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coweye · 4 months ago

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The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice.

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was.

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot.

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired.

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face.

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her.

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised.

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features.

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully.

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling.

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red.

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man.

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry.

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits.

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie.

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?”

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed.

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping.

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline.

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers.

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted.

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet.

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists.

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.”

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp.

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?”

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form.

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue.

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now. “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-”

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily.

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other.

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that.

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground.

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind.

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him.

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy.

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you.

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead.

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do.

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip.

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura.

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan.

He’s just Logan.

You bury yourself deeper in his neck.

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut.

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs.

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?”

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you.

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back.

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not.

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue.

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter. He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his.

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist.

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart.

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you.

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close.

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve.

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him.

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him.

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional.

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he.

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth.

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you.

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-”

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you.

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch.

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth.

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast.

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole.

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin.

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it.

He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach.

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin.

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard.

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy.

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you.

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers.

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go.

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does.

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing.

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably.

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down.

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh.

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection.

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again.

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind.

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence.

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“AGH!” Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you.

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend.

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous. Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands.

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?”

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously.

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest.

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different.

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours.

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back.

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

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honeyhotteoks · 10 months ago

Text

lessons in intimacy (k.ys)

summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.

note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol

warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome

pairings: yeosang x reader

genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???

word count: 14.5K

additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!

Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page.

Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content.

“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath.

Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it.

And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face.

You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you.

Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.

You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today.

Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more.

Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page.

His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.

Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month

Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month

Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month

In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess.

You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative.

The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry.

There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through.

There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt.

His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs.

You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already.

There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson.

Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.

Guided masturbation and encouragement.

There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.

You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’.

The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him.

“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,”

You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat.

“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,”

Your breath comes a little more quickly.

“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,”

Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him.

“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?”

You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand.

“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,”

He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already.

“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”

As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling.

You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?”

You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait.

“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?”

You smile again.

“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?”

The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot.

He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.”

You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open.

“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,”

Your chest thumps hard.

“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.”

Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention.

“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?”

You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady.

“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen.

“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.”

A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions.

“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?”

Fuck.

“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,”

“Fuck,” You whisper.

“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,”

You’re nodding again.

“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.”

Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs.

“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due.

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,”

Your legs spread a little wider.

He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants.

“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing.

You love him like this.

“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,”

You pull it back reluctantly.

“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,”

You comply immediately.

“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,”

You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone.

“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,”

You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear.

“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,”

Your breath catches.

“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,”

A moan bubbles up out of you.

“Hands off.”

Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind.

“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,”

You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next.

“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,”

You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause.

“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,”

You follow his instructions.

“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,”

You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot.

“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?”

You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting.

“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”

Sweat drips down your chest.

His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,”

You don’t have to be told twice.

“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,”

A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back.

“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to.

“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,”

Pleasure rocks in your gut.

“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,”

You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it.

“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,”

“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling.

“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?”

Pressure drops in your belly.

“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,”

It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back.

“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.”

You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful.

You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you.

“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,”

He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can.

“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,”

The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,”

Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel.

“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,”

The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere.

“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,”

Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot.

“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,”

You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over.

“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,”

He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you.

It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes.

“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,”

For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you.

“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.”

You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you.

“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,”

You blush again.

“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,”

The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling.

You are so, so fucked.

After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat.

You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post.

You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company.

It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit.

You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day.

When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five?

You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall.

To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries.

The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention.

You step closer, only one person ahead of you now.

When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone.

“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here.

Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning.

“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering.

Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby?

You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found.

You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?”

You’re frozen.

“Miss?” A little crease between his brows.

“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,”

“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,”

You can’t say anything, your mind blanks.

His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?”

“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,”

“Iced or hot?” He asks.

Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me?

“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,”

“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,”

You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed.

He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest.

“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line.

He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,”

“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?”

“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,”

“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”

You shake your head, “No, first time,”

“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head.

“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,”

He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,”

“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?”

He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,”

You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer.

“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”

“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,”

Blush creeps up your neck.

“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head.

“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.”

“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?”

“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up.

It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,”

“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,”

“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,”

He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age.

“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella.

“Seven,”

“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”

He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,” You nod.

“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,”

Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,”

“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.”

Yeosang.

“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,”

“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!”

Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,”

“See you again,”

He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer.

With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account.

Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual.

The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home.

On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening.

Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos.

He’s lovely.

Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something.

It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table.

“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?”

“The train,” You glance outside.

His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”

“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,”

“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,”

“Oh,”

“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?”

Flirting, then.

You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?”

He grins, “I’ve been trying to,”

Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,”

His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”

You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block.

Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits.

The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles.

You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?

You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns.

Do you tell him? Do you lie?

Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t.

On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking.

“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts.

“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.”

He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?”

You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes.

“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,”

“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,”

“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,”

“Recognized me?”

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”

“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,”

“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,”

He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down.

It was so, so nice while it lasted.

“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,”

His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,”

His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,”

“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,”

You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire.

His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,”

“Undrinkable?” You blink.

“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,”

“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?”

“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,”

“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait.

He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you.

“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,”

“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly.

He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?”

“No,” You tell him firmly.

“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you.

“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,”

He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,”

“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,”

“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.”

“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”

“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you.

“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,”

“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,”

“Oh,” You soften.

“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious.

You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,”

He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,”

“Right,” You murmur.

“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything,”

“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting.

“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.”

He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking.

“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,”

He nods and then says, “I have one more question,”

You wait, your stomach in knots.

“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks.

“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,”

“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.”

“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm.

“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,”

“Oh,” You nod, but he continues.

“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,”

“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.”

You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes.

You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,”

He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening.

“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,”

A small smile appears on his lips.

“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,”

“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,”

Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?”

He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,”

“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”

“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,”

His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?”

You nod again.

“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?”

It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much.

“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.”

He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,”

You nod.

“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him.

You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,”

He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words.

“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.”

He nods once, his shoulders tense again.

“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”

He softens, “No, no I don’t,”

“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”

“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks.

“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,”

He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.

“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.”

“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.”

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks.

“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,”

He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?”

He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,”

He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe.

His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday.

When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air.

“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?”

“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,”

“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.”

“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again.

“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?”

He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too.

“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,”

“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,”

You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him.

“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,”

“Right,” You blush darker.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?”

You nod quickly.

One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.”

You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time.

“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.”

The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs.

“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,”

“The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,”

He smiles, “Those are your favorites?”

You nod.

“And the roleplay?” He asks.

“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,”

“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips.

You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,”

“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?”

You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,”

“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater.

“Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,”

“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan.

“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,”

The button opens.

“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,”

Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?”

You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons.

“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”

“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead.

He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,”

You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,”

He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly.

“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,”

You nod, “So good,”

“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,”

You’re close.

“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,”

“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right.

“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,”

“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,”

“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,”

“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,”

He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips.

You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,”

He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,”

“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming.

“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,”

A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple.

“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,”

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge.

“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,”

“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.

Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move.

He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,”

His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise.

“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,”

You shiver, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,”

“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile.

As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,”

“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes.

“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,”

“So come inside me,” You smile.

The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,”

You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,”

“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,”

“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,”

He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,”

“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions.

“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?”

“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,”

“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh.

You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,”

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?”

“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit.

“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands.

“Yes,” You answer quickly.

“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,”

“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.

“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,”

You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real.

Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real.

He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?”

“So good,” You sigh.

“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers.

“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,”

“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble.

“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body.

“Soon,” He promises.

You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit.

“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,”

“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,”

A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,”

“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,”

The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something.

