#living room under loft

[macalaelliottphotography]

Living Room - Loft-Style Large loft-style living room photo with a brick wall, a standard fireplace, gray walls, and a wall-mounted television. The floor is brown, and the walls are gray.

[ilovelotsofthings]

Egg A1

I just call them A1. (Also Steak sauce haha)

I use just They/Them for them

I am happy with all the fluidity of the other eggs but I want a just they/them

(Also it/its but I don't think those caring for It would like that)

(They would accept it at some point because it is them asking so it isn't dehumanizing)

Also since I made those creature versions of the other eggs (Mythical and non mythical)

I decided to do the same for A1

[ourlittlebear]

(designs a tiny home, frantically, feverishly) I think I need to scale back the big wants and needs for costs and reasons, but also fuck that I want EVERYTHING

[aromanticannibal]

btw i had a dream that some lady came into my house and tried to kill me

[lubdubology]

When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down. 

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both. 

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago. 

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage. 

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store. 

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse. 

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter. 

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.” 

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you. 

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness. 

God, this was embarrassing. 

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble. 

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him. 

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit. 

And that attraction terrifies you. 

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through. 

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding. 

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart. 

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch. 

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that. 

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him. 

And you don’t know why. 

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him. 

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too. 

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain. 

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp. 

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face. 

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable. 

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say. 

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies. 

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave. 

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag. 

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. 

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body. 

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. 

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.” 

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. 

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer. 

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps. 

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face. 

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble. 

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore. 

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber. 

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello. 

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face. 

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. 

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you. 

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks. 

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board. 

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose. 

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him. 

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.” 

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit. 

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze. 

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex. 

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought. 

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable. 

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.” 

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further. 

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind. 

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin. 

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling  and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into. 

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee. 

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart. 

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do. 

God, you hope he does. 

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine. 

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders.  You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more. 

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead. 

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself. 

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower. 

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter. 

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine. 

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice. 

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees. 

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass. 

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate. 

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft. 

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades. 

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity. 

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles. 

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through. 

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape. 

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps. 

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze. 

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin. 

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric. 

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch. 

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away. 

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours. 

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer. 

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth. 

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle. 

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him. 

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth. 

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months. 

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth. 

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole. 

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. 

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady. 

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up. 

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say. 

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one. 

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles. 

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken. 

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence. 

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection. 

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses. 

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness. 

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face. 

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper. 

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw. 

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours. 

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin. 

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head. 

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts. 

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips. 

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with. 

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you. 

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties. 

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs. 

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver. 

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod. 

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly. 

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth. 

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth. 

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip. 

“Turn over,” he commands lowly. 

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips. 

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt. 

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before. 

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear. 

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit. 

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast. 

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him. 

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release. 

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs. 

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can. 

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. 

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

[gothamundernightlight]

Random Shit the Waynes Do on Social Media

Dick:

- The white whale of D1 and Olympic gymnastics athletes; always stitches their stunts and challenges, executing them perfectly, but no one knows who he is or who trained him

- Shares pictures of random children, and the whole internet becomes a detective trying to figure out if Bruce Wayne adopted another kid or if his gymnastics students won another trophy

- Photo montages of Haley being the cutest, which slowly transitions into Haley in whatever cute hat the internet can send to Dick’s PO Box

- Random video of him skydiving while giving tips on what to do if your chute doesn’t deploy. He never deploys his chute doing the video and no one can tell if it’s a bit or not.

Jason:

- AI Voiceover text posts providing surprisingly insightful analysis into classic literature

- A full six part rant on the Broadway adaptation of “The Great Gatsy”

- Random selfies complete with wildly made up backstories of any and every new injury he has

- Prank war on Damian specifically (this was intended for Talia but his finger slipped and now the whole internet loves it)

Tim:

- Randomly goes live to do study/work/research with me sessions complete with an actually decent Lofi soundtrack that no one can find (He totally mixes it himself but won’t admit it)

- Did ONE social media vlog for WE’s marketing division and it went so viral he gets forced to do more. The dead eyed stare he gives the camera with every stupid dance the intern teaches him makes the video top-tier

- Cute couples videos with Bernard

- Skateboard tricks (and fails)

- Screenshots of text conversations between him and his siblings discussing the most random shit??

Cass:

- Dance routines/pre-show/GRWM videos

- Shakily filmed videos of her kicking Dick’s ass and everyone just calls her a baddie in the comments. She doesn’t know what that means but she appreciates the love.

- Her and Steph’s late night food runs with the two of them just belting out to a song in a dark parking lot

Steph:

- Posts riddles and puzzles and how to solve them. She’s really good at it. Riddler hates her.

- Apartment tour of all the purple shit she owns. She’ll never admit that the room she’s showing off is her Wayne Manor bedroom, so everyone believes she just has a moderately sized loft apartment somewhere and she just never shows the kitchenette

- Her and Cass’s late night food runs with the two of them just belting out to a song in a dark parking lot

- POV shots of her going up to the boys asking them random questions. Dick matches her energy. Jason tells her to fuck off. Tim is barely conscious. Damian always has an overly rational answer to take the fun out of it. Duke just stares blankly at her (he always comes back later with a proper answer now that he’s had time to think about it). Bruce just stares blankly at her

Damian:

- Art reveals that never get many views but he’s still proud of nonetheless. Dick always comments on them to hype him up

- Accidentally recreates a popular vine that went viral and it’s just him insulting fellow GA kids under his breath but one of them says hi to him and he’s instantly polite back. His most popular video

- The multi-part experiment of him trying to Pavlov Tim, and when it actually works, Tim just chases Damian around the manor. The video cuts to black frames after Tim takes a flying launch at him

- All the pet videos. There are so many. People try to cancel him for exploiting them, but Damian clearly demonstrates that he would never force his animals to participate for views and how they will just leave if they don’t want to do something. Batcow is in the background just two-stepping unprompted

Duke:

- Every morning without fail, he posts a daily sunrise pic of Gotham, with a positive affirmation caption. One day he’s sick and he wakes up to a thousand messages of people panicking because their favorite poster has disappeared. He never misses a sunrise again

- Passionate rants about local government. Will not shut up about it. He might be an anarchist, but he’s forever remain optimistic that one day the systems that define society will one day actually work for all people. Bruce has every single one saved so he can implement Duke’s ideas into reality

- Boxing videos of him training with Luke. It’s never meant to be a thirst trap…but sometimes it is

- Dumb selfies. Duke unironically loves taking them, no matter what face he pulls, what filter he uses, not even caring where he is. This gets him in trouble the one time he posts one of him leaning off the edge of a high rise roof

Babs:

- Constant lectures on cybersecurity and internet safety. She teaches this at the library as a volunteer but feels she can reach a lot of people by building a platform

- Computer build stuff. Brands reach out to her for her reviews and she thoroughly discusses each product in length

- Rarely posts about her disability, but absolutely tears people to shreds when they make ableist comments about her. The only time she brings it up first is when City Hall takes over a month to fix their elevator and she calls them out on it

Harper:

- Electronics repairs. She constantly takes things apart to teach people how to fix it, and this can range from toys to cars. On more than one occasion , her video has been interrupted by someone who planned to be using the vehicle she’s just taken apart

- 2 AM hair dye/maintenance sessions. She constantly gets comments from men being like “Therapy works too, y’know” or “No, you’re so beautiful? Why would you do that to yourself.” She responds to the comments with a video of a gun pointed at the camera with the sole caption being “Fuck Off.”

- Gym videos. She and Dick work out together and he’s the ultimate hype man

- Outfit montages of her getting ready for a random gala and she’s always pulling off the most masc-looking suits that look gorgeous on her

Helena:

- Target practice. She does all kinds of trick shots and crazy crossbow stunts in a wide variety of outfits. Her most popular video is of her in a corset and platform heels.

- Her and Steph bonding over all things purple

- Outfit of the Day posts. The girl has expensive tastes and she absolutely shows it off.

Bruce:

- Occasionally does promo stuff for WE (because Tim refuses to do all of it, and their social media intern won’t back down)

- Shares absolutely wild stories from his college years that somehow always get proven to be true even when the whole comments section is just like “this seems false???”

- Kid tour. He saw one mom do it and felt sad bc he’s never get the kids to agree, but somehow they all did (Alfred bribed them.)

- Shares everything from each one of the charities he’s involved with. Has reposted every single one of their posts on his own personal channel. It raises them hundreds of followers each time.

- One of the kids posted a video montage of Bruce being Brucie and it’s so utterly humiliating? But he won’t delete it because all of the comments say he’s their favorite billionaire and that’s more than his own kids will say.

- Random Pride Month post. Every year it catches people by surprise and every gossip magazine always wonders if Bruce is coming out. He’s just being an ally (and potentially is in denial).

Alfred:

- Prefers not to use social media, but one of the boys filmed him doing random things to teach the internet how to do things properly, like making the bed, doing laundry, etc. Is the internet’s favorite grandpa.

[happythebluecat]

Transitional Living Room in Toronto

[fleuraliasave]

❤ Version 7.0 Fleuralia Save File ❤

Download link down below (please read entire post before installing)

This save file uses all EP’s, GP’s (not Journey to Batuu), SP’s and most of the kits (Country Kitchen, Blooming Rooms, Incheon Arrivals, Retro Fit, Industrial loft, Moonlight Chic, Little Campers, Pastel Pop, Everyday Clutter, Bathroom Clutter, Simtimates Collection, First Fits, Desert Luxe, Modern Luxe, Poolside Splash, Book Nook, Basement treasures, Greenhouse Haven, Pastel Pop and Bust the Dust).

What’s new in this update?:

Chestnut Ridge and Tomarang have been completely redone, added multiple new lots, updated other lots and provided make-overs for the households.

Added new households (when living in world; with jobs, friends, preferences etc).

Added rental lots in multiple other worlds outside of Tomarang (Brindleton Bay, Henford-on-Bagley, Britechester and more).

Spooky Fall Festival has been moved to Chestnut Ridge (bigger with haunted house ride). The old lot in Brindleton Bay has been changed into a cemetery.

Current Status of Worlds:

Finished worlds: Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, Magnolia Promenade, Windenburg, San Myshuno, Forgotten Hollow, Brindleton Bay, Del Sol Valley, StrangerVille, Glimmerbrook, Sulani, Britechester , Evergreen Harbor, Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia, Chestnut Ridge (NEW!) and Tomarang (NEW!).

Finished vacation worlds: Granite Falls and Selvadorada.

Finihed other lots: Hospital, Science Lab and the Police Station.

To be updated: the Magic Realm, will either be included in a future update or on the gallery (OriginID: fleuralia)

What do you get with this save?:

For my save file all lots are either completely new builds (almost all) or renovations, ofcourse created by me. Exceptions: I have added the official builds for the releases of the Paranormal SP by Dr Ashley and the Dream Home Decorator GP by Deligracy to this save, since I thought they deserved a spot. These two are therefore not my own creations, credits are given in the description to Dr Ashley and Deligracy. Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia and Chestnut Ridge lots are largely created by GameChangers. Most lots have gotten smaller updates, others are completely new builds by me.

All the townies had make-overs plus I added new families to spice it up a bit. Some of the townies are made by other creators, who are given credits in the description of the household. All the townies in the different worlds have a story, some include sentiments and adjusted relationships to the story.

Added plenty of community lots to give your Sims something to do (YAY!). Almost every world has one restaurant, but it also includes festivals that represent the four seasons (park lots) and a fully functional shopping street in Magnolia Promenade (toy store, bridal store and more).

I have added rental lots so you can go on vacation in more worlds. For example in Sulani, Willow Creek and Windenburg.

Other details:

As mentioned at the beginning, this save uses almost all packs (except Journey to Batuu and some kits). This means that if you download it without owning or installing most of the packs a lot of objects will disappear from the save, but if you are not bothered by this you can still download and play in it.  

I disabled the autonomous fame gain and neigborhood action plan voting/environmental changes, you enable them again in the pack settings menu.

I would love to add some households in this save created by all of you! Add your household under the hashtag #fleuraliatownies in The Sims 4 Gallery, you can add a storyline and world in the description but thats not obligatory. If I respond on your creation it means that I have incorporated it in the save for the next update.

Sadly every game update comes with a lot of bugs. I suggest before reporting problems in the save to me, to check on forums if its related to a general bug/glitch or to mods (if you use them).

Questions and supportive feedback are always welcome, you can reach me here via a comment on this post, an ask or through a DM 😁

How to make it work in your game:

Download the save file from the link below.

Drag it in your saves folder under: PC/Documents/Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/saves.

Change the numbers if you already have a save with the same name.

It should now show up in your game as: Fleuralia Save Version 7.0.

DOWNLOAD (SFS) / Alternate (GD)

!!Don’t re-upload or claim as your own!!

Future updates will follow after each pack release (if it includes a world). The time the update will be uploaded after each release depends on how much I have to change and on my work schedule around that time.

Last but not least, enjoy and till next time! XX

Fleuralia

Feel free to support me ❤️: Ko-fi account

[kenacoki]

Save the Best for Last

//Pairing// Evan “Buck” Buckley x Fem!Reader

//Summary// After so many terrible dates, you always seem to find yourself coming back to Buck’s loft.

//Word Count// 5.58k

//Request// smut prompts #2 & #4

//Warnings// smutty smut smut :)), Evan Buckley being a certified munch, lazy handjobs, p in v sex, and possessive talk

//Dividers// sister-lucifer

"Oh, goddamn it."

Here you are, standing outside Buck's loft door at 10:00 at night with a six-pack of beer in hand as you contemplate your life choices.

Your latest date had been a complete and total disaster.

The man was loud, obnoxious, and a bit too handsy for your taste. So, you left the date early feeling frustrated and angry. All you want to do is relax and complain to your best friend.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your key to Buck's place. Letting yourself in, you sigh quietly as you slip your jacket off. The loft is empty and quiet.

"Buck?" You call out, setting the beer in the fridge.

Maybe he’s in the shower? Or asleep? You don’t get a response, so you head into the living room, flopping down onto Buck’s new couch with a huff.

You lean your head back against the couch, your eyes fluttering shut as you sigh heavily. As you sit there mentally cursing out your dumb date, the sound of footsteps causes you to open your exhausted (e/c) eyes, looking over at the source of the noise; it’s Buck, walking out of his steaming bathroom.

Completely naked.

You immediately turned red, quickly looking away and sitting up. "Jesus Christ," you blurt out, feeling your heart pound in your chest. "Buck, for god's sake, a towel please." You keep your eyes trained on the wall in front of you, refusing to look at your equally embarrassed friend.

"Oh—oh god, I didn’t know you came in!” Buck mumbles, grabbing a discarded towel from the bathroom floor and wrapping it around his waist.

Well, now you understand how he got the nickname Firehose.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long." You mutter, still refusing to look at him. The image of his bare chest is burned into your brain. What you wouldn’t give to rake your fingers over his toned muscles—

Nope. Stop. No, nope. Bad thoughts.

“I’m just uh, gonna go grab some clothes.” Buck practically scurries away, disappearing up the stairs to his bedroom. You exhale, letting out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Finally looking away from the wall, you bury your face in your hands.

This is bad. You and Buck are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You need to get these feelings under control, but it’s so, so hard.

Buck emerges a moment later, thankfully with underwear and sweatpants on, although his chest is still bare. You try not to stare at his toned upper body as he shuffles back over to the couch, plopping himself down next to you; leaving little to no space. You desperately try not to think about it.

"S-so, how was your date?" He asks, his voice is casual but a tinge of tension in his words.

You try not to grimace as you remember the disaster that had been your evening. “Ugh, it was terrible. He was so loud and obnoxious, it was awful.” You sigh heavily, shaking your head. “I don’t know why I keep going on these stupid dates, honestly.”

Buck shifts next to you, his shoulder brushing against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s so close, that you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of his body. It’s driving you crazy.

You suddenly jerk forward, rubbing your sweaty palms on your dress as you stand, “I uh, I got us beer—to drink. Do you want one?”

Smooth, real smooth (y/n).

Buck nods, his eyes following you as you walk away, his gaze trailing down your body hungrily. He can’t help it, the sight of your curves in that tight (f/c) dress is so damn distracting. He swallows hard, tearing his eyes away from you as you disappear into the kitchen.

You open the fridge door, the cool air hitting your flushed face. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You need to stop reacting this way to him, you and Buck are just friends. No matter what your stupid heart may think.

You grab a couple of beers, opening one for Buck and one for yourself. Heading back into the living room, you desperately try to get your thoughts under control.

Buck’s in the same spot as before when you come back, his arm stretched out along the back of the couch. You hand him the beer and sit back down on the couch, putting a little distance between you this time.

As you get comfortable, you take a long swig of your drink. Buck does the same, his eyes flicking over to you as he does.

The tension in the room feels thick as if you could slice through it with a knife. You take another sip of beer, glancing over at Buck. He’s still looking at you, his eyes roaming over your face. It’s making you nervous.

“What?” You ask, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Hm?" Buck seems to snap out of his thoughts, blinking at you. "Oh, uh, nothing—Just thinking." He replies, looking away quickly and taking another drink of beer.

You along nod awkwardly, taking another sip of your beer as you try to ignore the way Buck’s eyes still glance at you,“Don’t strain yourself too hard.”

