That’s not something you ever have to thank me for, but you are more than welcome, baby.”

You let out a content sigh at the warmth and comfort from Hongjoong wrapped around you. You can hear his breathing slow and even, and that is what finally lulls you to sleep.

Read the next part of the series here.