It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor.

“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,”

“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,”

“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”

“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,”

He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,”

Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight.

He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks.

“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?”

You nod, still trying to catch your breath.

He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,”

You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,”

A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,”

“It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,”

“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair.

“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,”

You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,”

“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,”

You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,”

“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up.

You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,”

“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes.

“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss.

“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”

“I don’t know how I did it,”

He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,”

He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss.

“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,”

“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs.

“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you.

“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,”

“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?”

“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,”

He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs.

Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you.

“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants.

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?”

“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet.

He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly.

You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he.

“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,”

You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed.

He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,”

You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him.

“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,”

You nod.

“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,”

You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire.

He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs.

His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you.

“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,”

He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,”

“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.

“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open.

“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust.

“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress.

“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low.

“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you.

“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,”

Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins.

His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?”

“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,”

“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,”

“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him.

“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?”

“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,”

“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,”

“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll.

He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips.

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,”

He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer.

“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?”

All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together.

He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,”

Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan.

“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,”

You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin.

You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself.

“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,”

He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,”

The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively.

“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you.

With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side.

“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?”

“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion.

It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you.

“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,”

“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,”

He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly.

“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little.

“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”

“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock.

“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,”

A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest.

“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,”

Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,”

“Mm, yeah? Say that again,”

“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,”

“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now.

Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,”

“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,”

You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,”

“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,”

He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips.

“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,”

“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet.

You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed.

He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble.

“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,”

Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good.

You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours.

“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,”

“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,”

You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly.

“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,”

The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling.

“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,”

Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge.

You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock.

“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?”

Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,”

Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest.

It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,”

Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together.

“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees.

He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.

You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment.

You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,”

“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you.

“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?”

He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,”

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise.

“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,”

You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,”

He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?”

“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones.

“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water.

“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam.

“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you.

“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all.

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip.

Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap.

“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,”

You look up from the rippling water.

“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks.

You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,”

“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.”

“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand.

“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.”

“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together.

Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?”

“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little.

“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,”

“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,”

“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back.

You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,”

“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly.

“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,”

He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,”

“You like me,” You peck his lips.

“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,”

#honeyhotteoks updates #honeyhotteoks fics #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez #yeosang ff #yeosang fic #yeosang smut

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elle-thereafter · 2 months ago

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Perc'ahlia Smut Fic Recs

After S3E3 of The Legend of Vox Machina dropped the stats on my smut fics jumped overnight which was entertaining. Which strongly indicates a lot of you are looking for some sweet Perc'ahlia smut to follow-up the delights provided to us by the animated series.

Myself and some folks from the Perc'ahlia Week Discord server are very happy to provide a list of our favourites. Some of these (including some of their summaries and tags below) will contain spoilers beyond tLoVM S3E3 so tread lightly into the cut if you care deeply about spoilers. Assume every single one of the fics below contains explicit sex between Percy and Vex. I've included the AO3 summary and the helpful Additional Tags from AO3 to help you zoom in on your favourite thinigs and avoid the things you're less fond of.

After Dinner by Lycaboros

Summary: Vex has some definite ideas for this evening's activities. AO3 Tags: Sex Toys, Toys, Riding Crops, Teasing, Orgasm Delay/Denial

Bathing for Fun and Profit by ViciousRhythm

Summary: The bath sex we all know happened and the sex on a pile of money that Vex'ahlia deserves. AO3 Tags: spoilers for episode 81, Bath Sex, Incredibly self indulgent, sex on a pile of money, PWP

the beast you've made of me by seimaisin

Summary: Vex finds herself transported to her very first Wild Hunt. Percy and Orthax are determined to make her first time a memorable one. AO3 Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Werewolf Sex, Tentacles, Bondage, Animal Transformation, Chases, Dominance, Consensual Non-Consent, Erotic Horror

before those hands pulled me from the earth by worth_the_risk

Summary: Vex knew the gods were still living, sequestered behind the Divine Gate as they may be. She knew their interactions with those who still walked Exandria were limited, but purposeful. She had never had reason to thank any of them. Now, she may have to consider it. AO3 Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Explicit Consent, Risk Waxes Poetic About Scar Tissue Again, Past Character Death, Canon Compliant, If you're here from TLoVM and have not listened to C1 here there be spoilers, Scars, Cunnilingus, Love Confessions, Campaign 1 Spoilers through Episode 72-74-ish?, Vaginal Sex

charmeause by anonymous

Summary: Percy takes the material of the hem between his fingers and absently feels at the embroidery, eyes locked onto her and her scrunched nose of confusion. “When you said you’d be right back, my mind had gone to those little rabbit slippers, not… lingerie.” AO3 Tags: Lingerie, PWP, Cunnilingus, Post-Canon, established marriage, Gratuitously sweaty Percy, Stripping, Houston they're in LOVE, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut

Comparative Anatomy by Shippeh

Summary: Percy drags Keyleth to a frat party on an errand to find numbers for a project, and ends up discovering something (or someone) a lot more interesting. AO3 Tags: College AU

Control by subtropicalStenella

Summary: Percy needs to sleep, and take better care of himself, but he's also a stubborn bastard and needs to be tricked into it. AO3 Tags: Dirty Talk, Mutual Masturbation, Fantasizing, Multiple Orgasms, Erotic Electrostimulation, Prostate Milking, Overstimulation, Praise Kink

Courage To Go On by subtropicalStenella

Summary: It's That Scene, because we love to fill in fade-to-blacks and I love the powerplay of "I open the door, COMPLETELY NAKED." but also I love damaged people and working through that damage. AO3 Tags: First Time, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Desk Sex, Light Dom/sub, Light Bondage, Introspection, deliberately ignoring that introspection, Banter as Foreplay

darling, so it goes (some things are meant to be) by mischiefseven

Summary: It's the night before the fight with Vorugal, and Vex has left too much unsaid for far too long. AO3 Tags: Past Character Death, Love Confessions, Life-Affirming Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Debauchery by ladyofrosefire

Summary: If one knows where to look, there is a shop in Emon where one can find all manner of delightful things. Vex lures Percy into it one afternoon while they’re in the city for business. Or: Percy gets pegged. AO3 Tags: Pegging, Sex Toys

Deifying (flew like a moth to you, sunlight) by ladyofrosefire

Summary: Percy and Vex share a lazy morning shortly after their return from Pandemonium. AO3 Tags: Episode: the Search for Bob Spoilers, Cunnilingus, sun freckles, mild blasphemy, Morning Sex

Disciple by ladyofrosefire

Summary: Vex has a new house, new boots, and a very attractive partner who wants to please her in every way he can. That's a recipe for an excellent night. AO3 Tags: BDSM, Dom/sub, light boot worship, Cunnilingus, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Domme!Vex, Riding, Praise Kink, Fellatio, Verbal Bondage, Aftercare, PWP

everyone can see (few can test by feeling) by mischiefseven

Summary: Vex needs distraction. Percy is delighted to oblige. AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Inappropriate Use of 16th Century Italian Literature

everything has changed (and now it's only you that matters) by rozegold

Summary: Vex takes care of Percy after his second brush with death. AO3 Tags: Blow Jobs, Post-Chroma Conclave

The Feathers in Her Hair by pagerunner

Summary: When Vex starts making changes to the distinctive feathers she wears, Percy begins to suspect she's sending him a sign. Perc'ahlia fic, written between episodes 62 and 63, but without specific spoilers. AO3 Tags: None

A Game of Later by thereafter

Summary: An evening at the opera escalates. Some things are better left unresolved, at least for a little while. Shameless smut, in three acts. AO3 Tags: Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Public Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn IS the plot, Vex'ahlia is a Little Shit, Percival is also a Little Shit, they are both little shits