Buck snorts, rolling his eyes at your sarcastic comment. The corner of his lips twitch upwards, a small smirk growing on his face. But the smirk fades quickly, a flicker of something you can’t quite place flashing across his eyes.

"You’re just hilarious, y'know that?” He teases, but there’s an undertone to it that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You roll your eyes at him, though your heart skips a beat at his smirk. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you two have gotten again, the heat from his body practically seeping through his clothes onto your own skin.

“Damn right, I am.” You snark back at him, taking another drink of beer as you try to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest.

Buck lets out a soft laugh, his eyes locking on yours again. The smirk on his face fades as he takes a deep breath, seeming to come to some kind of decision. He shifts closer, his body leaning slightly into yours.

"Can I ask you something?"

You involuntarily tense up, your heart slamming in your chest. His sudden shift in demeanor can’t help but make you nervous, you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Sure, yeah.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. You turn towards him, meeting his gaze with your own. “What’s up?”

Buck hesitates for a moment, his tongue darting out as he wets his lips. He’s so close to you now, his face only a few inches away from yours. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, barely above a whisper.

"Why do you keep going on these dates?"

His question catches you off guard, making your stomach twist into knots. You certainly hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. You can feel your heart racing, the sound of it drumming in your ears.

"I, uh, I don’t know. Does-Does it really matter?" You reply, trying to keep your voice casual. But you can feel yourself start to fidget with your fingers nervously.

Buck watches you for a moment, his eyes scanning over your face. His hand moves, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch is gentle, his fingers tracing lightly along your cheek.

"Yeah, it matters." He says, his voice soft. "It matters because all these dates are doing is making you miserable. I hate seeing you like this."

Your breath catches in your chest as his fingers lightly trail along your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel your self-control slipping, your heart and mind warring with each other. You want to lean into his touch, but at the same time, you know you need to keep your distance.

"It’s fine, Buck. I promise." You manage to say, but the shakiness in your voice betrays your words.

Buck’s hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin. His eyes are still fixed on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"No, it's not." He says firmly. "You're not fine. You’re miserable. I mean, you're going on these dates like some kind of punishment, like you think you need to suffer through it for some reason."

He moves even closer to you, so close that you can just barely feel his breath fan against your skin.

His words strike a nerve in you, because you know he’s right. You’ve been using these dates to try and punish yourself, to try and ignore your feelings for Buck. Now he’s calling you out on it, and it’s making it hard for you to think straight.

You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You’re so weak for him, it’s pathetic.

Buck’s hand moves from your cheek to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, making you look at him. Your eyes lock with his, your heart racing at his proximity. His gaze is intense like he’s searching for something in your eyes.

"I don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself." He murmurs, his thumb brushing over your jawline. "You deserve better than these idiots you keep going on dates with. You deserve someone who actually cares about you."

Your breath catches in your chest as he speaks, your heart clenching at his words. You know he's right, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it. You try to deflect, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Yeah? And who do you have in mind for me then?" You half-joke, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Buck’s thumb stops moving, his gaze steady and unwavering. His other hand moves to your hip, his fingers gripping you gently through the fabric of your dress

"Me." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widen in shock at his words, your mind reeling. You’re speechless, unable to believe what he’s saying. Is he being serious?

You take a shaky breath, trying to form a response but struggle to find the words. Buck’s hand on your hip tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him.

“You…you do?” You ask, your voice a little breathless.

Buck nods, and his grip on your hip tightens even more, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel his heart beating fast, mirroring your own. He’s so close to you that you can see the tiniest flecks of green in his blue eyes; you can’t help but feel compelled to touch his birthmark.

"Yeah.” He says firmly, his voice rough and low. “I do. I want you so bad it’s been driving me insane.”

Your mind is swirling, your body reacting to his every touch and word. You should be pushing him away, shoving him back, and telling him to snap out of it. This is a terrible idea, bound to end in disaster. You could lose your friendship, and your job if things go bad. But you can’t bring yourself to care.

"God Buck, me too.” You murmur, your hand moving to clutch at his waist, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

Buck lets out a low groan at your words. Your confession is like a spark, igniting a fire within him. He leans even closer until there’s barely an inch of space left between your bodies.

"You have no idea how bad I want you.” He says, his voice practically growling. “I want to kiss every inch of you, make you forget your own name.”

“Then do it.” You whisper, your voice is a little shaky but so filled with desire it’s undeniable. You want this, you want him.

You. Need. Buck.

Buck doesn’t hesitate, his lips crashing down against yours in a heated kiss. His hand in your hair tightens, angling your head back to give him better access to your mouth. His other hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you into him.

The kiss is intense, desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

You let out a muffled moan, your hand moving to grasp his neck; clinging to him like a lifeline. Your body feels like it’s been set on fire, every inch of you burning with need and desire for him. You can’t get enough, you don’t think you’ll ever get enough.

You open your mouth to him, letting his tongue slide into your mouth, your own tongue meeting his in a frenzied dance. You can feel yourself falling apart, losing yourself in the intensity of his touch, of his kiss.

Buck’s hands move to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he lifts you up, easily settling you on his lap so youre straddling him. You move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him, his body reacting involuntarily to the pressure. You can feel his hardness press against your core, it sends a throb of need throughout your entire body.

Gasping, Buck breaks the kiss before moving his lips to your neck; his mouth hot and demanding against your skin.

“You…drive me…crazy.” He mutters between kisses, his lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. Hishands slide under the lacy hem of your dress, his fingers burning hot against your skin as they trace patterns along your sides. You arch into his touch.

“You’re all I can think about. Every day.” He continues, his voice gravelly with lust. “God, even when we’re at work.”

You let out a gasp as his tongue swirls over your skin, your fingers tangling in his curly, blonde hair. His words make your heart pound even faster.

You press yourself against Buck, your hips rolling involuntarily against his, seeking more of that delicious friction. You can feel him growing harder underneath you, only making you ache for more.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had to go to the bathroom to get myself under control,” Buck admits, his voice rumbles against your skin. He moves his hands lower, cupping your ass and grinding you down onto him. His mouth moves lower, his teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone, his thumb moving over your hip bone, tracing the outline of your underwear.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back as he works his mouth down your neck and across your chest. His touch is like gasoline on an already out-of-control fire, and you can feel yourself losing more and more control.

“Buck…” You breathe out, his name a plea and a prayer all in one.

Buck moans at the sound, his hands moving to your hips again, holding you still against him. His mouth moves back up to your neck, his teeth and lips roaming over your skin.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you so long.” He mutters, his voice rough and strained. “You keep coming to me after those stupid dates, all dressed up in these pretty dresses. Do you have any idea what it does to me?”

The mental image of him watching you from across the station, seeing you all dolled up for these dates and not being able to do anything about it, watching as you leave with another man, it makes your stomach clench. You wonder how many times he's sat there, fighting the urge to pull you into his lap, to kiss you senselessly and show everyone that you’re his.

You let out a pathetic whine, the thought making you throb with need.

Buck leans back slightly, his eyes raking over your disheveled form. You’re panting heavily, your (e/c) eyes dark with desire, lips swollen from his kisses. You’re a mess, and it makes him feel a sense of satisfaction that he’s the one who’s made you this way.

“God, look at you.” He murmurs, his hands pushing up your dress, his fingers tracing over your bare thighs. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You shiver as his hands move higher, brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You can feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, your underwear getting more and more damp at his touch. You want him, you need him so badly that it’s starting to become painful.

“Buck please,” You pant out, your voice pleading. “I need you…I need you so bad.”

Buck’s breath hitches at your words, his grip on your thighs faltering momentarily. He can see the desperation in your eyes, the need written all over your face.

“You’ve got me.” He says, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve always had me…just didn’t know it.”

Your heart clenches at his words, your mind warring with your body. Everything about this is a bad idea, you’re playing with fire here. But at this moment, with his hands on you, his body under yours, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Prove it. Show me I’m yours, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes flash at your challenge, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. He moves without warning, standing up and easily lifting you with him. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, and your arms cling to his shoulders. Spinning around, he starts the ascent to his loft bedroom.

You cling to him as he moves through the apartment, his hands holding you tightly, supporting your weight without any effort. You bury your face in his neck, leaving teasing kisses along his skin, your tongue and teeth nipping at his pulse point. You can feel every muscle in his body as he moves, your hands roaming across his back and shoulders, your fingernails scraping gently over his skin.

As you reach the top of the stairs, he walks you over to the edge of the bed and sets you down on the soft comforter.

“(y/n)…” He mutters, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every inch of you. Your hair is tangled and messy, your chest heaving as you breathe heavily, your dress pooled up around your thighs, exposing your (s/c) skin. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You smirk up at him, a feeling of power rushing through you at the way he’s looking at you. You lay back slowly, arching your back and letting the skirt of your dress ride up higher. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Pretty good way to go though, huh?” You tease lightly.

You don’t know how, but Buck’s eyes darken even more, the sight of you on his bed—practically inviting him to take you—pushes him over the edge.

“You’re such a tease.” He mutters, moving closer to you as his hands go to the waistband of his sweats.

You let out a small gasp as he starts to lower his sweatpants, the sight of him in nothing but low-hanging boxer briefs makes your mouth water. You can see the desire and hunger in his eyes, the fact that he wants you so badly sending a thrill of pleasure through you.

“Only for you, Buckley.”

Buck moves onto the bed, caging you in with his body, his hands on either side of your head.

“Better be.” He grins, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw to your ear. His teeth nip at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.

He moves lower, his lips finding your neck again, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin there, leaving a mark you know you’ll struggle to hide the next day.

You can feel your hands starting to shake as the ache between your legs grows and your mind gets fuzzy. You arch up into him, your body seeking more of his touch, more of his attention.

“Buck—need you to touch me.” You pant, your voice needy and desperate

Buck groans at your words, his hands sliding lower down your body, gliding over your stomach and then lower until they’re at the edge of your dress.

“Lift your hips.” He instructs, his voice commanding, leaving no room for argument. You instantly comply, lifting your hips off the bed, allowing him to slide your dress higher up your body.

With a quick tug, Buck pulls the dress up over your body and tosses it to the side. He takes a moment to admire you, trailing his eyes over every inch of you.

You’re laying there in just your (f/c) bra and panties, your legs slightly parted, your chest rising and falling quickly as you breathe through the need coursing through your body.

He leans back down over you, his hands and mouth immediately going to work. His mouth trails wet kisses down your torso and across your stomach, his fingers tracing lightly over your skin. You can’t help but whimper as he moves, your body responding to every touch, every graze of his lips against your skin.

His moves lower, just barely brushing the edge of your panties. You let out a gasp, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body arches into his touch.

You feel Buck’s smile against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you still. He loves seeing you like this, lost in pleasure and need, your body responding to his every move. He moves his mouth lower, his tongue tracing over the thin, damp fabric of your panties.

“B-Buck!” Your voice cracks

“You’re so damn sensitive,” Buck mutters, his fingers slowly tugging at the edge of your panties before pulling them down your legs and tossing them off to the side.

You clasp a hand over your mouth as you hold back a whine as you feel his hot breath fan against your soaked center.

Buck gently nips at the inside of your thigh, leaving small marks on your sensitive skin. He moves one of his hands to rest on your knee, keeping you spread open.

“It’s okay, (y/n).” Buck says, his voice full of desire. “Let me hear you, let me hear what I do to you.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is pressed against your soaking folds.

You let out a high-pitched moan, your hands automatically digging into his scalp, your fingers gripping his curly blonde locks. His tongue is skilled, his movements sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“F-fuckin’ dick!” You manage to gasp out, your words quickly turning into broken moans and gasps as he continues his assault

Buck doesn’t stop, his tongue working you over, his lips and teeth nipping and sucking at you in all the right places. He loves the way you taste, and the sound of your moans. But he’s greedy, and he wants more.

He slides his hand from your knee to your core, one of his calloused fingers gently teasing at your entrance.

Your body is buzzing with pleasure and your mind is fogged with need. The feeling of his finger at your entrance, teasing and tantalizing is almost too much.

“O-Oh god, Buck…please…don’t stop!” You desperately gasp out, feeling the coil inside you building.

Buck groans against you, sending vibrations straight to your core, “You’re so damn wet.”

“All for you—Fuck!”

Buck practically groans with need at your words. He gently pushes one of his fingers into you, the slide easy due to your arousal. You throw your head back from the pleasure.

“You’re like heaven, baby.” Buck mumbles, his voice filled with awe as his finger continues to move, gently stretching you in preparation for more. “Like an angel…My pretty, perfect angel.”

You can’t respond, your words are caught in your throat, replaced by gasps and moans as Buck continues to work you. He adds another finger, scissoring them gently, the sensation making your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me.” Buck commands, “Open your eyes, (y/n). Let me see you.”

With a great amount of effort, you force your eyes open, to meet his gaze. The sight before you is one that’ll be engraved into your memory forever.

Buck’s hair is a mess from your fingers running through it, his cheeks flushed, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, eyes dark with lust and possessiveness that makes your skin flush with goosebumps. He looks wild, untamed, and yet he’s completely focused on you, on giving you pleasure.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He whispers, his fingers curving slightly, the way that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you forget your own name, how about that?”

“Yes, please!” You gasp, your words coming out needy and desperate. “Please, Buck, please. I need you-need you so bad.”

Reluctantly, Buck pulls his fingers from you, your walls fluttering around nothing. He doesn’t leave you waiting for long, shifting to kneel on the bed, his hands go to the edge of his underwear.

You watch, breathless and eager, as he slowly pushes down his boxer briefs, freeing his aching cock. The tip is red and dripping; you swear that you feel your mouth water.

“You see what you do to me? See what you caused?” Buck’s voice is rough, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

You run your eyes up and down his body, taking in the sight in front of you, the way his body is practically trembling, desperate for you. You lick your lips, your thoughts swarming with things that would make a sailor blush with shame.

“Please, Buck.”

He looks down at you, his eyes raking over your body, as he takes in the sight. You sound so needy, so desperate. He leans over you, his hands on either side of your head.

“Please, what, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice a low, teasing whisper.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck. Me.”

Buck lets a curse slip from his lips as he captures yours in a hungry, rough kiss. One hand grasps your hip, while the other hand drifts to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he lines himself up at your entrance. Breaking the kiss, he lets his forehead rest against yours.

His eyes lock with yours, a silent question in his gaze. You nod, your hands running down his arms.

“Do it, Buck.” You say, your voice is desperate and whiny. “Please.”

Buck lets out a low moan at your voice, his body trembling from the effort of holding himself back. He can’t take it anymore, he needs you, needs to feel you around him, needs to taste you.

He slowly pushes into you, going as slowly as he can manage, relishing in the way your walls flutter against his member.

You let out a gasp, your hands tightening around his wrists, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel him fill you, stretch you in the best way possible. There’s a slight burn, but you welcome it as you shakily exhale.

“A-Ah...” Buck moans, his voice strained as his hands grip you tighter, burying himself fully inside you. His head drops to rest in the crease of your neck. “You feel… you feel so good—god, so warm.”

You let out a moan as he bottoms out, your mind lost in the pleasure of him filling you so perfectly. You want to tell him how good it feels, but words are lost amongst the fog in your mind.

Buck presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips feeling like fire against your skin. His hand leaves your hip and moves to grip yours, his fingers carefully intertwining with yours. Using his other hand he gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him

“Look at me, baby.” He mutters against your skin, “I wanna see your face. I wanna see how good I make you feel. Can you do that for me?”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart swell; his eyes are filled with such adoration, such love.

Buck lets out a pleased noise, “That’s it, so good for me. Look so pretty when you’re like this…all flushed and trembling, just from my touch.”

He gives a shallow, experimental thrust, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as an electric feeling shoots through your body.

He moans against your skin, the sound making the hairs on your neck stand up. He moves again, this time pulling out slightly before slowly pushing back into you. You gasp again, your hands grab at his shoulder; your nails breaking the skin.

He sets up a steady pace, pulling out and then pushing back in with slow, steady movements.

Each moan and gasp, each twitch of your brow or hitch in your breath, he takes it in, and stores it away. He shifts his hips slightly, changing the angle, and a guttural, desperate moan tumbles from your lips.

Buck lets out a taunting chuckle, “Did I find a sensitive spot, baby?” He asks, his voice teasing and gruff against your ear.

You can’t find it in you to respond, completely blissed out from the pleasure Buck is giving you. Your words catch in your throat, replaced by a series of ‘uh-uh-uhs’ as he continuously slams into you.

His pace quickens as his breath comes out in short pants, his hand gripping yours just a little bit tighter.

“F-Fuck…Who do you want?”

“You. Only you, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes close for a moment, a shudder raking through his body at your words. He lets out another moan, his head falling forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder as he untangles his hand from yours. Hastily he brings it down, harshly rubbing it against your sensitive bud.

The sudden change in stimuli makes your eyes roll back, the pleasure and heat reaching a breaking point.

“B-Buck, I’m not gonna—”

“I know, baby, I know.” He whines, his own voice wavering. “I want to feel you cum around me. C’mon, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his voice, the sensation of his hands on you against you—your orgasm crashes over you like a wave. Your entire body tenses, a broken moan falling from your lips as your back arches against Buck’s sweaty figure.

Buck groans as he feels you cum, your walls clenching around him tightly. His hips stutter, losing their steady rhythm as he pulls out and starts pumping himself over your stomach.

“Ngh—shit!” Buck gasps suddenly as he feels your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, taking over for him.

“(y-y/n), you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You look up at him with a small, exhausted smile on your lips as you continue to leisurely pump him at your own pace.

Buck lets out a high-pitched whine, his hands gripping onto you tighter, “M-mm’ so close.”

“Then come for me, Evan.”

Buck lets out a desperate noise, the sound of his real name falling from your lips being his final breaking point.

“(y-y/n)—”

You keep stroking him through his orgasm, watching as his body shivers from the overstimulation. Slowly, Buck’s flushed face lifts from your shoulder, his breaths leaving his lips in heavy pants, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile. His blue eyes meet your gaze, they’re hazy and unfocused.

“God, I love you.” He mutters, his voice a little hoarse, but still filled with an amount of tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat.

You bring your clean hand up to his face, running it through his messy, tangled hair, your fingernails gently massaging his scalp “I love you too.”

Buck lets out a content hum, pressing a few soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose—Anywhere he can reach without having to pull his body away from you.

You laugh softly at his affection, your chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling, a smile resting on your lips. You feel…at ease.

Happy.

Safe.

Buck slowly pulls away, just enough to move off your body and lay next to you. He instantly pulls you against his chest, one arm around your shoulders, cradling you against him. He sighs contentedly, burying his face in your hair, inhaling your scent.

You rest your head against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear grounding and soothing. Your eyes slowly close, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. You snuggle closer to Buck, a soft yawn escaping your lips.

Buck chuckles as he hears you yawn. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You give a tiny hum, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand on your back making your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Sleep starts to overtake you, but not before you mutter out one final sentence.

“I love you, Buck.”

Buck’s heart warms at your words. He pulls you even closer to him, relishing the feeling of having you this close. He presses a kiss to the top of your head again, his voice soft and gentle as he speaks.

“I love you too, (y/n). More than anything.”

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Urged

I think this was the photo that got me in. Of course I get the appeal now. But at the time I thought I was just messaging some other random torso on the apps. I was supposed to just be in and out, no strings attached. After all, he wasn’t my usual type. Looked like a roided out gym rat: bit of a gut; dark, wiry hair; and thick muscles. But muscles weren’t the thickest thing about him, and who was I to pass up a good time?

So I went over to his place. I wasn’t surprised when it was a loft above a small gym. Seemed like the ideal spot for the kind of guy. What I was not expecting was the apartment itself to be so…nice? Normal? I was prepared to get fucked on a twin-sized mattress on the floor, no frame, with sweaty clothes rotting around me. But the apartment had some character. He even offered me something to drink before we got started, in an actual glass. Maybe I needed to raise my standards. We chatted, flirted a bit as I finished my water and let things get hot from there. We kissed in the kitchen, made out in the living room, and worked our way back to his bedroom as sweatshirts, belts, shirts, pants, and straps trailed behind us.

As I positioned a pillow under myself, he took off his wife beater, the last barrier between us. The shirtless torso that seduced me was on full display as I rubbed his chest. As he leaned in to kiss me, I felt engulfed by this bear of a man, skin electric where I felt his hair ticking my bare chest. My senses felt heightened as I tasted cheap beer on his breath and smelled a deep musk of sweat, cum, and Old Spice, more in line with what I had expected from him. He ran his calloused hands over my chest and abs before finally taking up position over my trembling body. I wanted him in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teen. Normally I would want to talk a bit more, at least give a safe word. But as he surrounded me and I felt his presence, my brain flipped a switch as my body instinctively relaxed for him. There were no thoughts to be had as my mind was consumed by his rich scent, the pleasure of his cock slowly stretching out my ass, and his intense gaze set on my fluttering eyes. At last I felt his bush pressed against my clenching ass. He lingered for just a moment, every throb of his member sending shivers through my body. He leaned in and whispered, “You feeling good, baby?”

I could only moan a bit in response. Feeling his weight bear down on me and his cock in my ass left no room for words. He shoved his pit in my face and I instinctively took a deep huff. Any resistance and tension left in my body released. I felt filled by him, just a vessel for his use. I was about to stick out my tongue when he pulled back and repositioned himself. He held my shoulders as he began moving his hips.

As he slowly began to fuck me, I felt him reach new depths within myself.

“There you go, much better. Let yourself just float”

I couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to. His cock methodically jackhammering my hole had my body riding wave after wave of pleasure. Then, I felt him tense up a bit as his cock swelled just a bit more telling me what was to come. He buried it deep as a pressure built within myself. A few more thrust from him and I shot my load over his furry chest. My mind could no longer handle it. I slipped off into a void of pure bliss, as this stranger collapsed on top of me, feeling his damp fur against my body and filling my senses once again with his musk.

I woke up the next day back in my own bedroom. No one else around. No signs of trouble. No clue how I got back. If the whole experience hadn’t been so vivid, I would have thought I dreamt the whole thing. But as I rolled myself out of bed and into the bathroom, one change became very clear.

Seemingly overnight I had lost my smooth skin and dirty blonde curls. In its place was hair. Thick, dark, course hair. It covered my chest, my arms, my back, even my crotch. I was shocked but, also, something else began to tickle at my brain. I took off my tank to get a better look at the forest. I flexed my muscles and admired the way it coated my chest and seemed to exaggerate its size. I hit a double bicep pose and smelled a familiar scent. The scent of sweat and heat and masculinity. My mind flooded with images of that night as my cock stood at attention. I shoved my face into my own pit as I bagan jacking off in front of the mirror, admiring my new body. It felt strange but satisfying, watching this stranger in the mirror mimic my every move as I lusted for him. I didn’t realize how far I had gone until I saw the stream hitting the mirror. It was hot, but something still didn’t feel right. As I cleaned up the restroom, I picked up my razor and considered cleaning myself up a bit. But as I lifted it to my face, I noticed my newly hairy pits. Exposing them, the scent of last night invaded my mind again and I couldn’t follow through. I finished getting dressed and I left for the day. With a busy schedule, maybe I could get some answers tomorrow. I think that was the last chance I had to do something, divert from the path laid out for me. But looking back, I don’t know if I would have changed a thing.

No day was as sharp a change as the first, but each morning as I looked myself in the mirror, something was a bit different. Maybe it was the sharpness of my jaw. Or were my pecs always this swoll? One week I swore my feet were growing larger. There is no way that they always slapped the ground like that. But my shoes always fit perfectly. Heck I may even need a new pair soon. My joggers were beat up as hell and reeked when I took them off after my Saturday runs. But soon it was the days that I couldn’t find anything that looked different that began to worry me most. Had I always thought so much about the bodies of the men around me? Did people always talk so fast? But as life slipped back into routine. Soon I began to question myself. Why had I worried so much about any changes? Things never actually seemed out of place, and I worked out hard to get these gains. I had been going to the gym for years and had spent years perfecting my splits. After about two months, I stopped worrying at all. Until finally, one day I woke up and looked myself in the mirror, I saw the same man who greeted me for years.

I was a sweaty gym rat. Always had been. Always would be. I took a deep huff of my own funk, and rubbed my muscles. But everything fell into place, something felt missing. I shouldn’t have to keep this godly body and musk to myself. For the first time in a while, I hopped onto the apps and started scanning through. God, all these old matches were terrible. Why did I used to have such a thing for those muscled-up college boys? They couldn’t grow a beard if their lives depended on it. Besides, I think I wanted someone a little more…submissive. Scrolling through, my eyes caught on this young 20-something twink. Something about him reminded me of someone…someone I used to know. His lithe body, tight curls, and skimpy clothes told me he was a bottom before I clicked on his profile. A few messages back and forth, and he was on his way.

He walked in the door and it was all I could do to contain myself. Something deep within me wanted my seed deep in his ass. I needed him to worship me. I wanted him to become just like me. I had no patience as my body acted on instinct. I stripped my shirt and calmly approached, placing my hand against the wall behind him. As my masculinity and musk washed over the twink, I watched as his eyes fluttered a bit and knew his mind was submitting.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked plainly.

“Ye-yes, sir.”

I grinned as I understood fully now just what had happened to me, and the power I held. But watching this twink practically trembling in front of me, maybe I was even better than my captor had been.

I gave him a quick kiss as I lead him to my bedroom. I couldn’t wait to make another man in my image.

[beta-isaac-lahey]

Living Room Loft-Style

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Man I haven't had a bed frame in like 7 years

I feel so up high

BED FRAME ASSEMBLED

[exhuastedpigeon]

You know what I really want from season 7? I want another Buddie blow up like the grocery store.

I want Eddie, whose done a whole lot of healing to yell at Buck that Buck needs to be back in therapy because he died and of course that's going to change him but he doesn't even recognize Buck sometimes anymore because Buck won't let Eddie in.

I want Buck yelling right back that Eddie's moved on with his life since the shooting, why won't he let Buck do the same after the lightning.

I want angry tears and confessions through gritted teeth. I want everything they've swept under the rug and not talked about to come spilling out in Buck's kitchen.

I want Eddie telling Buck with pain dripping from his voice that "I see you, I've always seen you, but now I don't think I know you anymore. You won't let me know you anymore."

I want Eddie leaving Buck's loft after he says it and tells him that he can still see Christopher, but maybe for now the two of them should just be coworkers because Eddie needs time and space before he can be Buck's best friend because he isn't sure he knows him anymore.

I want Eddie crying in his truck after the conversation and Buck crying on his new couch, clear that he doesn't find it comfortable. I want the episode to end on a shot of both of them crying in their own spaces, so clearly alone.

Then I want the next episode to be so clearly uncomfortable between them. They still work together seamlessly, but that's it. They're awkward and tense around each other, they can't even look at each other between calls. I want it to be 10x more awkward than their first couple shifts together. I want looks exchanged between the members of the 118 when Buck and Eddie aren't looking.

And then I want the episode to end with Eddie pacing around his living room, clearly torn and then grabbing his keys only to open the front door to Buck standing on his doorstep looking at Eddie's house key like he isn't sure he's still allowed to use it.

I want Eddie to hold Buck's face like it's something so fucking special and Buck to do the same. I want a kiss that's biting and angry that melts into something soft and tender.

Cut to them in Eddie's bed, the sheets a mess, the comforter on the ground and Buck says something like "You've always seen me, even the ugly bits that I don't want people to see. That's why I'm so scared"

And then Eddie kisses Buck soft and sweet and says something like, "There's nothing about you that's ugly Buck."

The episode ends with them starting round two.

[buddie-buddie]

Tommy stands in the middle of Evan’s loft, hands on his hips, trying— and failing— to suppress the grin tugging at his lips as he surveys the scene before him. There’s a twelve-foot tall animatronic skeleton in the middle of the room, surrounded by black and orange storage bins stacked with military precision, each meticulously labeled. Currently, Tommy’s standing beside a box labeled INDOOR COBWEBS (WHITE)– not to be confused with INDOOR SPIDERWEBS (WHITE)–and blinking up at the gigantic skeleton in front of him.

“His name is Napoleon,” Evan had said earlier, beaming like a proud parent. “Napoleon Bone-parte.”

It was only a few minutes ago that Tommy had woken up from a post-shift nap to find Evan’s bed much emptier than it had been when he’d closed his eyes a few hours before. When he had fallen asleep, Evan had been right there beside him, curled up against Tommy’s chest, his warmth seeping into Tommy’s skin as they both drifted off, exhausted from their shifts. The steady rise and fall of Evan’s chest against his own had been the last thing Tommy remembered before sleep claimed him.

He had woken up with a quiet groan, shifting slightly as his hand reached instinctively for the empty space beside him. The emptiness beside him felt wrong. Tommy had gotten so used to waking up with Evan’s beside him, Evan's arm draped over his waist, the feel of his feet nudging against Tommy’s under the sheets. Tommy loved those moments, the quiet intimacy that lived in the heartbeats between sleep and wakefulness. 

Tommy had shifted again, blinking sleepily at the cold, empty space beside him. A small frown tugged at his lips as he glanced around Evan’s bedroom, searching for some sign of him. But the silence was deafening, his absence was palpable, and the warmth that usually lingered when Evan left the bed had long since dissipated.

His absence was quickly explained when Tommy got out of bed and glanced over the railing of the loft and found himself face to face with Napoleon, standing tall in the middle of the living room like a bony, skeletal sentinel. 

Tommy’s pretty sure it’s the closest he’s ever been to a heart attack. 

Once his heart came back online and Evan finally stopped laughing, Tommy made his way downstairs, where he was formally introduced to Napoleon. 

Napoleon, who Evan had hauled out of the storage closet on his balcony while Tommy was still sleeping, along with thirteen (yes, Tommy counted) storage bins of varying sizes, each with its own overly descriptive label on the side, written in Evan’s handwriting. 

And if those labels weren’t enough, there’s also a print out of an itemized list of the box’s contents taped to each lid. And Evan does not have a printer, which means he either used the one in Bobby’s office or paid to have it all printed at Staples, and Tommy can’t decide which he loves more.  

Evan stands in front of SKELETONS - FULL BODY ONLY, clipboard in hand, looking far too serious for someone staring into a box of plastic skeletons.

“Baby,” Tommy says, eyes flicking between Evan and the clipboard in his hand. “You sure we’re decorating for Halloween and not planning a military operation?”

The way Evan approaches Halloween— with the precision of a general preparing for battle and a checklist to match— is equal parts ridiculous and charming, and Tommy can’t help but poke fun. “Looks like you’ve got the tactical breakdown of a covert mission here.”

Evan glances up, eyebrows raised, his expression hovering between amusement and mock seriousness. “Hey, Halloween is a big deal,” he says, tapping the clipboard with a smirk that makes Tommy’s heart squeeze a little. “Besides, this is fun.”

There’s something endearing about the way Evan’s taking this so seriously, and Tommy can’t resist teasing him just a little more. “Ah, yes,” he says dryly. “Nothing says fun like a color-coded checklist.”  

Evan shoots him a sidelong look, his lips twitching upward. “I’ll have you know this checklist is the product of years of trial and error.”  

Tommy huffs a laugh, crossing his arms as he watches Evan move around the bins. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”  

He leans against the counter, his eyes following Evan as he moves with a kind of focused intensity that’s impossible not to admire.

Evan sets the clipboard down, opening another bin with precise care, as if the entire operation depends on getting every cobweb and plastic spider just right. “Well, if we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right. That’s the rule.”

Tommy smirks. “Your rule, you mean.”

“The only rule that matters.” Evan doesn’t look up from where he’s pulling a candle from one of the bins– with far more care than a $8 pumpkin spice candle from HomeGoods might otherwise call for. 

Tommy watches as he places it on the kitchen island, replacing the one that usually sits beside the utensil crock in the middle of the granite. Once satisfied with its placement, he picks the clipboard back up and scribbles a checkmark with a quiet swoosh of his pen. 

Tommy steps closer, the warmth of Evan’s presence drawing him in effortlessly. He glances at the clipboard over Evan’s shoulder, leaning in just enough to catch the scent of Evan’s aftershave. “Is there a section on proper cobweb placement?”  

Without missing a beat, Evan flips to the next page. “Of course there is. Indoor or outdoor?”  

“Indoor?” Tommy plays along, enjoying the rhythm they’ve fallen into, where teasing meets affection and everything just clicks.

Evan grabs a bin from the stack and pulls its lid off with a flourish, revealing enough fake cobwebs to cover Dracula’s mansion twice over. Certainly far more than his 1100-square foot loft could ever possibly need. Tommy raises an eyebrow, glancing at the bin like it might bite him. “You know, some people just throw some fake spiders in a corner and call it a day.”

“Amateurs, maybe.” Evan’s response is quick, but there’s a lightness in his voice, like he knows Tommy’s teasing but he doesn’t mind. There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he starts unpacking the cobwebs with meticulous care, completely unfazed.

“You’re going to cobweb this place like it’s the set of a horror movie, aren’t you?”

“No,” Evan glances up, not missing a beat. “We’re going to cobweb this place like it’s the set of a horror movie.”

Tommy salutes. “Yes, sir.” 

His fondness for Evan only grows as he watches him unroll the cobwebs with precision, like he’s handling some delicate operation rather than Halloween decor. Every move Evan makes is thoughtful, intentional. And while Tommy’s had his fun teasing him for how fastidious he is with all of this, here’s something about it that’s so Evan. And Tommy loves it. 

There’s a lightness in the air as they move around each other, their small touches— Evan’s hand grazing Tommy’s arm as he moves past him, their shoulders knocking as they reach into the bin at the same time— it’s natural and unspoken, like they’ve been doing this forever. It’s a rhythm they’ve fallen into without even realizing it, the ease of being close, of sharing the space between them without any fuss.

Tommy reaches out without thinking, keeping the bin steady as Evan leans in to grab another tangled stretch of cobwebs, and Evan’s fingers brush against Tommy’s wrist, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Neither of them acknowledges it, but the quiet intimacy lingers between them, woven into the banter and the easy smiles.

It’s the kind of comfort that makes everything feel lighter, like decorating for Halloween is just another excuse to be close. And maybe it is. 

But Tommy certainly isn’t complaining.

“Spooky season only comes once a year,” Evan says, still fussing with the cobwebs. “Gotta make it count.”