Get your hands dirty by umwelt

Summary: It’s not his handwriting. He hasn’t seen ink in weeks, too scrapped for coin for the luxury. The P starting at the base of his hand, affording the traitor his distinction, his name eating up the space of the pad of Percy’s left thumb. Opens his palm. Yes - on the inside of each finger, a name: Doctor Ripley. Lord Briarwood. Lady Briarwood. Sir Kerrion Stonefell. AO3 Tags: Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Percival "Percy" de Rolo III Has Issues, Traumatized Percival "Percy" de Rolo III, Campaign 1, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe, Percy is the pact weapon AU, Magical Tattoos, me: so. tattoos hot. percy hot. the list hot. what if… all three??, Mild Gore, Injury Recovery, Magical Prosthetic. sort of., henna, Rated for smut in last chapter, Comfort Sex, Woman on Top, None of the angsty tags apply to the sex, Follows Campaign 1 with some extra TLOVM ~flavor~ in places

Grey by percivalium

Summary: There’s a rumble of gruff voices at the table as various other diplomats react to Daventine’s outburst. Silverware clatters, glasses and crystal goblets tink and the general hubbub of the biannual trade route summit create a very unique mashup of noises in the dining hall. And Vex’ahlia couldn’t give a single shit about any of it. AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Quickie, Sneaking Away to Fuck During Dinner, Established Relationship

hard to talk (when i'm with you) by percahlia

Summary: Percy's pretty sure at this point that his wife's favorite hobby is showing up and knocking the breath out of him, one way or another. AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Blow Jobs, Desk Sex, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, domestic sex, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex

Have some fun tonight by steelneena

Summary: Ever since that night at the lake, Percy and Vex have made a habit of getting carried away rather often. But it’s really whose house – and more importantly, whose bedroom within said house - they’re in that makes things…tenuous for Percy. It just so happens to be Vex’s dad’s house. And they just so happen to be Vex’s dad’s bed. In Percy’s defense, Vex hadn’t exactly told him until it was too little too late. AO3 Tags: Early 2000's aesthetic college halloween party, to keep with the theme, Mirror Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, brief mention of recreational drugs, Percy is relatively inexperienced still, Vex is very loving, Vaginal Sex, Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, stupid halloween jokes and passtimes, may have been lightly influenced by Scream, Playful Sex, love is best kink

How the Other Half Lives by sabinelagrande

Summary: Percy knows what he likes. He thinks so, anyway. AO3 Tags: Femdom, Dom Vex'ahlia, Dom Percy de Rolo, Sub Percy de Rolo, Under-negotiated Kink, Floor Sex, Self-Discovery, 094-e095 Timeskip, Dom/sub

If You Wanna Be Mine by ViciousRhythm

Summary: For all that Percy can sometimes be really eloquent, he's sometimes really…not. AO3 Tags: Car Sex, just barely touches on dom/sub dynamics, Modern AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Humor

I'll Shout From the Mountains (Love Looks Good on You) by Aesthetic_Pigeon

Summary: Vex is tired of Percy working late into the night and decides to set things right. AO3 Tags: Episode: c01e095 One Year Later…, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Praise Kink, Coming In Pants, Percival "Percy" de Rolo III Has a Tremor, Idiots in Love

Insight Check by percivalium

Summary: Grey Hunt patrols are long, a bit tedious and solitary. Vex'ahlia must find ways to entertain her brain while performing her Grey Hunt duties out in the Parchwood. One defiantly un-ladylike thought may have caused her some brainrot… and she needs to find a certain Lord of Whitestone to make it a reality. Hopefully he believes her when she claims otherwise. AO3 Tags: Episode: c01e095 One Year Later…, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some Plot, Surprise Blowjob, Torn Clothing, Manual stimulation, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Desk Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Clothes-on Sex, Doggy Style, Hair-pulling, Consensual Kink, Top!Percy, Vex Hands Over the Reins, Ball Massage, Praise Kink, Implied Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs

I wanna make you hungry (then I want to feed you) by writerthewriter

Summary: Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III was not a religious man, yet for one so faithless, he spent an awful lot of time on his knees dedicated to worship. aka the one where percy really loves going down on his wife. AO3 Tags: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, percy likes going down on his wife, Vaginal Fingering, Masturbation, Face-Sitting, Light D/s Dynamics

Jumping the Gun by LadyOfSnakes

Summary: Percival has done something very stupid and very dangerous. Vex is not okay with this. Spoilers through episode 73. AO3 Tags: First Time, Angry Sex, Oral Sex, Explicit Consent

A Lesson in Manners by pagerunner

Summary: Vex may usually be the one to call the shots where intimate matters are concerned, but that isn't to say that Percy doesn't have his own ideas. This one might prove to be especially captivating. Spoiler warning for a couple details post-episode 94/early 100s. AO3 Tags: None

Lost in the Woods with You by Her_Madjesty

Summary: When Percy stumbles away from the group, it’s…mostly by accident. AO3 Tags: Sex Pollen, Feywild Arc, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex

Point Made by sabinelagrande

Summary: An argument is interrupted. AO3 Tags: Post-Chroma Conclave, Vaginal Fingering, Percy makes that +6 DEX work for him

Press by modal_contingency

Summary: Vex is unfailingly good at reading people, and Percy can be the easiest of reads. AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dom/sub, Dirty Talk, Begging, Breathplay

The Private Games We Play by pagerunner

Summary: After game night ends, Vex and Percy decide to delve more deeply into what went on during their explorations of a certain tavern cellar. Yes, this means pretty much what you're thinking. Set just after the post-episode-115 one-shot helmed by Grog. AO3 Tags: Post-Campaign, Grog's one-shot, the meta is strong with this one, and i should not be entrusted with such inappropriate interpretations of game mechanics

A Private Vex Tape by inheritanceofgeek

Summary: Percy has been at the International Convention for Technological Innovation for 4 days and is already going stir crazy with how much he misses his wife. Lucky for him, Vex'ahlia is an innovative woman who misses him just as much as he misses her. And hey, what are webcams for if not to record home made sex tapes? AO3 Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sex Tapes, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Vibrators, Married Life, Mentions of Taryon Darrington, That 7 hour time difference hurts me too, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Fluff and Smut

Put your arms around me, baby by steelneena

Summary: He's not quite sure how he ended up here. He, Percival de Rolo, of all people, who hadn’t wanted to stay in Emon for the summer, who’d wanted to go back home after his year exchange ended, remain cooped up in his room at home with his experiments and his books, was naked in a lake at night, kissing a beautiful woman – also naked – in his lap who could, if he was quite honest, do far better that his wiry, nerdy, early-gone-white self. AO3 Tags: Skinny Dipping, First Time, Hand Jobs, Virgin Percy, Love Confessions, Modern AU, kind of a college au, slight D/s overtones, love is kink, Enthusiastic Consent

remember me love, when i'm reborn by worth_the_risk

Summary: After Elysium, before the Core Anvil, before - well, before. AO3 Tags: Campaign 1, Spoilers through C1E106: The Endless Atheneum, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Life-Affirming Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Established Relationship, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, anticipatory grief

Respite for the Restless by pagerunner

Summary: It's been a difficult, troubling day. Sometimes the best you can do is reach for each other. Percy/Vex vignette, set at the mansion after episode 106. AO3 Tags: None

Satin and sweat by umwelt

Summary: Vex bites Percy’s lip in the hopes he gets the message. His fingers slow, only movement at all because she can feel every twitch deep in her cunt. Sorry - she, the lady robbed in a magpie’s iridescent blacks and whites, hostess of the soirée, bites the lip of this bespectacled owl of a man in the hopes he gets the message. It is a masquerade, after all, and one should keep up appearances. AO3 Tags: Campaign 1, Could be an AU could be canon compliant who knows!, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Vaginal Fingering, Hand & Finger Kink, Quickies, Semi-Public Sex, Clothed Sex, Shameless Smut

scarcely can speak for my thinking (what you'd do to me tonight) by worth_the_risk

Summary: “Is it terrible that we are abandoning our best friend’s first state birthday dinner?” The airy tone of her voice suggested she had already divined precisely how she felt about it. “I think Keyleth will forgive us for the excursion, if she even notices our absence.” AO3 Tags: Secret Marriage, Quickies, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Campaign 1, Spoilers through Episode 95: One Year Later…, Spoilers for The Legend of Vox Machina, Vaginal Sex, Established Relationship, Competency Kink

Second Watch by threepwillow

Summary: Depleted spell slots and some near-death experiences leave an abridged, mansionless Vox Machina camping out under the stars; but now Vex'ahlia's husband is in a mood, and who knew gnomes were such light sleepers? AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Hand & Finger Kink, That 22 Dexterity Tho, Post-Canon

Seen by subtropicalStenella

Summary: Percy acts smooth but it's a mask over an excitable, anxious dork and we love him for it AO3 Tags: Teasing, Cock Tease, Prostate Massage, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Percy has some internalized prudishness and it's adorable, and he's an anxious dork, Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Titfuck

someone ought to corrupt you on the dance floor by blackglass

Summary: It's Senior Week and the twins' birthday and Vox Machina is headed to the club to celebrate. With only a week left until they all graduate and go their separate ways, Vex decides she's done with wondering "what if?" Percy is not prepared for what's about to hit him. AO3 Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Porn with Feelings, Racebending, Everyone in Vox Machina is multiracial, except percy, Palest white boy to ever be a pale white boy, Background Vax/Gilmore, Background Kash/Keyleth, Clubbing, Grinding

Spoiled by thereafter

Summary: Percy schemes. Vex'ahlia is spoiled. AO3 Tags: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Softdom Percy, Vex Gets Spoiled

Stand and Deliver by ladyofrosefire

Summary: Percy really just wants to get ravished by a famous outlaw. Vex. He means Vex. AO3 Tags: Sexual Roleplay, Gun Kink, Outdoor Sex, Consensual Kink, Consensual Non-Consent

the sweetest distractions by rozegold

Summary: Coaxing Percy out of his workshop is something Vex has become very good at over the years, but sometimes she has to fight dirty for his own good. AO3 Tags: Fluff and Smut, Domestic smut, Happily Married Banging, Several Years Post-Campaign, Vex In Percy's Coat, Unconventional Usage of Percy's Workshop

take a step that is new by Griftings

Summary: Or, the one where Vex is enthusiastic, Percy is unsure, and… well, basically there's a threesome. With Jarett. AO3 Tags: Fluff and Smut, Crack, Threesome - F/M/M, PWP, Sort Of, like there's sort of a plot but it's honestly almost entirely just sex

Taking a Break by Lycaboros

Summary: Percy is TRYING to get some work done. It's not working very well for him. AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Interrupted Sex, Rough Sex, Desk Sex, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, post campaign one, Edging

a teaching moment by rozegold

Summary: Percy's eager to branch out and, well, how can Vex say no to that? AO3 Tags: Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Strap-Ons, Vex Teaches Percy About Blow Jobs, Finger Sucking, Percy's Got A Bit Of An Oral Fixation

under your moonlit gaze by seimaisin

Summary: Vex, Percy, the hot springs, and sex. With a brief interruption from Scanlan. AO3 Tags: Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Unwind already by unknownlifeform

Summary: Percy gets pegged by Vex for the first time. Things that help this activity: Percy relaxing and unclenching. Things Vex has to coax Percy into doing: AO3 Tags: Pegging, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Established Relationship, First Time Bottoming, Porn with Feelings, they are in love your honorand also they are silly!!, this is a being stupid during sex propaganda account, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

we are learning to make fire by mischiefseven

Summary: The citizens of Whitestone celebrate Winter’s Crest. Their lord and lady have a much more personal celebration of their own. AO3 Tags: Married Sex, Desk Sex, Cunnilingus, newlyweds, Fluff, Consensual Kink, Explicit Consent

whatever you do (do it for me, baby) by mischiefseven

Summary: Percy finds something that belongs to Vex. After testing, he takes it upon himself to make some improvements. AO3 Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dildos, Mutual Masturbation, Pegging

what she wants by rozegold

Summary: Vex has discovered quite a lovely thing because of her relationship with Percy: ladies get what they want. Except sometimes, they don't. AO3 Tags: Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Vex Can Dish But She Can't Take, Percy Gets Some Payback

when the wicked play by seimaisin

Summary: Vex and Percy only know each other online, through their favorite video game. They're both taken by surprise when their flirty, competitive relationship turns into a long-distance erotic game. Except, it may not be as long-distance as they think, and Percy is definitely more than Vex realizes. His family's fame leads them to a real-life collision, and suddenly everything is way more complicated than it seemed on the internet … (abandoned but fun) AO3 Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Nude Photos, Online Friendship, Cybersex

you'll never know unless we go by sabinelagrande

Summary: Nothing about this goes right, but it's perfect. AO3 Tags: Rough Body Play, Rope Bondage, Resistance Play, Hair-pulling, Rough Sex, Maledom, Dom Percy de Rolo, Sub Vex'ahlia

#cr fic recs #cr fic #critical role fic #perc'ahlia #cw: sex #spicy reading #for all you newcomers to perc'ahlia #cr fanfic #critical role fanfic #the legend of vox machina #tlovm season 3 #tlovm spoilers

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ianthedebonair · 8 months ago

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What would Wei say? (🔞choices below the cut)

➡️"So can you make multiple copies of me here?"

➡️"How about you make a bunch of other Damiens?"

*Links above lead to gratuitous, self-indulgent smut. Definitely not safe for work.

Behold, the fruit of the bashful Chen poll. It was meant to be a single pinup-like illustration, but one thing led to another (and with valuable inspiration from @ladyshivs and @extreme-neutral), it ended up as another choose your own smut 😌😌.

(Also, reblogs are disabled on the linked posts. So, if you’re planning to, reblog this one instead 🫣)

#fhr #fallen hero #steelstep #marshal steel #sidestep #fhr sidestep #fhr steel #wei chen #damien becker #art #my art #this is my contribution to the telepathic sex body of knowledge #also nice to draw damien nerding out about his telepathy for a change #since a lot of his burdens have been associated with his powers in the books #he's doing it for himself as much as for chen here #until it got derailed (in a good way)#the HOOPS i had to go through to post this #i'm sorry for the additional clicks 😭 had to do it to 'em

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f1crecs · 11 months ago

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Fic Rec List - Lando/Oscar

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let us know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want us to do next? please read the faqs and then head to the inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments

Only a few months ago, we featured a Lando/Oscar fic on our super rare pair list. Now, it's our most requested ship. Wow!

We hope you enjoy these ones! 🍊

nsfw: By a thread by @mctwinkdom | 5k | E

Oscar and Lando have a text conversation about thongs – things escalate from there. I loved the formatting of this fic, the texting really works well as a structure and the rest is filled up by the authors lovely characterization of both Lando and Oscar. I especially love Oscar being his normal aloof self, a little bit nervous about his new teammate (but so so in to it when the convo turns spicy) while Lando is just a strange little horny boy with a liking for ”thongs”.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. He thought his answer was pretty straightforward, didn’t think he’d have to spell it out for Lando. (me): I wasn’t talking about shoes in my tweet” Now that would teach him. Fucking British. Always thinking they have full powers over the English language. Okay, granted, maybe they invented it but still.