Tommy leans in a little closer, eyes twinkling with amusement as he surveys the growing web of decor. “Oh, I’m counting alright. Counting how many fake spiders it’s gonna take before we’re overrun.” 

Evan shoots him a playful glare, the kind that makes Tommy’s chest warm. “Just wait. You’ll appreciate it once the ambiance is perfect.”  

Tommy chuckles, stepping back to give Evan space as he arranges another set of cobwebs. He folds his arms, leaning against the counter with a soft grin.

It’s more than just amusement, seeing Evan so focused and so serious about this. It’s fondness, plain and simple, for the way Evan throws himself into things, for the way he never does anything in halves. Doesn’t matter if it’s fighting fires or figuring out who he is or hanging polyester cobwebs from the banister with a surgeon’s precision under the watchful eye of his 12-foot skeleton. Evan pours every bit of himself into it, gives it his all. 

Tommy watches him in quiet admiration, the way Evan’s brow furrows slightly as he steps back to assess the web placement, then leans forward again to make the tiniest adjustment. It’s that attention to detail, that determination to perfect even the smallest task, that makes Tommy’s heart feel a little fuller. It’s something he admires about Evan— the intensity with which he lives his life, the way he tackles everything head-on.

And it’s not just the decorations. It’s the way Evan approaches everything he does with a sense of purpose and care. It’s the kind of energy Tommy didn’t know he needed until Evan came into his life. 

There’s a comfort in it, in knowing that when Evan commits, he does it wholeheartedly. It makes Tommy’s chest swell, his heart skip, this quiet admiration settling into something deeper, something he hasn’t fully put into words yet.

“Yeah,” Tommy says quietly, his grin softening as he watches Evan step back to admire his handiwork, tilting his head as he studies the cobwebs with a critical eye. “I’m already appreciating it.”  

Evan looks over at him, catching the expression on Tommy’s face, and for a moment the teasing fades into something quieter, warmer. Evan’s lips quirk up in a small, knowing smile, and Tommy feels that familiar warmth settle into his chest, deeper and more certain than before. It’s the kind of warmth that makes the world outside seem distant, like it’s just the two of them in this space they’ve built together.

Evan steps closer, the clipboard forgotten as he reaches out to rest a hand on Tommy’s arm, fingers curling lightly around his sleeve. “You sure it’s the ambiance you’re appreciating?” he teases, but his voice is softer now, the humor laced with affection.

Tommy chuckles, his eyes never leaving Evan’s. “Maybe it’s the cobwebs,” he murmurs, stepping in until they’re just a breath apart. 

“Maybe it’s Napoleon,” Evan hums, glancing at the towering skeleton behind them.

“Or maybe,” Tommy says, his voice dropping, “it’s the guy who’s way too serious about cobweb placement.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

Tommy grins. “The same one who named his 12-foot skeleton after the Emperor of France.”

“Emperor of the French,” Evan corrects.

Tommy blinks. “Isn’t that… the same thing?”

“Not exactly,” Evan says, eyes bright, his entire face lighting up in that way it always does when he’s gearing up to share a fact. Tommy watches fondly as Evan’s hands start gesturing, his excitement spilling into every word. 

“‘Emperor of the French’ was a title Napoleon took to imply he ruled over people, not just the territory of France,” Evan continues, his voice picking up speed as he dives into the explanation. 

Tommy can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he listens. He’s heard Evan go off on tangents like this countless times, but it never gets old. The way Evan’s whole body seems to come alive when he’s in his element, the way he talks like he’s letting Tommy in on a secret— it makes Tommy feel like the luckiest guy in the world. For more reasons than one.

“He wanted it to be known that his power came from the will of the people, rather than just the land itself. It was a deliberate political move.”

Tommy stares at him for a moment, eyebrows raised. “So… you named your Halloween skeleton after a guy who was really into branding?”

“Our skeleton now,” Evan corrects, his voice firm but playful. “And yes, yes I did.”

Tommy blinks, momentarily caught off guard. The word our hangs in the air, settling in his chest in a way that’s both silly and surprisingly meaningful. It’s just a Halloween decoration— a ridiculously oversized plastic skeleton, for crying out loud— but hearing Evan claim it as theirs sends a warmth through him that’s hard to shake.

“Mhmmm,” Tommy hums. “Let me rephrase, then: The same one who named his 12-foot skeleton after the Emperor of the French.”

“Hmm, still not sure I know who you’re talking about,” Evan teases.

“The guy who has a designated Halloween clipboard,” Tommy says, nodding towards where Evan’s orange clipboard sits on the kitchen counter. “And a color-coded checklist.”

Evan huffs a laugh, but there’s no denying the way he leans in, his hand sliding up to rest on the back of Tommy’s neck. “Well,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If it works, it works.”

And in this moment— cobwebs half-strung, decorations still scattered around them, Napoleon's LED eyes staring daggers straight through him— Tommy knows it does work. Not just the decorations, not just the ambiance, but them.

He dips his head, brushing his lips softly against Evan’s, gentle and unhurried. When Evan kisses him back, Tommy feels it— a spark of something deeper, a quiet current that hums between them, binding them in a way that words never could. It’s as if everything unspoken, everything growing beneath the surface of their teasing and banter, is laid bare. The kiss is slow, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that leaves no room for doubt. It’s not just desire thrumming between them— it’s affection, warmth, the promise of something real.

Evan leans in closer, his lips warm and soft against Tommy’s, the kind of kiss that speaks more than words ever could. It’s patient, unhurried— as if they both know there’s no need to rush this thing unfolding between them. Tommy’s heart beats a little faster, but it’s not from nerves— it’s from the quiet certainty that with every touch, every shared breath, he’s falling more and more for Evan, further and further past the point of no return. 

Evan’s hand lingers on the back of Tommy’s neck, his fingers threading gently through his hair, and his thumb brushing lightly against Tommy’s skin in a way that's equal parts grounding and electric. There’s no urgency, no rush— just the two of them, cocooned in a moment that feels like it belongs to them alone.

It's a moment he could live in forever.

It’s a kiss filled with quiet promises, the kind that tell Tommy that whatever this is, whatever they are, it’s real. It’s steady and strong, something he can trust, something that’s only just beginning but feels like it’s always been there, waiting for them to find it.

It’s real. And it’s easy. 

And, much like the giant skeleton towering over them, it’s theirs.

also on ao3

[iliketopgun]

hi, my darling!! can i request “You getting so flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” with evan buckley?

i have been obsessed with him for so long (lmao as if it isn't obvious-) and i NEED more of him!!

"Honey Honey!"

Can I kiss your brain? I love this!!!!

🩷 "Nuestra Canción" send me some cute fluff prompts for characters that I write, x reader or my OCs are allowed.

Word count: 560

The prompt: "You getting flustered is one of the cutest things I've ever seen."

A/N: Never written for x reader before so here goes nothing. Legitimately don't know where this came from, deviated a bit from the prompt btw, I had a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: female!reader, tooth rotting fluff, I totally didn't have Mamma Mia! on repeat while writing this (I'm lying so much), domesticity, curls are here, reader is a part of the 118, a curse word or two, Buck and reader live together, Buck calls his S/O "Baby" and other pet names, Buck is shirtless (yes, suffer), reader's favorite food is grilled cheese (if it's not, I'm sorry), kissing does happen, not beta read

Banner belongs to @/cafekitsune

Do not repost anywhere else or use it to train AI! This is my work! My own brain created this. Don't be a plagiarizer!

Here we go! Safe under the cut!

Buck could've sworn he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world. His girlfriend was insanely good looking. And her music taste was impeccable. Buck could stare at her all day and never grow tired of her. Yeah, to say he was down bad was a major understatement. But who could blame him, when you looked like a goddess?

Buck was making dinner when you came in from a shift at the 118, it had been a simple 12 hour overtime shift for some extra money, but it had been so uneventful, it took a toll on you. The utter anxiety for the bell that never rang that entire shift. You kick off your work boots by the door, putting your keys in the dish by the door and putting your bag on the floor, you'll get it later. You unbutton your uniform shirt and tug it off, leaving you in a white undershirt. "I'm home!" You call out as you walk into the kitchen of the loft, watching your boyfriend cook. Buck turns around, in your tiredness, you didn't notice that Buck was shirtless and he hadn't gelled his curls back. Was he trying to kill you? Well even if he was you were sure, you'd die really happy. "Oh, hey baby, I'm making your favorite. Grilled cheese." Buck says with a smile, it was adorable. So attentive. "Mmmm, I love you. You're the best." You tell him with as much appreciation you could muster. Your nerves were shot to hell and you just wanted to eat and sleep. Buck takes notice of this and guides you to the couch, wraps you in a blanket and walks to the kitchen, leaving you confused. "Buck? What are you doing?" You ask between a laugh. Buck puts the grilled cheese on a plate and comes back into the living room with the plate and hands it to you. "Eat. Wanna watch Mamma Mia?" Buck asks you, knowing it was one of your favorites. You nod as you bite into the grilled cheese, moaning in appreciation. Buck smiles at you and kisses your forehead. Buck puts the movie on and sits beside you on the couch, placing you in his lap and cuddling you. He was like a personal space heater. But right now you don't care about anything except food and Buck. The movie starts and you finish your food up after a few minutes. You get up and place your dirty dishes in the dishwasher before running up the loft stairs to grab your pajamas. You were walking down the stairs while adjusting your Buck's shirt when the beach scene came on. No matter how many times you watched it, it still made you flush like a little girl. Buck picks up on that. "Are you blushing?" He teases and "N-no!" You stammer, before playfully tossing a pillow at him. "You wound me, darling!" Buck says dramatically while holding his hand over his heart. "Oh shush, you're fine. Plus you deserve it for walking around shirtless!" You reply before walking towards him. "You getting flustered is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen." Buck says as you stand in between his legs while he looks at you with those cerulean blue eyes and you try not to melt. "Oh shut up, Buckley!" You tell him before kissing him.

The end!

I hope you enjoyed it!

[xerotiny99]

Game Night Gone Wrong // Our Precious #2

Game Night Gone Wrong (Our precious series #2)

M.list ┃ Previous ┃Next

Warnings: smut, dom!yunho, soft dom!seonghwa, sub!reader, threesome, striptease, big dick yunho, masturbating, throat-fucking/blowjob, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation (Yunho's got a dirty mouth), praising/praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, pussy slapping (yikes), hair pulling and a lot of teasing.

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable with any of the mentioned tags. :) PS: this got too long, and I got too lazy to divide this into parts. PPS: the initial part of the smut might seem like it's nonconsensual, but it is completely consensual. Again, apologies for keeping this too long, don't let the word count intimidate you from the smutty goodness. ;)

Gist: you decide to make an appearance at this supposed game night Jongho was talking about. Unfortunately, you did not know how badly riled up you'd become after meeting his seven other flatmates which also includes Yunho; the man who sees it as a perfect opportunity to stay true to his word but there's someone else who also craves to touch you. Wait...is it only one person who's interested in you?

Word Count: 16,452

  Standing in front of the wooden door, the one moored with the numbers "405" in silver chrome, you're hesitant to raise your hand ring the doorbell. There you were, in front of Jongho's apartment, the one he shares with seven other men. The apparent loft was located a little farther from the university, situated on the east side of the city where the streets are abuzz. You've been to this part of the town, the quiet by day and busy by night kinda place—this area has a lot of interesting spots, one of them being Jongho's loft where eight people are residing.

Tiny tremors have already taken up the space under your skin, demurring your sense of self to the awaiting incredulity on the other side of the door. You take a deep breath in, letting out with a feigned smile as you bring out your phone to text the only man you knew inside. Technically, two of them. Your phone buzzes in your hand, even before you could send a text to your friend; having received a text, which reads 'are you coming over?' from Yunho, you brace yourself and heave out another sigh.

"Here goes nothing," you mumble to yourself, dipping your finger against the elevated button as a mellow ding rings inside, loud and clear, however.

You could hear muffled whispers coming from the other side. Anticipation had numbed a part of you, shattering the reality when the locks click, and the door flings open inside. The man who stood there was staring at you with a small smile, comforting. Though, you could only focus on how well-mannered he seemed, even from his body language—he was gorgeous.

He ushers you in, "oh, you must be Angel. I didn't expect you to be this early, actually."

"Jongho gave me the time..." you trail.

"Ah, then I believe he must've mixed up some of his timings. I apologise on his behalf."

"It's fine, to be honest."

You shrug and step inside; the vestibule has a shoe rack to the side, housing house slippers and other accessories. There's a coat rack right beside it where the ebony haired man hangs your coat after asking you to hand it to him. He picks out a pair of house slippers for you to wear, laying them on the floor as you take your time slipping out of your boots and into them. As he leads you further inside the loft, you notice everything about the place—even the man in front of you. His back faced you as you strode in, but you could gauge him to be as tall as Yunho, maybe a few inches shorter but that didn't matter much. He was clad in a beige dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top to expose bit of his tanned skin and pairing the shirt with dark brown pants. The ruly strands of his hair were permed, and framed his face neatly, even though a few of it laid flat on his forehead.

The narrow hallway leads you to the living room from the vestibule, where you find three men lounging leisurely on the couch and the floor. The living room was minimally decorated with the centre space being occupied by the couch and two chairs seemingly from the same set, a wooden coffee table was situated in front of the couch and a long cabinet was placed behind the couch. On top of the cabinet were few glass showpieces and magazines strewn on about, not making it seem crowded; your eyes stray past it and to the long sliding doors at the back, aligned in the same lines of the cabinet. The doors opened to a small balcony apparently, but the curtains were draped over to give you any sight of the evening outside. There was no television in the living room but oddly enough there were set of three hallways which ran along three different directions. You wondered where those took you to, even more so, you wondered how huge this loft actually was if it was housing eight people.

You focus back on the men, two of them were seated on the couch, close together and the other one sat down, between the couch and the coffee table, leaning against the couch as he scrolled through his phone. One of the two sitting on the couch has a broad yet teasing smile on his face, as he mumbles softly at the person to his right and the person to his right...he was actually breathtaking—he didn't try to hide the annoyance on his face as the other teased him on. However, the one sitting down on the floor was a little too lost in his world to even acknowledge your presence. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you played along anyway.

"Guys, Angel's here." The man leading you announces, capturing the attention of the others. "Be nice to her."

His warning tone makes the other three scoff, but unbothered by their response, he turns to you and offers you an even wider smile. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you something to drink..."

He's two steps ahead of you but then swivels on his heels and murmurs awkwardly, "I'm Seonghwa. If you need anything else, just let me know."

With that he's off, sauntering down another hallway to the right, merging with the open spaced kitchen. You take another deep breath, rummaging your eyes through the scene in front of you. The teasing guy has his hair pulled back in a half ponytail, a few streaks of blond stitched in between his black hair; he seems smug, and defiant, probably a delinquent.

"Hi," he initiates, a lazy smile on his face. "Come on, take a seat."

He shifts on the couch, purposely sliding closer to the man onto his right, as to make space for you on his left. "Only the best seat in Wooyoung's house for a pretty woman like you."

Listening to him, the other one scoffs, "tone down on your confidence, Woo."

"Flirting is all about confidence, Sangie," he keeps his teasing tone low and pinches the man's cheeks. "Right, Angel?"

"Uhhh..."

"Please ignore him, he's a little straightforward and hasn't learnt how to speak to women properly," the said man rolls his eyes, "on a serious note, please sit anywhere but next to him."

"Ugh, you always treat me like a sick joke..." Wooyoung sighs, dramatically throwing himself off to the other side of the couch. "I'm nothing but a man with a good heart."

"Your exes say otherwise, but okay."

As the two continue back and forth with their unsolicited burns and remarks, you decide to make yourself comfortable on the chair adjacent to the couch, seemingly belonging to the set of the seating arrangement. Two pair of eyes follow you as you sit down and pull the hem of your skirt down in an attempt to cover whatever it could. You were slightly regretting your dressing choices; you wore a black skirt which rode upto your mid thighs and paired it with a red crop top which was tucked in your skirt. Going a little overboard, you even wore thigh high socks, ending an inch below the skirt. You didn't bother with makeup and kept it light, having only applied light blush and peachy eyeshadow, and gloss on your lips.

The third man was least interested in meeting you or even getting the introductions started. You noticed how buff he was, not much compared to the man sitting on the couch right above him; but he was toned in places a man should be, and regrettably, his body was mostly hidden behind an oversized cloak of red sweatshirt and baggy sweats. Wooyoung had a casual approach to his outfit, wearing a black jacket with its zipper pulled all the way down till the middle of his chest, revealing a simple white graphic tee under it complementing the outfit with baggy sweatpants; on the other hand, the man next to him, having awe-inspiring features and a body worth drooling on, has black hair growing out till his shoulders, wore a black woven cardigan and a black tank top underneath, with black jogger shorts. Black was his shade, since his skin was stark and as fair as the snow, like Yunho.

"Jongho talks a lot about you," Wooyoung begins, grinning. "It's nice to meet you in person, finally. Name's Wooyoung and this is Yeosang, don't pay him any mind, he's a little vapid. And umm, that's Mingi. Hey, Mingi, why don't you introduce yourself."

He nods to the man sitting on the floor, who then actually takes a little effort to glance your way. Mingi grunts in return for your dazed smile, which already tells you that it's going to be hard to get along with him.