Sanctus by debrief | T | 5.5k

This is a renaissance au with lovers to enemies (and back), beginning with Oscar serving Lando's high-status family. What I like: This is some of the most incredible writing I've encountered. Not only is it a masterclass in non-linear narratives, but it's packed with striking imagery and fascinating power dynamics. There are phrases and sentences in this fic that I can quote off the top of my head. It's immersive and heart-wrenching and beautiful.

'Lando had been blithe, Oscar had been brave. They were seventeen and unforgivably naive. It was a time of spires, domes, cathedrals, rebirth celebrated at the heart of the greatest city-state this side of the world. A war of high art and marginalized decadence, long expanses of moon-kissed skin bathed in gratuitous bathos, love and lust flirting vows over gilt-framed canvases commissioned by wealthy nobles who have known neither.'

legerdemain by anonymous | Not Rated | 5.8k

Oscar gets roped into teaching Lando how to play chess, and quickly finds out that Lando's endgame is a lot more complicated than it seems. I loved this fic for a variety of reasons - firstly because of the way that the author's love for and understanding of chess shines through so clearly. And secondly, the characterisation of both Lando and Oscar is complex and witty and so fitting to who they both are. Lando is cheeky and a little weird and far sharper than he lets on, and Oscar is dry and matter-of-fact and unexpectedly into Lando. This is one of those fics that can get you sold on the Lando/Oscar pairing if you were initially uncertain about it - the slow build-up of tension and realisation is brilliantly captured, with chess and chess strategy being used to build UST between these two in a way that feels perfectly fitting to them.

'“Gotcha,” Lando says. “So like. D’you prefer blowjobs?” He moves the white rook to attack the hanging pawn and figures out the rest of the endgame puzzle pretty effortlessly.'

soft vanilla foreplay by anonymous | M | 7k

AU. Lando, a member of a Robin Hood style crime group, meets Oscar, who turns out to be a cat-hybrid vigilante superhero himself. Oscar joins Lando’s gang. Together they fight injustice (by doing crime). This fic is really well written and incredibly funny. It leans hard into the cat-Oscar joke - Oscar is very catlike in all the best ways and has some mannerisms that made me think the author definitely has one. Their meet-cute is hilarious and sets the tone for the entire fic.

' “No, I actually inherited the genes from my ancestors, who came from a planet of felids.” “Excuse me, did you mean a planet of furries?” “No, Jesus, Lando,” Oscar says emphatically, then he’s laughing, crinkling eyes and soft cheeks and bunny teeth. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, I was found, um,” Oscar says, sobering from the laugh. He takes a deep breath. “In a handbag. Someone left me on the. Doorstep of a stranger’s house.” Lando looks up and gauges Oscar’s expression. He’s telling the truth. “I don’t know why I’m a cat,” Oscar says. Makes this shrugging expression without actually shrugging. “So…” Lando says. “How did you find out?” “Well. For one, I can speak to cats,” Oscar answers. Huh. This probably explains all the neighbourhood cats serenading Oscar from his balcony so much. “Okay,” Lando says, taking it all in stride. “And you fight crime by night?” “I work graveyard shifts at the supermarket,” Oscar says. “Yeah. Part-time. That’s three out of seven nights.” And Oscar is with Lando for two or three of the four remaining nights (they fuck every evening though) (and morning). Anyways, the maths doesn’t add up. Oscar sighs. “Well, I.” He pauses. “I climb up to fancy penthouses of people who run trust mills, and I take stuff. Then I redistribute.” Oh. Lando is mouthing the oh. “You’re a cat burglar,” Lando whispers it like it’s the funniest secret ever.'

nsfw: Needs Improvement by @strawberry-daiquiris | 7.1k | E

Zak tells Oscar his 'teammate communication' needs improvement. Mark sends him to a 'Psychic, Clairvoyant, Sorcerer' who ends up doing some voodoo that leads to Oscar and Lando being able to read each others' thoughts. Its got great characterisations and some humour mixed in with some angst and, of course, some smut. Plus one of the first Landoscar fics I read and it really drew me in.

'If he’s really that worried, Mark suggests, he could see a sports psychologist. Someone who can advise him how to work with Lando, really get to the core of what it means to be a good teammate. They could even do sessions together. “Like couples therapy.” Mark grins, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “Only worse, because you won’t get any sex out of it.” The irony, really, is that Oscar and Lando don’t not get on. He’d actually thought they were doing pretty well. Lando laughs at his jokes, Oscar smiles through his stories. They don’t see eye to eye on music, or hobbies, or the taste of fish, but none of those things matter on track anyway. Even more ironic is that Oscar really wouldn’t mind having sex with Lando, if he’s honest.'

nsfw: Never have I ever by @mctwinkdom | E | 13k

Lando and Oscar play a game of Never Have I Ever, and it leads to some interesting revelations. Although its majority (very good) smut, this was a very heartwarming fic. The dialogue is fun and keeps you reading more. The characterisation of them feels realistic!

'But there was something between them, without shape or name, something that made them avert their gaze after staring at each other for one second too long, something that made them slightly jump if their hands were to brush. Something Lando had named in his mind: “I wanna fuck my teammate: the Remix”, in bold orange (papaya) letters with some glitter and fireworks.'

we are all in the butter but some of us are looking at the cars by xiaoluclair | T | 14.3k

Oscar's first season in F1 is about reaching the stars. It becomes about reaching Lando, too. The timing of this one feels very real to me, the way pieces slowly slot into place. The author places threads and waits until the end to pull on all of them, and it's lovely.

'Peer pressure, thinks Oscar, this is peer pressure. But Lando keeps it held out, eyes on Oscar and Oscar. Oscar takes the damn shoe. It’s probably one of the oddest experiences of his life. When he lowers it again, can feel the thin river of it cold on his chin, Lando’s still looking at him. Crows have walked in the skin beside his eyes.A minute later, Oscar watches him tip his head back, shoe against his mouth. Light shines through the gap and, just for a moment, it looks like he is swallowing the sun itself.'

nsfw: carried away by venerat | E | 22.1k

AU, non drivers. Lando impulsively asks Oscar to pretend to be his boyfriend to make an ex jealous. Oscar agrees, even though it's probably a bad idea when he likes Lando so much. Lando gradually comes to realise he is in love with Oscar. I am crazy for the fake dating trope. This has all the best parts of it - miscommunication, angst, gradual feelings realisation from the POV character and obvious pining from the other. Venerat is so good at this and the fic is a lovely journey. The characterisations are perfect, especially Oscar and his natural talent for understatement, which muddies the waters a bit.

'If there was anything Oscar would do, it was was focus very intently on the task assigned to him, until he got it exactly fucking right. That was what made him perfect for this particular task: the task of being Lando’s boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. “Okay,” Lando said, clearing his throat. “Stunning. Was thinking, maybe we could try it out at the cinema tomorrow.” He, Oscar, and the Lefrères were going to see the new Bond film. It was the perfect opportunity to be dickish and in love, as far as Lando was concerned. “Just didn’t want you to get all jumpy if I touched you,” he explained. “If that’s alright. Like. Yeah.” Oscar nodded. “Got it. Sounds good, mate. I’ll be, er, ready.” It was nice to be around such passion. Lando rolled his eyes. He was smiling inside, when he thought it. But Oscar did have some capacity to surprise him. Before Lando fucked off, Oscar stepped forward, closing the normal non-sexual gap between them, and wrapped Lando in a light hug. It was nothing—Oscar’s arms were barely even squeezing him—but Lando’s breath still caught in his chest like a stupid fucking idiot, freezing inside the hug. “Have a good one,” Oscar said when he drew back. He was pink, which made Lando feel better, given that his own ears were warming. Okay. They clearly needed practice. Desperately, in fact. “You too, babe,” Lando said, and winked. Then, before he could embarrass himself further, he spun on his heel and walked out.'

nsfw: climb up to your lips by @scenetocause | E | 28k (wip)

This fic is Lando/girl!Oscar (the always-a-different-sex trope). Lando has a massive crush on his teammate. He also has a submissive streak that starts to express itself around her. As their relationship develops, she picks up on this and starts finding ways to take care of him. They’re both a bit inexperienced at relationships and sex in general. I just love these two. They’re both slightly weird and awkward and don’t quite fit with anyone else but are turning out to be perfect for one another. It’s a learning curve for them both.

“Yeah, fuck.” Lando has to tilt his head back onto the sofa. He can feel it in his arse, where she touched him. He might feel it for the rest of his life. “Yeah, I. Fuck.” “Later.” she says, like a promise. It takes him a moment to work out she means them, later. Fucking. Which might be ambitious because he currently feels like he needs a refractory period of about a decade, after that one but he won’t spoil her dreams just yet. She's acidic, clever as ever in debrief and brutal in the way she deconstructs her own, botched Q3. Lando's probably staring at her a bit lovestruck but he's been doing that all season anyway so no one has to know it's over the phantom sensation of her inside him. Despite the lecture from Zak earlier Oscar tucks him under her arm on the drive from the hotel, playing with his hair. He's actually less worried about being killed by Andrea or whatever now but still doesn't get his phone out because he hasn't had time to clean up his insta follows and he doesn't want Oscar to think he's into anyone else. For someone who doesn't seem to think much of herself, she seems fairly assured he likes her. Which might, in retrospect, be something to do with the best part of a year he spent broadcasting that to her before he'd even realised it himself.'

already home by @nyoomfruits | T | 32.5k

Lando marries Oscar, his best friend and roommate, to keep his family from worrying about him so much. This is an absolute gem. It's sweet, funny, cozy, and the dynamic between the pairing and their friends is delightful.

“Yeah, well, you’re marrying me, so,” Lando says, sticking out his tongue, and Oscar laughs, that loud, bursting out of him laugh he does sometimes where he completely folds his body in half. Lando hides his self-satisfied smirk behind another bite of his pancake, and pretends like he isn’t committing the little laugh lines in the corner of Oscar’s eyes to his memory.'

thank you to @singsweetmelodies, @ocontraire, @maaxverstappen, @lydia-petze, @frickinsweet & @welightitup for compiling this list 🧡

#landoscar #driver:lando #driver:oscar #pairing:lando/oscar

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themollyjay · 8 months ago

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Watch ARK: The Animated Series!!!!

So, I binged ARK: The Animated series today. It's a TV show, which is based on a video game and not only is it great but, I swear to God, whoever wrote this set out with the intention of pissing off the Gamerbro crowd as much as humanly possible.

Stuff that will make the Gamerbros cry and whine like little babies: 01). Main Character is a Aboriginal Australian Lesbian (Voiced by an Aboriginal Australian Actress no less). 02). Main Character's wife is a blue haired women who works as a translator for a humanitarian air organization (voiced by Elliot Page). 03). Main Character is a neurodivergent paleontologist. 04). Main Character's mother was a civil rights activist. 05). There's a plot line revolving around protesting the taking of Aboriginal lands. 06). Another major character is a Chinese Warrior Woman who is also a great big lesbian (voiced my Michelle Yeoh). 07). Main villain is a Roman General (Voiced by Gerard Butler) 08). Secondary Villain is an 19th century British Scientist (Voiced by David Tenant) 09). Tertiary Villain is a female Roman Gladiator. 10). Another major character is a Lakota man from the 19th century who was abducted from his tribe and sent to one of the Indian boarding schools. 11). The Main Character is better at science than the 19th Century British Scientist guy.

Great things about the show: 01). It's very gay. Like, so gay. 02). The characters are freaking awesome. 03). There are freaking dinosaurs. So many dinosaurs. 04). It makes you feel. Just, seriously, it makes you fucking feel.

Cons: 01). Content Warning: Self Unaliving in episode 1 02). This show is fucking violent. Like, I get that there's this whole 'battle for survival' thing going on, but we're talking kind of gratuitous 03). levels of violence. Seriously, half the animation budget was spent on red paint. That much violence. 04). The show is predictable AF. Like, I don't mind that, but don't expect any real surprises or plot twists.

In conclusion: Watch the fuck out of this show, because cons aside, it was freaking amazing. It's not like, Arcane levels of perfection, but if you want a fun, gay, show to watch, this is a great choice. There is also a part too already filmed and in the can which will drop later this year, so we're definitely getting more, and even the preview for Part II has gay in it.

#ark the animated series #ark: the animated series #lesbian characters #lesbian tv #sapphic characters #sapphic tv #representation #minor spoilers #cw: blood #cw: gore #dinosaurs #ark tas

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wangxianficfinder · 10 months ago

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Fic Finder

Feb 1st

~*~

1. Hey! Thank you so much for your hardwork!

So I've been looking for this fic for days now, I just cant find it. I can't remember if Wwx is the omega but its an abo fic where wwx had 4 children i think. And he thinks theyre all dead but theyre not. He definitely had 2 daughters? Or was it one? But basically there was this scene where they all reunited in the jingshi and they were crying.

Can somebody help me find this fic please? THANK YOU :") @losing-victor

FOUND! I think the fic for #1 of the most recent Fic Finder, where WWX has kids and they reunite in the Jingshi, may be Like The Butterfly by Setari (T, 18k, wangxian, WIP, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies AU, Next Generation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Unresolved Emotional Tension) on AO3. It’s part of a series ‘The Wei Family’, with three stories total.

~*~

2. Hello all! I am looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is blind and the Jiang he grew up with know but the Lans don’t know until the lectures when Lan Qiren yells at Wuxian for taking sloppy notes and he is like “I can’t see, how can I tell if my writing is sloppy?” It is not “Close Your Eyes, Feel My Heartbeat” by ThatDesiGirl, I just reread it to check. Any guesses? Thank you!

FOUND? The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, WIP, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Self-Indulgent, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant)

~*~

3. Hi; for fic finder, could you help me find shapeshifter!WWX fic? Its an old fic. Its a series too i think (3 fic with the first in the series completed and the second part is WIP). I think its tiger WWX (not sure). After WC throws WWX to burial mound, WWX shift to tiger. He cant shift back to human. He hunts the wen in tiger form. He help NHS when he is in the river. NHS was attacked by the wen (either wen or a yao). They then goes to Qinghe. In Qinghe, JWY and LWJ bring back WC to Qinghe to interrogate him. But WWX sees WC and bite him to death. I think WWX is the one who killed WRH too. He bit WRH to death i think

In the second part of the series, after war it was found out that WWX is shapeshifter and many wants to kill (?) Him. The last time i read this, it still only has 1 or 2 chapter.

That all i can remember. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 54k, WangXian, Shapeshifters, Fix-it fic, Animal Pelts, Tiger WWX, Found Family, adopted family, Yungmeng Siblings, Canon appropriate angst and violence, Gratuitous OCs)

~*~

4. i read this a while back but can't remember the name of it, if anyone can find it or knows the name please let me know .

Nie huaisang, lan zhan, Jiang chang active a time travel array. Huaisang and land zhan did NOT know JC altered the array to erase WY. LZ eventually forces JC to fix it and bring WY back.

When JC altered the array to bring WY back he messed up somewhat and the price was his own core disapp //

I read a FF a while back and cannot remember the name of it, if someone could help me out, I would LOVE to reread it.