"Mingi, that's rude," Seonghwa chimes, keeping a smile on his face as he emerges out of the hallway with a tray of drinks in his hand, "introduce yourself properly."

The latter takes it as a warning and clears his throat, "Mingi, Song Mingi." he eyes you for a second before turning to Seonghwa, "that's the best you'd get from of me."

Seonghwa sighs, placing the tray of drinks on the coffee table and urging you to pick a glass, "I really apologise for his behaviour, but have a drink and try not to pay him any heed."

You reflect back with a smile and pick a glass filled with cola, "thank you."

"So, you're in Jongho's department, right?" Seonghwa asks, sitting next to Wooyoung. "We've heard a lot about you from him, actually. He's always gushing about you and how much he likes to hang out with you."

Okay, you didn't know the latter of that.

"I really didn't know that..." you mumble, taking a sip of cola. "We're friends. Right. We share same subject groups so, he's my only friend, to be honest. And he's enough so I didn't bother making any more friends."

"Hey, now you have us!" Wooyoung cheers, "any friend of Jongho's is our friend."

"Calm down, Wooyoung," Yeosang rolls his eyes, "for the better part of it, I'll have to agree with him. From now on, we're your friends too. So, don't hesitate."

Seonghwa chirps, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he talks, "you're in your sophomore year, right?

"Final semester," you mutter, "in few months I'll be in my junior year. Just as Jongho."

Seonghwa nods, "I hope you're not feeling uncomfortable with us; all these unfamiliar faces..."

"I'm good, actually." You reassure and Wooyoung adds, "I think I have seen you around the campus, so not an unfamiliar face to take a sight of—maybe you've seen me around too, I am a culinary major."

Even though you wouldn't admit it to yourself, or them, you had long forgotten about the awkwardness without Jongho being here. And, deeming Wooyoung as a culinary major was something you probably never even considered in your wildest dreams. One by one, after Wooyoung's little introduction, the others take his lead and talk about themselves.

"I'm a college dropout," Yeosang begins, "and now I'm a freelancer. I mostly do graphic design and illustration."

You nod, intently listening to them.

"I graduated last year." Seonghwa says, "now, I work full time as a software designer for a small startup company."

Intriguing.

There was something about Seonghwa you found alluringly interesting, like maybe it was the way he spoke to you, or the way he engaged with the other guys. Expectantly, you glance over at Mingi, hoping, he too, would have something to say or add to the discussion. Everyone's eyes are on him, expecting.

Mingi croons his neck up to meet your eyes, and he sighs, "I'm a dance major and I graduate soon."

So... similar to Yunho?

You see him lock his phone and stuff it into the pocket of his sweatpants, not uttering a word further; Seonghwa clears his throat and casts a longing gaze at the front door.

"Others will be here soon," he says, grabbing a glass of sprite from the tray. "I actually sent Jongho and San out to get us some beers, there's only one six pack left in the fridge. And I also did not expect you to come early." he was informing you of Jongho's whereabouts, "Hongjoong and Yunho are usually the late ones because of their work."

At the mention of Yunho, your stomach lurches and your mind recalls to the night you two had lost yourself in the heat of the moment—you were hiding it pretty well, at least, you thought you were. There's nothing trapped between your teeth, there's no evident clues to that night for anyone to know; let alone anyone would doubt you two had interacted before. Though, your heart claims to have an intense anticipation for this night to unfold, considering Yunho had warned you that he would fuck you senseless if you showed up tonight. And here you were...

"Beer gets us going," Wooyoung comments, eyeing Yeosang. "But this one needs wine."

"How is that relevant in this context?" the latter deadpans, causing Mingi to chuckle softly, "he's intending to say you've got an expensive taste, Sangie."

Yeosang pouts, "wine tastes better than beer."

"I'd drink to that," Seonghwa laughs along, raising his glass and looking at you, "I hope you're not a lightweight. Unless you don't drink at all."

"I do. Occasionally." you grimace at the memory sitting far back in your head, the first time you drank alcohol (beer) wasn't really worth it. "I am not so fond of alcohol, though. Who says you need to have alcohol to have fun?"

"I do," Wooyoung deadpans.

"No one asked you—"

Yeosang grows silent in his words upon hearing the lock to the front door rattle; soon, it's being pushed inside with a heavy voice—which you could never forget—grumbling to someone. The first person to walk in the living room is a blue haired man, a lot shorter than Yunho, carrying a leather laptop bag and a roll of red fabric in his hand. He somehow manages to stumble across the floor to the long dining table in front of the kitchen—dumping the stuff on top of the table, he slumps himself on the chair and sighs. Yunho is the second person to walk inside, followed by Jongho and other man with sharp eyes and features.

"I told you that man was weird!" the one with sharp eyes groans, and Yunho sighs, "but you didn't have to say that right to his face, did you now, Sannie?"

"If we hadn't made a sound, it would've gotten weirder," Jongho adds, walking in with a couple of polythene bags crinkling in his hands.

"He almost licked my neck!" the other—apparently named Sannie or to your understanding, San as Seonghwa mentioned it before, groans, "that's why I never take the elevator."

"I only suggested 'cause we had stuff to carry." Jongho raises his hands to show him the bags he carried in them. "I didn't think Mr. Yoshida would follow us in."

"Guys, drop it," the blue haired man tuts from the table, raising his head to meet your eyes, "we've got a guest, might as well show her a little respect."

He smiles at you before getting up from his chair; and that's when the others' heads turn toward you. Jongho grins wide, Yunho smirks, and San appears to have wide eyes and rounded lips, confused as if.

"Angel!" Jongho squeals, taking tiny hop-like steps toward you; his arms open wide as to hug you.

Placing your glass back on the tray, you find yourself rushing to him to get his hug. You round the coffee table from the other side as Mingi sat still on the couch's side and scoffed at your excitement to hug your friend. You and him are going to have problems getting along if you ever decide to hang out with the guys in the future. Seamlessly, you wrap your arms around Jongho's chest as he somehow manages to return the embrace with the bags in his hands.

"You made it!" he mumbles, pulling back.

"She was early," Seonghwa quips, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen. "You gave her the wrong time, baby bear."

"Hmm, I really apologise," he pouts, backing away from you and eventually tiptoeing to the kitchen, you follow him, a smile on your face.

"It's okay, baby bear," you tease him only to get a reaction out of him. And he groans, "that name isn't sticking. Please."

You shake your head, as you lean over the kitchen island and watch him place the bags on top of it. The polythene bags crinkle as he keeps them down and proceeds to take out their contents; there's chinese takeout in two of the bags, and the other one had a six pack. You're about to initiate a conversation with Jongho until you're interrupted by a sleek yet hoarse voice.

"So, you're Angel..." a soft voice resounds from behind you and when you turn, you find the blue haired man smiling at you, "I'm Hongjoong and I believe you've heard this from everyone here, but Jongho can't shut up about you."

You glance at Jongho. "Awww..."

"Ahhh, please. Stop it!" he whines louder, blushing.

"What? It's the truth." Hongjoong grins, "I'll freshen up while the others set up everything. Usually our game nights happen much later in the night. We made an exception for you 'cause this one's been nagging us for days now about inviting you."

He offers you a gentle smile before disappearing down the hallway leading to the left of the kitchen; his stringent yet relaxed posture had an imposed meaning behind his personality. From the way body language seemed more pronounced in the royal blue suit he adorned himself in and the way he hushed others, you could tell he was a domineering man. Someone whose authoritativeness would bring any woman down to her knees—you were thinking too much. Or were you really?

The desolate kitchen is rejoiced with Seonghwa's harmless little scolds directed at Jongho, but before you could comprehend any of their tiff, an arm snakes around your waist, with a presence warming up your side.

"Hey, Angel," his deep voice was like nectar, dripping in your ears and snaring your mind to his will. "Glad you could make it. Good choice. Good decision. And good thinking..." his words trail off to a whisper as he leans near your ear, "...but keeping my word—oh wait—keeping my promise, I'm going to keep you to myself for this night. I hope you're prepared for that."

His arm skims down your waist, fingers fluttering below and under your skirt as his tickling touches caress your inner thighs. That's it. He doesn't inch his hand closer to your aroused cunt; you were wet, you knew—his words were riling you up with every ounce of strength in them. In retrospect, you were playing out the night in your head where he'd be fucking you the way he wants to, the way he promises to.

Clasping your bottom lip with your teeth, you try to squeeze your thighs, to get that extra little friction to feel something (at least). Though, it had slipped your mind that his hand was still holding onto one of your thighs; catching up on your intentions, he lightly smacks your inner thigh and draws out a yelp from your lips. Your cunt clenches around nothing, feeling the heated rumble in your chest and the exasperated urge to have him stuffed in you.

The sound you let out attracted the squabbling pair; they cast their eyes on you, weary and dubious, silently judging the interaction between you two. You could call it your luck, but the two weren't able to get a view of what was happening behind the kitchen island.

"Are you alright, Angel?" Yunho feigns his concern, taking a small step away from you.

"Feeling under the weather?" Jongho urges, lips pouting slightly. "Do you want to leave...?"

"I'm okay," you voice out, taking a deep breath. "Yunho was talking about how peaches bruise easily and I just happened to gasp, dramatically."

"No double entendres, right Yun?" Seonghwa jokes and Yunho nods his head, "really, nothing of the sort. Just a casual conversation."

He clears his throat, "By any means, I'll take your leave. I need to freshen up and change my clothes. Jongho, go help the others set the living room."

With a ribbing curve stretching on his lips, Yunho excuses himself and saunters away from you down the hallway on the right. The moment he's out of your eyesight, Jongho slides next to you, purposely bumping into your hips as he does. Meanwhile, Seonghwa picks out the takeout containers and other necessities before leaving the two of you in the kitchen.

"Angel," Jongho murmurs, "are you trying to impress someone."

He's smug.

You shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes as he leans over to taunt you. "Shut up! Why would I need to impress any of your flatmates?"

"The way you're dressed, I guess," he shrugs, staring at you from top to bottom, "thigh high socks, that skirt, that top. Modest make-up. You wouldn't take this much effort if you weren't trying to impress someone."

"Hmm...so, who is it?" he nudges your arm, his lips pressed together—a line struck with jealousy, probably.

"Jongho, you're getting the wrong idea, why would I really want to impress any of the guys I barely know?" You pout, glancing at him for a hot second before reverting back to staring down at your fingers as you tapped them away on the island counter.

"I don't know, for starters they're all good looking." he turns on his feet and leans against the countertop, "maybe you're seeking out a relationship with someone. Either it's been too long since you've gotten laid or someone here has intrigued you enough to date them."

"Jongho..."

He interrupts, "is it Yunho?"

"What?"

"Do you like Yu—"

"—living room has been...am I interrupting something?" Seonghwa questions, stopping a few steps short from the two of you.

"Oh, it's nothing," Jongho murmurs, sounding a little bitter. "We were discussing a few things related to our classes."

Seonghwa nods and you stifle a silly whine, the stupefying urge to confront Jongho about his nonchalant sneer at your outfit. The older picks up a few more things from the kitchen before heading out; two of you follow him to the living room, with Jongho not uttering a single word. Sighing to yourself, you find the coffee table in the living room was pushed to a side, leaving the centre carpeted space to be occupied. Others were already sitting in a circle, eating out of the Chinese takeout containers —you lurk behind a little as the sitting arrangements played out. Jongho clears his throat and sits next to Mingi, leaning back against the couch where Seonghwa makes himself comfortable. Wooyoung, Yeosang and San, they sat opposite to the couch, slumping themselves against the coffee table as support.

You take a deep breath, put on a frail smile as you sit down next to San on the lush and soft carpet; the man offers you a dimpled smile and hands you a takeout container along with chopsticks and a bottle of beer. Helplessly, you eye Jongho from the corner of your vision, as he too starts guzzling down food from his own container. Sitting next to Jongho would have made either of you uncomfortable since the harmless squabble between you two had been left unresolved. You were doing it out of spite, however.

"So, what are we playing tonight?" Yeosang pipes in, gazing around and pointing his stained chopsticks at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa shrugs, "we'll keep it light. Nothing which strains Angel's ease or brings her discomfort."

"Damn," Wooyoung winces, "I was about suggest strip-uno."

San rolls his eyes, glaring at the said man—slowly chewing the bite of chicken in his mouth, "I sometimes wonder how your brain functions."

"It probably doesn't," Jongho adds, earning a whine from the latter. "Suggest something else."

"How about strip-monopoly?" Wooyoung suggests, eyebrow twitching in a goading manner.

"Anything which has strip in it will be rebuked; so, something else has to work," Seonghwa utters with annoyance, fixing himself a container of noodles.

"To be fair, I don't have any problem playing 'strip' games," you shyly enunciate, not meeting anyone's gazes on you. "In all honesty, it sounds fun. And what's the worst that could happen?"

You were joking. In your mind you were considering all worst possible scenarios where things could wrong; you could be taken advantage of and made to strip all the way, you could lose the remaining of your dignity to Yunho in case you go all bare, or—there's no or here, it's too risky to play these games with them.

"We understand your perspective, darling. But we're men and for a woman to engage herself in those kind of games with us is both unethical and unfair," Hongjoong's voice gushes through, offering your spine a dainty tingle. "We will keep it light, and hearty, as Seonghwa said."

He has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black sweatpants; on top he wears a tank top, exposing his defined arms, not too buff or too lean. The deep cut on his neckline gives you a small glimpse of his chest, eventually delighting you with an accidental nip-slip. It happens again as he carefully sits next to Seonghwa, making sure he doesn't hurt Jongho or Mingi who were leaning against the front of the couch. He runs his hand through his freshly washed hair, sighing out a string of incoherent words as he glances at the man next to him. Seonghwa is quick enough to hand him his share food and as he eats, his eyes occasionally fleet over to you.

"If you bend the rules of your game night for me, then how is that fair and ethical?" you tilt your head to a side, pouting at him. "I'm comfortable with whatever, so I think we should not waste any more time."

Seonghwa chuckles and Hongjoong breaks out into a mischievous smile, keeping his stare on you. "Alright then, we'll play strip-uno as Wooyoung initially suggested."

Darkness swirled in Hongjoong's eyes, the kind of ambiguity which dominates—something like the predator forcing its prey into submission. You were weak already, staring and catching up on the minute details sketched in his eyes, and his lips. Hongjoong had an authority, a commanding aura which could force any one into submission. You were no stranger to these kind of men, and for some reason, you were hella attracted to them.

"Sure," Wooyoung sleazes, smirking. He keeps the takeout to a side, and leans back onto the coffee table to grab what seems to be a deck of cards. "I had already picked these out. And to explain the rules," he trails off, eyeing everyone and shuffling the cards. "Don't worry, Angel. They're quite easy to understand."

Hongjoong begins, "there are less severe penalties for when you fail to match the colour of the cards in the discard pile, or when you draw a card from the draw pile."

"There's a strip penalty when the person before you throws a draw two or draw four in," San says from next to you, "you have to take a shot when you get a wild card from the person before you. And as Hongjoong said, the less severe penalties are truth or dare, and kiss a player, with tongue."

You reel back, repeating his words in your mind, "kiss a player, you guys are okay kissing each other?"

"I've frenched all of them if you're wondering, except for Yunho because I'm not his 'type'." Wooyoung says, passing two bottles of beer to Seonghwa and Hongjoong, "besides, we all have different sexual preferences. It doesn't matter to us."

You nod along, noticing how quiet Mingi had been from the start. He has a problem with you, doesn't he? You heave out a sigh and grin, "alrighty. I understood the rules, so can we start?"

"Aww, are you forgetting about me, Angel?" Yunho's voice ridicules you, followed by his footsteps as he sits next to you. "I'm hurt," he pouts, taking his food container from San as Wooyoung passes it to him. "I'm devastated, really. I hold no significance to you, do I?"

You look at him, cheeks heating up instantly when you catch him staring back at you smugly; the outfit he changed into was far more fitting to his personality than the one he had before. He was wearing a matching red hoodie with Mingi, and black jogger shorts. You notice how well his blue hair contrasted with the hoodie, finding it cute the way some of his strands kissed the collars and hid beneath the hood. His skin was flushed, yet as fair as snow—and his scent was driving you wild. A miasma of musk, cinnamon and vanilla. You were losing your mind sitting next to him.

Though, when you come back to your senses, you realise he's being dramatic. Overly dramatic. You roll your eyes and continue eating, shaking your head as a sly smile stretches your lips. Jongho catches up on your interaction with him, side eyeing you while acknowledging nothing.

"There's too many of you, it's hard to keep up with everyone," you snide at Yunho, your smirk widening. "So, excuse me if I tend to forget 'bout some of you."

"Oh Angel, I'm quite unforgettable, you know," Yunho jeers, sneakily pinching your waist. He leans closer to your ear, whispering under his breath, "but sadly you'll have to wait the night until I show how you much of an exceptional man I am."

"Keep dreaming..." you lean toward him and murmur, "you're really confident in your skills, aren't you? Can't wait to prove you wrong."

"I think I've already proven myself to you the night you—"

"—ahem. I think we should start with the game." Mingi clears his throat, purposely keeping it loud enough for the two of you to pull apart. "I don't know about Yunho, but I've got an early class tomorrow."

"Oh come on, Mingi," Yunho whines, "I'm making a benign effort to be friends with Angel. She seems cool."