Years after Wei WuXian died, Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang want to travel back in time to save Wei Ying and Nei Mingjue. NHS and LWJ finds an array but realize they cannot activate it without Jiang Cheng's help.

However they didn't realize that JC changed the array until they were back in Cloud Recess lecture. LWJ punches JC and

JC had erased WWX from existence. Eventually LWJ made JC fix it and bring back WWX.

After WWX is brought back he reveals the gold core transfer along with other secrets.

However when JC redid the array and brought WWX back is made his own core slowly disintegrate.

They do save the Wen Remnants and and Wen Qing actually helps LWJ finish destroying JCs core when he is challenged to a dual.

@prissyp2014

FOUND? The Way It Wasn’t by KouriArashi (T, 72k, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, (eventually haha), Slow Build, Family Feels, Moral Ambiguity, Eventual Happy Ending)

FOUND? Not This Time by Marinelifeclub (M, 93k, WangXian, SangNing, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Angst Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Resentful WWX, Established Relationship, POV Alternating, Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Minor XuanLi, not for jc fans, eventual 3zun, Kid Fic)

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5. Hello! For the fic finder/s, thank you in advance. ♡

For days I've been trying to find this fic. I'm not sure with the details like if wei wuxian is a farmer here or older (i think he is a farmer though) but what I remember is lan wangji making advances to wei wuxian while sleeping (wei wuxian here is known as a heavy sleeper ) but at some point wei wuxian got awake during those and from then on anticipate what lan wangji gonna do, so he knows what lan wangji is doing and there's a number of that that happens. Also, lan wangji is running out of time because he was about to go to the main central or the palace to take an imperial exam (? I'm not sure if that's the term) anyway, he was going with lan sizhui to take that exam. I'm not sure if he goes on the day of the exam but I vaguely remember that he confess his feelings to wei wuxian before or on that day. Then they did the everyday. ヾ(＠゜▽゜＠）��

FOUND? #5 is "like the waves return to the shore, again and again" but it's been deleted. There's a link to a cache on the @wangxianficrecs blog around Jan 20, maybe Mod Kay can help?

Regarding #5, I have that story saved. So, if anyone wants to read it, send an ask for WangxianFicRecs or a message to @the-last-d-boy with your mail adress and I'll send it to you. ~Mod Kay

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6. Hi! I've been trying to find a fic (I believe it's a time travel au where Lwj and Jc, or just Jc I'm not sure, travel back in time), but the only scene I remember is a scene where Jc for some reason gets mad with Wwx during the Sunshot Campaign after finding Wwx in the woods around the war camp (I don't remember what Wwx was doing). Jc hits Wwx with zidian and Wwx is sent flying into a tree. Jc gets scared after Wwx doesn't get up and goes see if Wwx is ok, only to find out Wwx's heart is no longer beating. Lwj (I don't remember if he arrived after Jc hit Wwx or if he was already in the woods with Wwx), then, manages to make Wwx's heart beat again by performing CPR on him.

can't find the fic, but I remember it. Maybe these details will help. Lan Wangji found out about WWX not having a core after he gets back from being missing (I think by grabbing his wrist maybe?), but Jiang Cheng doesn't know. He didn't expect that hitting WWX with Zidian would be much of a problem for him and he's totally freaked out when WWX collapses and LWJ starts doing CPR which is what you'd do for a non-cultivator

FOUND? these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, ...eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Sunshot Campaign) it isn’t a time travel fic, but it has the scene where jc hits wwx with zidian

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7. Completely unrelated to my last ask, I’m looking for a Dragonji fic where his hoard is bunnies. Lan Xichen tries to talk to him in the bunny field but he’s just chilling in his dragon form with the bunnies finding him Good. Lan Xichen flies to the Burial Mounds for desperate negotiations with Wei Wuxian. Eventually Wei Wuxian mentions that Lan Wangji didn’t have any bunnies until WW gave him some. LX has some realizations from that. @any-mouse

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8. hii!! i was searching for a fic where lwj finds wwx's corpse at the BM and things happen. i don't know much but it was cracky. i hope you can find it!! thanks already :D @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou

FOUND? (we make) a good pair by gamayuglagay (gracon_bacon) (E, 1k, WangXian, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Necrophilia, Foot Fetish, Vajankle, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Crack Taken Seriously) Warning: NECROPHILIA

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9. I read this time travel fic a while ago which I can't find!

I vaguely remember a lot of dimension travel and a-yuan js sort of helping wei wuxian doing the said travel and a-qing is also there. in one part they reach the past but like not really cultivation world (not sure on that) and meet lan xichen, there's also lwj and wwx of that world who help them get back, there's an spaceship and stuff and I think wen qing was also there maybe?

i just realized that the request i sent was way too vague and so is the summary of the fic, which I was misled while looking for it. also if u could add this to the ficfinder post, to explain why this is the fic I was looking for, it is very confusing I'm sorry!!

apparently it wasnt a-yuan who was helping wwx, but rather an original character and its more parallel universes than time travel!! its abeautiful fic!!

FOUND! counterpart by queensmooting (E, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Parallel Universes, Multiple Selves, Kid Fic, some child endangerment (everyone will be fine), lwj can and has gotten pregnant, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, bittersweet ending (ymmv))

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10. hello! i'm looking for a fic where wwx and lwj have a biological child (i'm not sure if it's a-yuan). i think this fic has an omegaverse setting? lwj doesn't know about the child until a bit later on and even then he's unsure bc when he sees the child and asks wwx, wwx tells him to ask again the next time they meet (or he'll tell him more? i'm not sure). but they don't meet again bc wwx dies at qiongqi path on the way to jl's 1 month celebration via a bunch of arrows courtesy of jin zixun and co. he brought along wn and his child, but wn brings the child to cloud recesses secretly, so jzx doesn't die due to wn. i remember there was a scene where they brought wwx's body to jinlin tai and stripped him naked to scan for the hundred holes curse scars, and jins were creepy about it. lwj was dissociating in this scene and he's sorely disappointed in his brother for not helping stop them. please help, i've been thinking abt this fic for days now 😭 @aracchiii

FOUND! 🧡 Born to Blossom, Bloom to Perish by LadyMithiel (M, 113k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O, Mpreg, Angst, Mostly Canon compliant)

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11. Hi!!! I'm trying to find a fic (it's an one-shot, if I remember correctly) that happens during the Sunshot Campaign. One of the soldiers sees Jc and Wwx fighting, and they see Wwx flinching, and trying to back away. This soldier (I think they either were sexuality assaulted or knew someone who was sexuality assaulted and reacted like this towards the abuser, I don't remember which one it is now), and they find Wwx's reactions to Jc way too similar to the reactions of someone towards their abuser and comments this with another soldiers. The "Wwx reacts towards sect leader Jiang like someone who was sexuality assaulted does" comment spreads around, and soon becomes rumors that Jc did rape Wwx. Wwx is confused by how suddenly everyone is sympathetic towards him, treat him with care and don't let him alone with Jc. One of the last scenes is Jc mad because Wwx "tarnished his reputation", Wwx not understanding shit of what's going on and Jc getting real scarry. They were in a secluded place, I think. Lwj is walking about and sees Wwx backed away on a tree while Jc is looking really agressive, Wwx looking scared, and he (who has heard of the rumors), goes like "nope, he's not about to take Wy against his will again. Not on my watch" and totally trashes Jc (I don't remember if only verbally or also physically).

FOUND? might be chapter 15 of Vrishchika's short prompts?

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12. heyyy, I read the summary of this fic some time ago and I can't find it anymore.