Jongho begins, rolling his eyes, "oh, she is. I've already narrated of her tales to you."

Was he sarcastic? You couldn't tell.

Hongjoong sighs, his voice booming, "enough, I can't go on a day without either of you jabbering at each other." Staring at Wooyoung, he calls out, "just deal the cards, Woo."

Soon the cards are dealt and each of you receive seven cards; the games go on, filled with whines, groans, cheers and derisive comments. In the first few rounds, you lose your socks, lucky. Jongho loses his sweatshirt, but he wore a full sleeved shirt under it; Wooyoung was only in his boxers, and you knew Yeosang and Mingi had it planned all along. San, Seonghwa and Hongjoong were borderline drunk to the number of shots they were forced to take. Mingi and Yunho were fully dressed, and neither too drunk because of the shots—although Yunho kept leaning over to your side to whisper filthy things in your ear. You were mostly on guard against him, praying to your own soul to keep San from listening to any of his coquettish remarks.

The current round you were stuck in was supposedly the last round of the night according to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Surprisingly, everyone agreed to their judgement and no one riposted against them. It shows how influential those two were, and you found that extremely hot. You had two cards in your hand, all of them predicting your victory—that is only if San doesn't snitch on you and makes it hard for you to win. In all likelihood, everyone around you wants you to lose, that's how the game works.

You hold your breath, watching San take his turn after Wooyoung, and all hell comes crashing down onto you when he flicks a draw two on the discarded pile.

Oh no.

You have to strip.

He was saving his best card for the last, which makes his attempt at drawing more cards have a lot more sense. You sigh, dropping your cards down and slouching your shoulders.

"Strip, Angel," Yunho rejoices, nudging your shoulder with his.

"Yes, strip, strip, strip, strip..." Wooyoung chants and the others follow him, except for Mingi, Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

Seonghwa clears his throat, silencing everyone. "You don't have to if you're uncomfortable, Angel."

You shake your head, all the alcohol (especially, the vodka and beer) buzzing in your mind and coerced you to do the unthinkable. You find the hem of your crop top, fingers pinching at the very edge; with a ribald smile on your face, you pull your top over your head and fling it across towards Jongho. He catches it in one of his hands, as his other hand held onto a bottle of beer. These were the consequences of you not keeping a count of how many beers you had guzzled while playing and interacting with San. If your hazy memory serves you right, then San is a bartender and thanks to him showing you how to drink beer and vodka, you were woozy.

Some of the guys whistle at your exposed chest, while some avert their eyes and cover them with the palm of their hand. Yunho wasn't one of the guys to turn a blind eye on you; he stared. Being taller than you gave him an advantage at peeking over your shoulder and since you were slouched, the cups of your bra dangled slightly off—exposing a lot of your deal than you thought. He gulped lightly upon drinking in your curves, and the way your lacy bra hugged your tits—he was drooling at the sight, imagining what it would be like to grope and hold them. They actually seemed perfect for his hands—perfect to knead and suck.

"Angel is a wild one," Wooyoung mumbles lowly, looking away in haste as he realises he had been staring. "Wilder than me, to be honest."

"What?" you shrug, "a draw two means strip. I stripped."

"Yes, but we didn't think you'd actually do it," Jongho hisses through his gritted teeth, crawling the space across to drape his sweatshirt over you.

To your undivided attention, and bewilderment, Jongho belonged to the ones who were caught staring at you; which also included San, and Mingi.

Yunho clicks his tongue, "I certainly did not expect that, certainly did not."

Jongho scoffs at Yunho's reaction and returns back to his place, "no one expected that."

You pout, tugging the ends of Jongho's sweatshirt over your head to cover yourself. "It was fun, though."

You were starting to think it was alcohol talking in your stead.

"Alright, alright," Hongjoong draws everyone's attention, even yours, "like I said, this was supposedly the last round, so let's call it a night. And, Angel," he pauses, perusing your tipsy face, "I think you should stay the night, you're inebriate, regardless not a lot to misguide yourself to your dorm room alone at night. But it's not safe for you to leave in your current state of mind. So, please spend the night here."

You wanted to protest, but then you realised you stayed outside way past the timings of your dormitories, meaning, you'll have to spend the night here and somehow manage to sneak in tomorrow morning.

"Okay..." you nod.

Seonghwa adds, "you can sleep in my bedroom, it has a joint bathroom. Plus it is spacious and has a comfortable bed." he gets up from the couch, keeping his empty bottle of beer down on the carpet, "come on, I'll show you to my room."

You nod again, stumbling up on your feet as you take small strides toward him.

"Okay, whose duty is it to clean tonight?" you hear Hongjoong ask, followed by Mingi's and San's groans. He continues, "clean up before you go to bed, lads. Good night."

A couple of whines resound from behind you as Seonghwa leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. The wooden door has a board hung on it, which reads 'do not disturb' with a much tinier font written below it, 'knock twice in case of emergency'. It makes you wonder of the shenanigans which have occurred in this house. The wooden door opens smoothly inside and you're ushered inside a very neat and clean room.

"I did not get much time to clean around after coming back from work," he apologises, leading you further in.

You did not understand why he was apologising, his room was spotless with no unnecessary mess around. Rummaging your curious eyes through his room, you notice a lot of things; there's a window on the wall opposite to the entrance overlooking the Main Street, a queen size bed was pushed to the side of the room, and right below the window was a small desk with his MacBook on top alongside few other things arranged in a precise order. As said, there was a door to the left, where the bathroom was situated. Overall, the room was elegant with debonair decorations and furniture—nothing about it foretold you it was a man's room.

"To be fair, I'd be put to shame if you saw my dorm room." Muttering under your breath, you slump on the bed and watch Seonghwa's lips twitch into a smile.

"It's okay," he whispers, heading to his closet, which was adjacently placed to the bed. "I understand, you're a full time college student—trust me, my room used to be a mess too. It can't be that bad. Right?"

You grumble and throw yourself back on the mattress, it sinks to your weight and relaxes every muscle of your body. "I think I should call you over sometime. You could see it for yourself. Maybe, help me clean."

"Wouldn't mind that," he chuckles, his footsteps receding to you. "Here, change into something comfortable."

Sitting up straighter, you watch him hand you an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. "There was no need for this."

"And there is no need for your formalities," he offers you a toothy grin. "Sleep wearing something light. I don't think your current outfit is all that comfortable."

"Alright." you mumble, waiting for him to take your leave before you could change.

"Sleep well," he sings, his smile crinkling the corner of his eyes as he does.

Turning on his heel he's almost out through the door when you ask, "where will you be sleeping? The couch? I'm sorry for that..."

"Couch? No. That place is a little ill-at-ease," he laughs, "but, I'll be sleeping with Hongjoong, he's got a bigger bed. And, you don't have to be sorry. What kind of men we'd be if we let you go to your dorms at the dead of night. Right? It's better if you stay and leave in the morning, I'll have Jongho or someone drop you off."

You nod along, butterflies in your stomach coming alive to his words. Chivalry wasn't dead, after all. But the thought of you spending the night here, with Yunho fixated on fucking you, might be the most exhilarating thing ever. Although, you were starting to catch those same fuzzy feelings for Seonghwa—thinking about the kind of man he'd be in bed. The sweet one, showering you with praises, being a soft dom, and all other things which you shouldn't be thinking about him.

"Good night, Angel."

He snaps you out of your dreams, bringing you to the reality.

"Good night, Seonghwa."

A smile fleets behind on your face when he leaves. The door closes with a soft thud, and you sigh, preparing yourself to change into the clothes he gave you. Quickly, you slip out of clothes and into the oversized shirt; for some reason you didn't feel the need to wear the shorts. Actually, the reasons were pretty obvious. Folding your clothes, you keep them on the desk and lay back in the bed. You heave out another breath and decide to surf through the internet, checking your socials, and other things. You're too dazed reading your department's group chat to even hear the sound of a knock on your door for the first time. When the knocks sound for the second time, even louder than before, you flinch and your phone slips off your grip; rolling your eyes as your heart tries to compose itself from the little jumpscare, you hop off the bed and saunter to the door to answer it.

You open the door a slit, only for it to be pushed aside by a burly man to make his way in. It was Yunho, you knew it from the all-too-familiar sounding grunt as you're pushed against the door in a blink of an eye. Trapped, he places one hand on your waist and the other next to your face, pressing his body with yours and forcing you back into the door.

"I told you, didn't I?" he murmurs leaning in, his breath tickles your face as he continues, "I said I'd be true to my words and here I am."

You close your eyes for a hot second, wanting to compose the fire flamed in your heart by his words; most precisely, by his darkened eyes staring right into your soul.

"Never doubted you," you grin, sliding your hands along his back and to his neck. Wrapping them around, you pull yourself close, your lips hovering a few whispers from his. "But the thing is, are you going to do what you intended on doing from the moment we started this, with all your flatmates around? Aren't you worried they might hear us?"

"I couldn't care any less about them," he smirks, brushing his lips against yours, "are you trying to get out of this? You were the one to start it, princess."

His voice is low, as he continues, "the shameless teasing with this raunchy outfit and the stripping, plus the unwanted provocation...do I need to say anything more?"

Shaking your head, you nudge your lips to touch his; he was taken off guard at first, but the moment he realised what you were doing, he grew wild. An untamed kiss broke out between you two, lips lapping and sucking in an unquenched desire. Both of his hands tug at your waist, causing your shirt to lift up slightly.

He mumbles against your lips but doesn't break the kiss. "Only a tee? God, you are such a tease."

And he's diving back into the kiss. It started off so innocent with only a mere touch, delicate yet hungry in way; but you didn't think it'd escalate so quickly into a pining war between your tongues. His warm tongue rubbed with yours, tackling it down to reach down your throat. You moan, not only because of the fact that his tongue was indisputably plunging down your throat, but also because he had traced one of his hands down your waist to the dainty band of your panties. Feeling him smirk against your lips, your stomach ties itself in a knot, realising he was about to something very odious to arouse you. Though, the kiss had already made you wet, your slick soaking into your panties.

One finger slips past the waistband, softly snapping it as he drags to your wet slit; you were melting in the heat his mouth offered, his tongue showing no signs of stopping at what it was doing. You were breathless, you wanted air, you wanted to breathe and peruse his flushed face. Seemingly suffocating, you tilt your head slightly behind to take a deep breath, your lungs filling in with much needed air—while he shows you his conceited smile, his eyes half-lidded from the pleasure he got after abusing your mouth.

"Tired already?" he bites his lower lip, rubbing his long finger along your slit and you moan, not registering what he says next. "This is just the beginning, princess."

He buries his head in your neck, lips scattering kitten like kisses on your skin and trailing further down your collarbones. The yearning was taking you to a different level of desperate, his ravenous touches were working so well to rile you up and you were so sure you could come undone with only his middle finger thrusting into your cunt. In your hazy mind you were lost, closing your eyes, you throw your head back against the door and try to breathe normally—because his sleek finger was stroking your slit vigorously.

This was maddening. And you weren't holding back. "Fuck, Yunho...just fuck me already. Please."

You whimper as the walls of your cunt clench around nothing in utter torment while his middle finger only caressed your slit and nothing else.

"No, princess. Nuh-uh," he hisses, now pressing his thumb on your clit and moving it in a circular motion. "Not so fast. You won't be getting anything more than this—fuck—fuck—" he grunts in his own anguish, "—a dirty slut like you should be punished for wanting everyone's attention on you. Isn't that—fuck, isn't that why you took your top off, hmm? For everyone to fucking take a look, for them to drool on your perky little tits."

You whine, stuttering, "no—no—I only—I only did it because—because those were the rules—fuck, Yunho...just, please—please..."

Mind fogging with unlikely possibilities of him actually giving it to you, made your tongue heavy. You couldn't form sentences in your head, let alone voice them for yourself.

"So, so, so hopeless."

Yunho clicks his tongue, using his other hand to lift the loosely hanging tee up to your chest; his hand quickly cups one of your tits and eventually, he's groping it with his fingers digging in your flesh. His mouth sucks beautiful bruises along your neck, while his finger and thumb keep working on your wet cunt.

"God, I caught Jongho and Mingi staring at these taut little things," he murmurs, licking your skin as he keeps sucking purple bruises, "and I gotta say, I wasn't too fond of it—fond of their eyes lurking anywhere near you. Just thinking about it—ugh—can't even get myself to think about it."

"I didn't—" you groan, "—I didn't think you'd be the jealous type—fuck!"

All air is knocked out of your lungs as soon as he lets his middle finger slip into your cunt; your walls squelch, causing more of your juices to drip down your thighs.

"Oh, you really don't know me yet," he slyly whispers, keeping the pace of his finger teasingly slow inside you.

Detaching his lips from your neck, he stares down at you with a lilting smirk, one ever so gravely etched in a nettlesome curve. His hazel eyes show a spark of ardour, seemingly growing into a soft murmur of feral desires. You crack your eyes open, fluttering your lids heavily as the pleasure of his finger drives you to your edge; you were getting weak in your knees—your body could go limp any moment if he continues to tease your cunt this slow. Sliding your hands down his neck, you hold onto his shoulders and heave out a breath, chaotic and painful.

"Would you like to know me better, princess?" he breathes his words out, sneering as he glances down at his finger thrusting in and out of you. "...I'm sure we'd get along just fine."

"I don't doubt that either," you smirk at him, impatiently waiting for him to add another finger in you.

When you knew, he wasn't going to do anything more than finger your cunt teasingly, you start bucking your hips into his hands, hoping it'd make his finger plunge deep into you. The squelch of your walls is loud this time, resonating in the empty room as it soon merges with his chuckle. Yunho draws in an amusing breath, tittering at your messed up persona, and desperation.

He clicks his tongue, bringing his finger out of you altogether; the emptiness was lot worse than having only one of his sleek finger in. Maybe, you shouldn't have been so desperate for him. You couldn't blame yourself; it was evident from that night itself that you yearned for him, all of him. Keeping his stare on you, he brings his finger, the one which was plunging deep into your cunt, close to his mouth and darts his tongue out. His middle finger glistens with your juices around it, so unbelievably fucking attractive but nothing prepared you for what he did next; he licked and lapped his tongue all over his finger, humming in satisfaction as he tastes you.

"Sweet and salty, just like my little slut," he smirks, teeth trapping his bottom lip in, "can't wait to fuck that cunt with my tongue—it'd be fucking perfect."

You don't make a sound, simply because his words were giving you a sensory whiplash and depriving you from any fraction of sanity at all. He lets his other hand slip from your chest, tracing it to your neck to grab your throat. His fingers dug in the sides, leaving faint bruises as he brought you close to him; in a blink of an eye, his lips were back on yours, tasting your desperation and teasing your lower lip with a sharp tug of his teeth.

"Yun..." you murmur against his lips, absorbing the vibrations of his chuckle as he pulls back to address, "princess, you are not getting me so easily. I can play hard to get, and I always have."

You are a little annoyed by his attitude, his conceited slapdash personality was an antithetical factor to his charisma and chivalry. He shakes his head, in disbelief, as if he had read your mind when you were thinking about his pomposity.

Clicking his tongue, he pecks your lips, "no, princess, I'm not conceited. I'm just...returning the favour."

You're muddled, not comprehending what he was hinting at. And considering that, he slightly rolls his eyes, while his other hand ghosts over your lower abdomen and grabs the waistband of your panties. Not giving you any sign of his intentions, he uses his mere strength to pull the panties up your waist. The material of your lacy panty chafes with your wet folds as he pulls and continues to do so until you're writhing with tickles on your spine.

"Fuck—that feels good, but—I want you." you mewl in such ache, craving everything of him, "I need you."

"Like, I said, I'm returning the favour, princess," he softly lets out a laugh, stroking his thumb along your windpipe, "consider this a bestowal of all the pleasure you can get from me. Because..."

His teasing tone is back, infuriating you—tears well in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill as you whimper, "because...?"

"Because I can't let a slut like you get what she wants by deftly ribbing me in front of my flatmates," he states, his hold on your throat tightening, while he pulls your panties further up.

The overbearing sensation of your panties rolling up and slotting into your wet slit makes your skin crawl in pleasure. It was unbearable at this point, the rigorous friction of the material and your soaked cunt.

"I need to teach my whore a lesson, don't I? And that's what she's going to get tonight. A punishment for provoking me in front of my flatmates and being an attention whore," he smiles haughtily, pulling himself back completely before stepping away from you.

His warmth was gone, so was his touch which drove you away into your insanity, and all you were left with was an abysmal hollowness full of chagrin and hankering. Taking another step back, he shrugs while you lean back against the door to recollect your shattered pieces—you were trying to relax yourself after all that he had done to make your pussy drip uncontrollably.

"My precious little princess should try to get some sleep for the night," he smiles, coming close to you again but only to caress your cheek with his thumb. "Trust me, princess, my package will be worth the wait."

"Good night, Angel."

He presses his lips lightly to your cheek and pushes you carefully to the side to leave the room. The moment he dashes out the room, you wait for his footsteps to quiet down the hallway before you're sliding down against the door and groaning out in frustration as you lay on the floor like a crumpled paper. This was too much! Too much! You do remember him mentioning he was a tease from your night of sexting, but you didn't believe him—not until he was teasing you to hell and back. You could consider this as borderline torture which in turn was making you wonder if his dick was really worth all this torment.

Although, as he left the room, you caught a glimpse of his cock straining against his jogger shorts—the outline was clear, and that clarity was enough to push you back in your delusions and fantasises. Regardless, it also meant how badly you had him riled too, you got him hard, got him to masturbate before he goes to bed—it was obvious he would jerk off to your thoughts, and that passing notion was undoubtedly making you even wetter. You heave out a sigh as you pick yourself up and carry your trembling body to the edge of the bed. Settling down comfortably with your legs open wide, you pull the hem of your shirt and trap it between your teeth. Exposed, and free from the shirt, you drag one of your hands down your chest, purposely pushing the cups of your bra aside to let your tits hang outside. Your mind rutted with lascivious thoughts of Yunho playing with your tits, cupping them, groping them, kneading them, all the things you wanted him to do, maybe a little more which would cause your dignity to falter in front of him.

You moan out loud, but it's muffled by the shirt in your mouth; you were senselessly pinching your nipple, all while tracing your other hand to your cunt. Pushing the panties (now ruined by your arousal) to a side, you ghost your fingers over your clit, gradually touching your swollen bud to feel the ecstasy take over you. Throwing your head back to the sensation, you let out a whimper; soon, the image of Yunho licking his middle finger flashes in your mind, making you moan again. You do what he was doing a minute prior, stroke the length of your own middle finger along your slit. Your mouth stays open this time instead, but your shirt doesn't roll all the way down because your hand, playing with your tits, obstructed it from doing so.

Somehow, in the darker light of your mind, you're fixated on that burning scenario of Yunho rubbing his tongue along his finger to rid it of your juices. At first, you wonder, and then glimmer in joy, nevertheless that fleeting moment is cut short when you realise an odd detail about him. If his middle finger was that long, then how huge would his cock be? That cascading thought itself makes you shiver, and you start rubbing yourself faster; not caring if the sounds you made were discernible and audible to the others in the apartment. Seemingly, your noises were growing louder, and you were getting closer to your edge. Dropping your hand from your chest to your side, you fist your hand into the sheets, and ease your finger into your cunt. Again, the wetness makes your walls squelch and your action makes a popping sound.

Keeping a steady pace at first, you thrust the upper part of your middle finger in, then gradually moving the entire finger inside. Once you were comfortable, you increase the pace of your thrusts and mutter out a sweet string of moans, incoherent and dumb. You close your eyes, screw them tight for tears to stream down the side of your face; you're driven to a point of lunacy where all you could think about was Yunho fucking you with his finger. However, one finger wasn't enough for that, so you add in another, your ring finger this time. Both of your fingers rhythmically slide in and out of your cunt, letting your flesh slop and your juices make a mess of them.

Your grip on the sheets tightens, enough for your knuckles to turn white. Your eyes are shut, reveling the pleasure your fingers gave you, while your chest heaved up and down uncomfortably, trying to fathom the suffocation brought by your eerily palpitating heart. Lost in your jolly world of fantasies, where all you could think of was Yunho, you don't hear a soft knock sounding on the door of your room. Although, the person standing on the other side of the door had heard your moans and groans clearly. Yep, this man had heard you, and knows you're masturbating, yet he gulps to himself and scours a little bit of courage to enter the room.

He twists the doorknob and pushes the door inside; second after second, the door cracks open and reveals bits of you, the bed, your legs wide open and your hand between them, to him. Drooling at the sight for what his momentary mind could capture, he clears his throat to snap you out of your daze. Your heart beats slow, adrenaline rushing through and through when you open your eyes to meet with the familiar man standing a step closer to the door.

"Seonghwa..." you gasp, quickly pulling your shirt down to cover to exposed legs, and everything in between them—you hold your hand out to a side, wet and glistening with your juices all over them.

He clears his throat yet again, "Angel, what—well, don't stop."

You're taken off guard by his silly eyes lurking on yours, his lips curling deliriously into a smirk; leaving you to fend for his words, he trudges to his desk and carries the chair to set it in front of you. In utter disbelief, you watch him sit on the chair, spreading his legs wider in front of you, giving you the glimpse of the gradually forming tent in his pants. He unbuttons a few buttons on the top of his shirt, pulling the collars apart to expose a little of his tanned and toned chest.

"Don't stop?" you gawk, slightly breathless.

"I'm sorry if my sudden intrusion made you halt your..." he pauses, eyes trailing down your face to your chest, and legs. "...I wouldn't mind if you were to put on a show for me. Maybe, we could help each other out later on."

You were stumbling in your own mind to regard his words, even if you were past the point of acting on your rationality, this proposition of his was beyond tempting. Unlikely, you'd then have to be embarrassed to have masturbated in front of him too—especially since you and Yunho had shared that sensual call the other night. Everything is a standpoint of your dilemma, whether you should give in to your impulses, and act on your desires or not. After all, contemplating and accepting the reality of your sybaritic situation would precisely put you in a rough place with Yunho if he were to ever find out about your and Seonghwa's deal.

"But..."

"But?" Seonghwa repeats, "there are no buts, sweetheart. Though, to sate my curiosity, I'd like to ask you something."

You nod your head, your cheeks warm and red, hazy from all that's happened in the span of mere minutes.

"What got you all worked up, or rather, who?" you purse your lips together, unable to answer him. And he continues taking your silence as the testimony. "Was it anyone amongst us, or all of us? I saw Yunho leave this room a while before I made my way here. Was it him?"

You nod again, and he chuckles, "guess, Hongjoong owes me fifty bucks now."

Taking offence, you narrow your eyes at him; he shakes his head and enunciates more clearly, "no one's betting on you, sweetheart. It's just...during the game, I saw a few sparks fly between you two. As it made Jongho a little envious, it gave me an insight to your dynamic with Yunho. Surprisingly, he was as cheerful as he was that night—I suppose it was the night he was talking to you, wasn't it? Anyway, me and Hongjoong, a few minutes prior now when Yunho disappeared from the living room, construed a harmless wager."

"Are you all alike?"

"Alike as in, similar to Yunho?" he shakes his head in amusement, "oh, darling. We're anything but alike to that brat."

You don't know what it was about him, maybe that simple of nudge of his head as he satirically insulted Yunho, or the lax foreboding smile which offered you a sight of his sharp canines. There was something about Seonghwa which was making you want him more now—more than Yunho, to be precise. Although, when the remnant of your rationality sticks to your mind, you knew the attraction was simply because you had been played with and left high and dry by Yunho. You were too desperate to feel something in between your legs, literally anything at all—and as demeaning and belittling that is, even to yourself, you couldn't help but weigh your judgment down to Seonghwa's side.

You put on a show for him, he enjoys it while jerking himself off, and later on you get what you wanted all along. Sounds simple. Right? Maybe.

As you're lost in your thoughts, the never-ending brooding of the current situation, Seonghwa turns weary and tilts his head to a side. He licks his lips and asks, presumably snapping you out of your reverie. "Angel, I don't want you doing anything that you're uncomfortable with."

At the shift of his personality, you pout, shaking your head to convey your words. "I'm not uncomfortable with...this. Only, I wonder what it would be like with us if we were to, you know."

Your shoulders flinch, and he sighs, crossing his legs and leaning back into the chair. He smiles softly, "the solution is as straightforward as it can be, Angel."

"I'm not looking for a relationship, however," you whisper, undermining your own words as you come to that conclusion. "If that is what you were about to suggest."

"Relationships aren't really my thing either," he replies, a sly smile on his face, "we keep this exclusive to sex. I'm assuming Yunho put forth a much similar bargain."

You nod, "he did. And I was anticipating he'd..." Seonghwa's brow cocks up in astonishment, "...I anticipated he'd let things get steamy between us tonight. It's the reason why he had been texting me, convincing me to come."

"So, you came here for his dick?" Seonghwa laughs, not in a debasing manner, it was more of an amused laugh. "I understand, but I've been thinking you only decided to come because you didn't want to hurt Jongho's feelings."

"You're not in the wrong," you sigh, "I wanted to be a better friend to him too, but all the while Yunho had been pestering me, teasing me with his semi-nudes...okay, why are we talking about this? Shouldn't we just get done with it as quickly as possible?" you realise you had spoken too much.

Seonghwa shrugs it off, "Angel, I said I wouldn't want you doing anything which would cause you discomfort."

"And I said I'm okay with it."

Smirking, you lift your shirt back up, showing off your completely drenched panties and your sheeny cunt. Tired of pushing your panties to the side, you decide to take them off and once you've rid yourself of them, you spread your legs for his perusal before dipping your hand in between them. You resume your actions, plunging your middle and ring finger into your cunt—to your unbridled desire, your fingers slip in too easily because of the number of times of you were aroused.

"Oh dear, Angel," Seonghwa grunts, palming his crotch through his pants.

You smirk at his utterance and glance up, glazing your eyes over him as his legs are back to being spread wide in front of you, while his hand is busy stroking his cock through his pants. He bites his lower lip, giving you an encouraging nod to increase your pace; throwing your head back, your jaw slacks open when you start thrusting your fingers deep in you. The walls of your cunt quell around your fingers—the feeling reels you back to your sense of salaciousness, forcing you to increase your pace. Seonghwa's groans soon fill in the room, blending in too perfectly with your moans as you continue to finger yourself.

Seonghwa, seemingly too tired of rubbing himself through his pants, unbuttons, unzips, and tugs them down to pull his fully hard cock out. You watch him wrap his hand along the tip at first, stroking it softly with his fingers as he gradually drags his hand down along the shaft. Precum glisters on the tip of his cock, and along the length of it; and the more he pumps his cock, the more of his arousal leaks from his tip. Trapping his bottom lip in the grasp of his teeth, he prevents any vile sounds to slip from his mouth. And wanting to do the same, you clasp your free hand over your mouth but fail to do so when your mind loses every inch of control. It doesn't work as it should, because your hand is sliding down to your chest, to play around with your taut nipples.

"You're so pretty, Hwa," the comment slides out of your mouth with such ease that you don't even realise you had said it. "You look so pretty like this, stroking your cock to me fingering myself."

Again, you didn't know where you got the confidence to speak.

He chuckles softly, which mixes with his grunt as he increases the pace of his hand around his cock. "My Angel dearest, I think the sight—the—the sight of my cock—my cock thrusting into that tight little cunt of your—yours, might be the prettiest—prettiest sight of all."

His stutter was absolutely driving you insane; not just the way he stumbled his with his words, but also the way he was pumping his cock vigorously to the thought of that. Holding his shirt up by his other hand, preventing it from getting ruined, he tightens his hand around his cock, keeping a steady pace.

"Then why don't we see it—"

Thud!

The door closes shut, startling both of you as you freeze in your places. You focus your attention to the door, but Seonghwa doesn't really bother to look behind; and from the way he smirked, it was evident to you that he knew who had just arrived. It wasn't a surprise to you either, because somewhere in your heart, you were waiting for him to come.

"Tch, what an alluring sight my eyes behold," Yunho clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest and steps ahead to stand behind Seonghwa. "Let's say, I'm not all too confounded with your behaviour, 'Hwa. But I certainly did not expect my princess to acquit herself from her punishment."

His condescending tone was back, and very much alluring; his way of degrading you never gets boring, it's always tipping you off to your extremity. Yunho steps past Seonghwa and stands right in front of you. His gaze penetrates through your ruse, causing you to shiver as you sit straighter and composed, a little stoic to his advances maybe. You're not so much tolerant when you drag your eyes down to his body, his buff chest at first, then his bulging arms folded on his chest, and lastly, you're spanning your eyes across his abdomen and crotch. His shorts are confining his boner, sadly so, the outline of his cock makes you drool and imagine of the sensation you'd get from him filling you up.

"Eyes up here, princess."

You whimper, "Yunho, I can explain."

"Shush," he presses his index finger on your lips and glances back at Seonghwa over his shoulder, "it turns out my precious princess can't control herself. Why don't we teach her a little discipline?"

Seonghwa smirks, as if he had caught up on Yunho's intentions already. "Only if she's okay with us ruining her."

"Oh, a whore like her would certainly enjoy herself being fucked by both of us, would she not?" he brings his hand down to your throat and squeezes it, grunting as he brings you close to his face, "right, princess? Want to be filled with both of our cocks, right? Be nothing but a cum-slut for both of us...hmm?"

You nod your head, murmuring, "yes, yes...I want to be filled—be filled with both of you...use me as your..."

"So, so, so hopeless," Yunho tuts in pity. "I think you should take the fron—"

"—I'm in no mood today, Yun," Seonghwa interrupts him, getting up from the chair with his pants pulled over, as he strides across to stand next to Yunho. His eyes darken, a wretched curl taking its shape on his lips. "But, I would like to see what this pretty mouth can do."

You groan in such desperation, feeling his thumb caress your lower lip till he's tugging it down for you to open your mouth a little wider.

"Don't expect much, Hwa," Yunho grumbles, pulling his red hoodie over his head and discarding it down on the floor. He wears nothing under it, though, and you start checking out his toned upper body with your blurry eyes. "This mouth knows nothing but to complain and whine. Maybe yap around a bit and haul foul words at others."

Seonghwa chuckles and holds your jaw instead, thumb pressing down on your chin to do what he had been trying to do; getting your mouth to open wide. And maybe he was trying to get your attention off of Yunho.

"I better not believe him, Angel. Show me what you can do."

"Hmm," your eyes are back on Seonghwa, "I can—"

He doesn't let you finish your words leans down to kiss you. A mere contact of your lips inflames your heart into a fiery pit of despair, and you're kissing him back with much intensity. Your lips lap, collide, and suck, while he's too busy trying to drag his tongue into your mouth. He does it soon, however. His tongue caresses your lips at first, then as your widely opened mouth lets him in, he's scraping his tongue across your teeth and tackling yours into a soft brawl. Your eyes flutter close to the sensation of his warm and rough tongue rubbing with yours, delving down deep in your throat as his hands are now cupping your face.

Meanwhile, Yunho is certainly bewildered to watch his friend suck your mouth off, at the same time, an uncurbed tremor of jealousy aches his heart. Yet, he watches the two of you, observes how Seonghwa's hands were caressing your cheeks, how his tongue was shoving itself down your throat. To a certain degree of envy, he gives in and clears his throat, eventually pulling at Seonghwa's collar to break you apart.

"Jealous much?" Seonghwa comments, which goes unacknowledged by Yunho who grunts at you, "I want you on all your fours. Now."

You gulp, struck with intimidation by his voice, and the ambiguous shade of grey in his eyes. Obliging to him, you slide back on the bed and get on your fours, facing the edge of the bed as you anticipated their next move. Yunho doesn't say anything and moves on about to situate himself behind you, meanwhile Seonghwa settles himself in front of you. You're in eye level with Seonghwa's cock, hard and leaking precum, it's tip laying flat against his stomach as he takes a minute to shrug his shirt off. His pants were already off when you were trying to get comfortable on your knees and hands on the bed.

The mattress dips to Yunho's weight behind you, giving you the obvious sign that he was upto something. To your apparent satisfaction, he pushed the hem of your shirt along your back to give him better access to your rear. The warmth of his hands caresses your buttcheeks, eventually dwindling down to your inner thighs as he pushes your legs further apart. He's mentally slobbering at the sight of your folds, all wet and glistening in their glory; his cock twitches at the thought of rubbing himself all over you before sliding into your warmth.

"So fucking wet already," Yunho grumbles, "probably doesn't even need me to prep this cunt before fucking it with my cock."

"Yun—fuck..."

You clench around nothing as you listen to him growl all those words under his breath. Seonghwa chortles, grabbing your jaw and guiding the tip of his cock to your mouth; he rubs it along your lips before he eases himself inside. Engulfed by your warmth, he groans softly and closes his eyes to relish the atypical sensation for first few seconds. He knows he'll get used to you in a little bit and so will you. You wrap your lips around him, as he continues to slide his cock in your mouth. Once he grows aware of how much him you can take in, he stops and entangles both of his hands in your hair instead, helping him to hold your head down.

"Hmmm," you moan around his cock, feeling the tip brush past your tongue and the walls of your throat. The saltiness from his precum is too evident on your tongue, but you swallow it down and focus on him.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good around me," Seonghwa's chest sounds a low gruff, glancing down at you through his half-lidded eyes. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Hmm, I'll try to be gentle, okay?"

You nod, trying to pacify the sting at the corner of your lips from the way they were stretched around his cock. He doesn't push himself further than he already is and starts thrusting his cock into your throat. You merely gagged around the tip but held your breath. Seonghwa's lips remain parted, and his eyes remain shut, he was a moaning mess, subsiding to the warmth of your mouth rocking him in and out.

Yunho's jealousy knows no bounds, he's fuming inside as he watches Seonghwa fuck your mouth. Swiping the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, he smirks smugly and traces his fingers from your inner thighs to your folds, eventually to your slit. His fingers collect bits of your wetness before tucking them in your cunt; first it's the fingertips, gradually the entire length of his fingers are thrusting in and out of your cunt.

You're so out of it, buzzing with pleasure received on both sides. One, you weren't able to moan because of how deep Seonghwa was plunging his cock into your throat. Two, Yunho's fingers were curling in the deepest parts of your cunt, squelching around the flesh and making you squirm from time to time. Three, you knew Seonghwa's pace was picking itself up, but however you weren't sure if you'd be able to keep up with him.

Relentlessly, you fist your hands in the sheets underneath, holding onto them for your dear life because Seonghwa's hips were rutting into your face. Your mind was fogged by the way he rammed his cock in your throat, making you gag and choke while he guided you down by holding your head. His fingers were tangled in your hair, which eventually turns into a makeshift ponytail. You flatten your tongue toward the roof of your mouth, licking the underside of his shaft as he rapidly thrusted in and out.

"Dear sweet lord—fuck, Angel, don't stop—don't—don't stop doing that." He grumbles out, voiceless as he tries to catch a breath.

Tears are streaming down your face, as your nose scrunches up against his pubic bone and littlest of pubic hair, you're suffocating too, having lost the ability to breathe through your nose. Seonghwa's hips come to a halt, but doesn't really let you go—he likes the way your mouth is wrapped around him, likes the way your cheeks are hollowed and confined to his cock.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Hwa." Yunho pouts, "makes me regret to not have used her mouth before you..." his fingers are spreading you apart, stretching your walls to their limits. "Hmm, but doesn't matter anymore, I'll be the first to ruin this tight little thing."

With that being said, he flicks the direction of his wrist, bringing his fingers out only for a meagre second before he's thrusting them back in. He only did that to get his thumb in front, to toy with your clit as he presses down on it, eliciting a whine from you. Though, the vibrations of your whine are absorbed by Seonghwa's cock stuffed in your mouth, driving him wild. His thrusts resume, however, his pace picks up slowly but doesn't show any signs of faltering. Your jaw is slack and limp, already lethargic from taking him in.

"You're missing—you're missing out, Yun," Seonghwa's mumbles before bestowing his praises upon you, "you're doing so—doing so well, my dear. Such a good girl—good girl to take my cock—cock in without complaining. A little bit—little bit more..."

You have your eyes closed and mind shut down, the pleasure was unbearably long and everlasting till your body gave you enough strength to withstand their ministrations. At the way Yunho's fingers were moving in you, and brushing your sweet spot, you knew you wouldn't last long. The hot and vehement knot tightens itself in your stomach and wrenches your gut, preparing you for your climax. Your walls clench around Yunho's fingers, making him click his tongue as he pulls them out.

"Not so soon, princess." he sighs, quickly ridding himself of his shorts and briefs. "Not till you make a mess on my cock—fuck, this might—this might sting a bit."

He aligns the tip of his cock with you and rubs it along your slit before easing himself into your cunt bit by bit; your walls stretch to his girth, a tiny fire burning your skin as you whimper and wince. Although, Seonghwa's faltering thrusts try to distract you from the initial pain of Yunho's cock submerging into you—he is twitching in your mouth like crazy, knowing well he was close to his edge. You weren't so sure about your own orgasm, since you were already senseless to Yunho's cock plunging into you; and to your greater surprise, it was only the tip of his cock pounding into you. Yet he was driving you wild, his cock screwing itself so deep into you, and stretching you raw. Every time Yunho bucked his hips into yours, your body rolled into Seonghwa's, making your mouth slip further down on his cock and gag around your throat.

"Fuck, baby, gimme a min," Seonghwa mumbles and you nod slightly, causing him to pull out before you passed out of suffocation.

Taking a deep breath in through your mouth, you glance up at Seonghwa with teary eyes, finding sweat make his hair stick to his forehead and a few drops dribble down the sides of his head. You couldn't be too mesmerised by his beauty, because Yunho takes that time to ease himself fully into your cunt; his cock throbbing inside you, as his thrusts are fast paced and concise.

Seonghwa shares a look with Yunho before turning down to you, "take a deep breath, sweetheart..." he was breathless, yet he was able to pronounce each word with care and concern.

"Fuck, Yunho..." you mumbled under your breath, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Yunho's hips ram into yours. "You're—you're too fast—fuck—feels good, feels really—really good."

"Such a good slut, taking me in raw and making herself feel good with my cock," Yunho grunts.

"Yun—"

You couldn't thread your words together let alone voice them, and even if you could, Seonghwa wouldn't let you because he's already nudging the tip of his cock against your lips. Opening your mouth, as you're now used to his size, you wrap your lips around him; he keeps his pace slow this time, letting the tip of his cock poke your cheek as his thrust aren't well timed or rhythmical. Although, he's close, so close. He tightens his fingers in your hair, tugging at your strands as he pushes your head down on his cock—the warmth of your throat tips him off, and he twitches insanely before coming undone in your throat. His load trickles down, making you forcefully swallow it, tasting mild undertones of sweetness followed by the saltiness of his cum; he rides his high out with a few placid thrusts, filling your mouth with his cum. He only pulls out when he's sure he's emptied himself entirely into your mouth and when he does, he sighs and smiles down at you with a dazed look in his eyes.

"You did a great job, sweetheart. Made me cum with only your mouth, such a good and obedient slut," he pats your head, stroking your hair with his one hand as other one wipes the trickling drops of his cum from your lips. "Hmm, good girl."

He leans in to kiss you, humming in satisfaction as he tastes himself on your lips—though, out of nowhere he darts his tongue inside your mouth swallows a bit of his own cum, alleviating your struggle to swallow it whole. Pulling back, he groans softly and pushes himself off the bed completely. He gets dressed in no time, sparing no particular attention to you or Yunho, who's too busy hurling his cock into you.

"Clean up after you're done, Yun." He says one last time before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud.

You're brought to your senses then; the tight grip of Yunho's hands on your thighs which certainly has left dark bruises on your skin, the way his thrusts were proper yet short to prolong your orgasm, and the way weakness had taken over your body. Without warning, your hands give in, and you land face first into the mattress; however, Yunho clicks his tongue and groans softly before establishing a good grip on the back of your neck, pressing a little harder he lets his hand trace to the back of your head instead and his fingers entwine with your hair. He pulls your body up by tugging harshly on your hair, making you yelp and let out a small whine in protest. Your back is flushed against his chest, his thighs are hitching into yours, and his hands are all over you. One of his hands grabs your throat, choking you, while the other slithers under your shirt to grope your tits. Cupping them under your shirt, as they're already hanging out from your bra, he pulls on the tauten nipples, pinches them and rolls them between his forefinger and thumb; you moan, your mouth agape at the wild sensation It brought to you.

"How does it feel now, princess?" he grumbles, and you throw your head back resting it on his shoulder, "too much—too much—wanna cum."

Yunho hums, "as expected from my slut."

You nod to him, unable to force out words from your mouth, or even form them in your head. His thrusts pick up again, his hand drops from your chest and traces down to your clit; fingers rub down motions on your swollen bud, and you realise how sensitive you had gotten. Needless to say, every time he rolls his hips into yours, his cock plunges deep, so deep it tickles your gut—the tip of his cock was simultaneously abusing your sweet spot, nudging hard against the pit of your stomach. Bringing his hand to your lower stomach, he presses down, and your walls convulse immensely around his cock; you could really feel him in abdomen, sending all sorts of shivers down your spine.

"Fuck, being so deep in you, it's driving me crazy," he grumbles, "you feel me, princess? Feel my cock pound you good, huh?"

Again, you nod, profusely melting under the heat and sweat of your bodies—you were long gone to comprehend sanity at this point. He buries his head in your neck and sucks purple bruises all over your skin; they're going to be super evident in the morning, and you're going to get questionable looks from the others in the loft. Not that you thought you could get away with this, you were so sure the others were able to hear you, and that thought itself drove you into your diverting state of mind. It made you even wetter to know that others could hear you get fucked by Seonghwa and Yunho.

"Fuck—princess, use your words." Yunho flattens his palm on your pussy and gives it a slap, jerking you out of your daze and making you mumble, dumbfounded. The crass impact of his hand makes you cry and put your mind on ease knowing how full you were from his cock. You sob softly, feeling the pleasure take over you, "yes—yes, please, wanna cum so badly—wanna make a mess on—mess on your cock."

Yunho, satisfied with your response, supports your body against his with his hands on either side of your waist now; he pulls out and rams his cock back into you, keeping a steady pace before picking it up. You're definitely going to be left sore tomorrow, maybe deprived of your ability to walk even. His cock was reaching deep into you, knowing this angle was better to fuck and abuse your sweet spot. It doesn't take him long to bring that familiar tightness back in the pit your stomach—it twists your guts thinking how close you really were to your climax. In the room, along with your moans, and his grunts, the sound of your skin slapping against his also reverberated; every time he thrusted in, his hips would be in touch with yours for a mere second before he'd go back to dive deeper into you.

"Right, this tight—tight cunt only needs my cock to make a mess, doesn't it?" Yunho grunts close to your ear, steadying himself with his thrusts.

His words tip you off and you squeal, "yes, fuck—Yunho—Yunho—I'm going to..."

"Go on, princess."

Offering you few more long and sharp thrusts, which causes your wall to squelch and clench; without your notice, that tightness is coming undone. You let go of all the confines and your orgasm washes over you. Ironically, you really do make a mess on his cock, as it still keeps plunging into you. The warmth of your cum drips down your inner thighs, coating Yunho's thighs as well when he bucks his hips into yours. A sly smirk curves on his face, as he smacks his lips to the warmth of your juices dripping over his cock, squirting a bit around because of his thrusts.

"Oh, my princess, such a good slut. A bit more...a bit more, I'm close too," Yunho grunts close to your war, sloppily sliding in and out of you.

He was close, remotely, he usually lasts longer than this, but considering how tight your walls were around him, he had no choice but to push himself to his edge. You feel him twitch inside you, and your walls clench tightly around him; his hold on your waist goes tight as he pushes you down on the mattress—the lowered angle gave him a leverage and he continued slamming his cock into you at an animalistic pace for as long as he could. It takes him a while to get to his point, and before you know, the warmth of his cum is filling you up to your brim and dribbling past your hole. He rides out his high with a few more short and brief thrusts, digging his nails into your flesh to leave back minuscule crescents and breathes heavily, before sliding out and falling limp against your body.

You heave out a sigh, relaxing your body back into his, as your chest rises and falls; it takes the two of you a moment before Yunho lays you down on the bed and then rests himself next to you. Tiredness evident in the ragged breathing of his, he doesn't try to speak anything unless he's composed himself, and so do you—you press your lips together and lay in silence till your mind clears out and the post-orgasm clarity sinks in. You stare at the spotless ceiling above, listening to Yunho's hushed attempts at abating his breathing.

After a few minutes of silence, Yunho is the first to disrupt the tranquility between you two. "That was intense, quite something I did not anticipate."

"As much as I hate to agree, but I hadn't sucked a cock in a while. I feel my jaw slack and loose." you murmur, reminiscing your past sexual encounters with others; knowing no blowjobs had ever been so hard as this one. "Feels like I've lost the capability to talk, my throat feels sore too."

Yunho chuckles, turning to his side and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling himself close to your body, "Seonghwa usually prefers throat-fucking more to penetrating. You should be glad he wasn't as rough as he used to be with his past lovers." he shrugs, resting his head on your shoulder and inhales your scent, which apparently was a concoction of sex, sweat, a bit of Seonghwa's scent on you, and his too. "Don't worry, I'll make you a cup of hot tea, you'll feel better."

"Well, I'm taking you up on that, mister," you titter, leaning to the side to put your head on his. Seemingly pondering, you wrung your thoughts and initiate, "hey, umm, do you think—I'm not sure, but would you be comfortable if I..."

Your words dither to a whisper and Yunho's sighs, second guessing your notions and interrupting you, "you want to be with both of us, right?"

"After this, I don't think I can regard him as a friend," you grumble, whining softly, "I mean, I sucked his dick. That's something friends don't do."

Yunho heaves out a small breath, peeking up at you through his lashes as his hair sticks to his forehead from all the sweat. "Angel, I think we should discuss this tomorrow. With a fresh mind and refueled bodies. My thinking adeptness has left my mind. To be fair, all I can think about is actually pretty pathetic and many more sordid things which include you. So, it's better if we call it a night and talk it out tomorrow, hmm?"

Sighing, you nod to his suggestion and reassure him with a blink of your eyes. "Fine, I'll leave it for tomorrow."

"Good girl," Yunho chirps, "now, let's get you cleaned. Inside out. I don't want you knocking at my door after nine months showing up with a cute little spawn of my devilry."

"Shut up, you."

The rest of the night was pretty tame; Yunho helped you clean, inside out as he promised. Seonghwa's bathroom was far too spacious than he had sold to you, there was a bathtub, a shower and a completely secluded section where the toilet was. While you were relaxing in the hot bath in the tub, prepared for you by Yunho, he took a quick shower and proceeded to change the sheets of the bed. Once you were well scrubbed and washed, he wiped you dry and slipped his hoodie over your body. He got dressed only in his shorts and the two of you then cuddled each other to sleep.

As the night dawned to a new morning, you kept thinking about the events of the night—the sinister impulses you had given into and the reverting cataclysmic effects to your dynamic with Yunho and Seonghwa. Though, Yunho did say they'd talk it out in the morning, but maybe you were worried for that morning to come. Regardless of your overthinking, the night passes you quick, your mind waking up from its slumber at the exact moment when the bright rays of sun cascaded in the room.

You open your eyes to a bright white light, squinting them to the golden glow of the sunshine; you murmur in a daze, a sleepy daze of yours as you urged yourself to go back to sleep. Groaning softly, you stretch your arms out and feel an empty void next to you. Yunho was no longer sleeping by your side. You pout and try to disregard the bitter feeling in your mouth. Gently and eagerly biting back sobs whenever your sore hips, thighs and back, inflicted pain upon your body, you get yourself off the bed and slip into the shorts which Seonghwa had offered you last night. The same ones you refused to wear since you were on tenterhooks for Yunho's cock. Stifling a yawn, you wash your face in the bathroom, pat it dry and make sure all your sleep is gone before heading out to the kitchen.

"There she is," you hear a muffled chirping from a familiar voice, "good morning, Angel."

"G'morning."

You rub the remaining sleep from your eyes and focus your blurry gaze onto the said man; you find Yunho sitting on the chair of the dining table, alongside Hongjoong, with Yeosang and Jongho sitting opposite to them, their back facing you. Meanwhile, you also heard faint sizzling of pan coming from the kitchen and only assumed someone was cooking breakfast for the others. Not having a clue about the time, you murmur incoherently under your breath and paddle your way across to the table.

Hongjoong offers you a small smile, as you settle down next to Jongho, "good morning, Angel. I hope you slept well, more than well perhaps."

You choke on your saliva, gazing up at him and then at Yunho. "Uh, yeah. I slept good."

"Only good?" Yunho pouts.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him; and look around instead, noticing Seonghwa was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes. The others were freshly showered, neatly dressed and sitting around the table with a plateful of breakfast in front of them. Jongho had a frown on his face every time he glanced at you, Hongjoong's eyes were rather beguiling and beaming at you with a few ulterior motives hidden in clear sight, and Yeosang barely acknowledged your presence as he was busy working on his laptop which he had propped in front of him instead of a plate.

Jongho, who's fidgeting with the sleeves of his university sweatshirt, flashes you a disdainful glance and looks back down at his plate of half-eaten pancakes. "Are you going to make it to any of your classes today?"

Ouch.

"What do you mean?" you act coy, squeezing your thighs together as you reel off into the memories of last night.

"Don't pretend to be a doll, Ange." he groans softly, training his eyes on you, "I know what happened last night, well everyone does."

Yunho adds, "she was loud enough for our neighbours to hear, I wouldn't be surprised if y'all heard her too."

"Not the time to boast, Yun," Hongjoong warns, shaking his head; you watch him smiling at you, smugly, sitting poised dressed in a grunge green suit and a black shirt under it. He fiddles with an emerald ring sitting on his thumb, raising his brow at you in sheer wonder. "It's better if we address this situation first, and later on, you can go back to your teasings and haughty nothings."

"What is there to address?" you gawk, blinking twice as your eyes remain wide and fixated on Hongjoong.

Seonghwa walks in with a plate of hot pancakes and places it in front of you before sitting next to Hongjoong. "Us." he mutters, motioning his index finger between you, him, and Yunho. "We need to confront what we feel and superimpose our feelings onto what we did last night."

"I mean..." you trail off, glancing at Yunho, "I was already considering Yunho's proposition to be exclusively friends with benefits. I'm not sure about..." you peek at Seonghwa.

"It's not just about them, for now," Jongho mutters, his cheeks turning a flimsy shade of red as he continues, "I like you, I've always had. Though, it's not a reason enough for me to be with you. I enjoy your company too and I wouldn't mind being a part of your..."

"Where are you going with this?" you mumble, bemused and lost in a whirlwind of confusion.

"What we're trying to put forth is a—umm, sort of a similar premise to Yunho's," Hongjoong initiates and Seonghwa adds to it, "we want you to be our precious little thing."

"We, as in all of us maybe," Yunho knocks his knuckles on the table to get Yeosang's attention, "Sangie, are you in or not?"

Yeosang looks up at him, nibbling on his lower lip as he nods, eyes quickly rummaging to check you out. "Sure."

"Basically, the ones who are sitting around here." Yunho continues, "we need someone who could help us out with our frustrations and oddly enough sexual desires. Only, that is, if you're comfortable being a part of it."

"I would need some time to think." You're beyond tempted to accept it, be their scarlet woman but you didn't want to come off as too eager to accept it.

"Take all the time you need, doll," Hongjoong assures you with a warming smile.

"After all, you're going to be our precious one."

Previous ┃ Next ┃ M.list