I think it was a modern au in which wwx dies and lwj is looking for him. might be modern with cultivation or maybe wwx just disappeared and everyone thinks he's died. I dont really remember a lot, help me out.

I'm pretty sure he dies though.

FOUND? when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

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13. I'm looking for a fanfic where wwx gave his golden core to jc but then developed a black one, and if he uses too much demonic cultivation he can die or something like that. also I don't remember if it's from the same fic or not but I think the annoying cousin of Jin z dies from a curse

FOUND? 🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (M, 180k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, arranged marriage)

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14. hello! how are you doing?

i once read a ff in which WWX is rescued/saved/something like that by the Lan Clan i think in the middle of war or something but WWX helps Lan Clan to tackle the problem of crops with his yin energy talisman/array. i hope you will be able to find it (i know its not enough information 😭) @let-it-be-rainbow

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15. hello im looking for a fic where wen ning shoots an arrow at wrh and it hits him in the eye. i think it's a time travel fic but im not sure. also wn asks wq like uncle isn't a good person, is he. i appreciate the assistance

hello im anon on the latest ff #15. sorry, but it's not the fic i was looking for. i remember it being multiple chapters, also the sunshot campaign did happen. the part where wen ning shot wrh was during the final battle of ssc and he was at a high vantage point with wq away from the fighting

NOT FOUND! 💖 Where The Arrow Points by Nillegible (G, 4k, WN & WQ, WN & WWX, WWX & JC, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, No Sunshot Campaign, Because Um. Wen Ning murders Wen Ruohan, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, really)

SIMILAR The Ghost General by English is my death (Lena013) (T, 5k, WN & WWX, WN & WQ, WN centric, BAMF WN, Time Travel Fix-It, what's a conference without someone killing their uncle?WN murders WRH, WN Lives, Ghost General WN, WN looks into his uncle's eyes before killing him, Fierce Corpse WN, Canon Divergence) Actually, I just read the italicised part of the ask for 15, so my suggestion is definitely not it. But it did have time travel WN killing WRH with an arrow!

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16. Hi I’m looking for a specific fic that I thought I had saved, but alas😑

It’s a ‘watching the memories’ type of fic. With protective Jiang Cheng, Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan and juniors.

Anyway I don’t remember much but what I do remember is that the story is set after guanyin temple and that they watched a memory of wwx going about his birthday alone. Qiren and many others were assholes to wwx who just wanted to spend the day with his husband and son, but was constantly denied and berated.

This in turn lead to JG, LZ and LXC I think being angry and protective on his behalf.

That’s all and thank you for the endless effort you all put into finding all these fic’s. @ravenwithwings

FOUND! Music Heals All Forms Of Misery by idontknowwhatimdoinghalfthetime (T, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Fix-It of Sorts, Songfic, Past Character Death, Heavy Angst, Self-Esteem Issues)

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17. Hi hi! Im looking for an Ao3 fic where WQ and WY go to cloud recessess because theyve negotiated protection for the wen remnants with the Lan Clan. The condition is that WY must be purged of all resentful energy, which he and WQ think will kill him, and they believe the Lan clan knows it. Theres a scene where during the purge Lan Zhan realizies whats happening and asks Wei Ying why he would think the Lan wanted to kill/harm him. Pretty sure its a happy ending, or at least hopeful!

Thanks so much, hope youre all well! @la-voce-to-me

FOUND! decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)

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18. Hi, I am looking for a Wangxian fic that has a lot of twin jade feels I think its starts after the burning of Recesses where both jades are captured by WX and a lot of bad things happen to LWJ after which he ends up forced to work in a brothel where he meets WWX who came to rescue JWY and maybe JZX from the indoctrination and I also remember that LXC was allowed to visit Lan Zhan but only when he was drugged to sleep and that WX knew that the jades kept in line only cause of the other. It probably followed canon divergence and it was a complete fanfic. the story is pretty hazy in my head so I am hoping someone remembers it. thank you.

FOUND! Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture)

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19. I remember reading a fic where Wei Wuxian was taken as a prisoner, I think maybe by the Nie, and everyone expected him to practice Inedia while kept captive just for him to become extremely ill from lack of food, revealing his lack of golden core. Everyone freaks out a bit

FOUND? ❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YL WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

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20. Hi👋🏽

I love looking through your fic-finder posts and discovering ‘new’ fics to read !

I’m trying to find a fic taking place after the SunShot Campaign, where WWX takes the role of a Jiang Elder instead of Head Disciple. I’ve tried looking for it by AO3’s filter but was only able to find a similar fic series - Rest of Resolution by MarbleGlove.

Details: WWX somehow fools the JGS into thinking WWX is older than he actually is (Lan Qiren is in on the joke too). @animewatching

FOUND? Like a Water-Worn Stone by meyari (T, 41k, wangxian, major character death, Hurt/Comfort, very little hurt, lots of comfort, Chronic Illness, Serious Injuries, Self-Medication, Disability, PTSD, Depression, Self-Worth Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aftermath of war, Aftermath of Violence, Prisoner of War, Identity Issues, Warning: Jīn Guāngshàn, enslavement (discussion of), abuse (discussion of), actually very fluffy despite the warnings)

FOUND? Elder, an Aesthetic by MarbleGlove (G, 8k, JC & WWX, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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anthurak · 3 months ago

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Random Rambling of the Day:

We should have a Yuri Mecha version/parody of Top Gun.

It seems so obvious, right? Just genderbend most if not all the dudes, make all the subtext into actual text, add in some additional romantic side couples and you’re golden.

Make the whole thing into a love, uh… pentagon between our hotshot heroine, her copilot/wingwoman who might be a childhood friend, her edgy rival AND said rival’s own copilot/wingwoman, plus the girl working back at base she’s got a thing for. Obviously they all become a polycule by the end.

Maybe give the whole thing an eighties throwback vibe? If nothing else, our main girl should DEFINITELY have shades, a leather jacket and a motorcycle.

Plus some sick action scenes and awesome mech designs of course.

And you know what? Maybe throw in some gratuitous giant anime titty fanservice too. If for nothing else than so we can laugh at all the dude-bros hating the show full of hot anime waifus and badass mech action simply because it doesn’t give them a milquetoast cardboard-cutout self-insert protag guy to project onto.

#rambling #writing prompt?#we need more yuri mecha anime #i mean just look at how much money g-witch made!#this should be obvious

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syd-djarin · 9 months ago

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FRANKIE SAYS RELAX (Frankie Morales x fem!massage therapist!reader) ***teaser***

18+ explicit content - with peace and luv, MDNI*

A/N(s): Title is a mashup of the song title Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood (a fitting 80’s song about getting your nut!) this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it respectfully move along ok? Ok.

Warnings: BUTT STUFF GALORE (Frankie receiving!!!!!), sub!Frankie, inappropriate / unprofessional massage therapist behavior but they already know each other and are friends prior so it’s kinda less bad? IT’S CONSENSUAL and this is a work of fiction!!!!, dirty talk, praise KINK, pet names used in excess, mutual sexual tension, dirty thots (reader & Frankie!), gratuitous descriptions of frankie’s body ody ody, this is just super horned up, author regrets nothing

Frankie sheds his clothes, boxers and all, and slips under the thin sheet. He doesn’t dwell too long about his nude state, knowing himself well enough that he’d chicken out and never show his face around you ever again.

You knock softly on the door and wait a beat until you hear a response from the other side. You call out to him too, “you good, Frankie?”

“I’m uh—ready,” he responds.

You practically melt into a puddle when you are presented with an unobstructed view of his broad back and shoulders. He’s fucking gorgeous.

You wonder if anyone’s ever told him how beautiful he is. Your eyes follow each line of definition, particularly intrigued by the prominent lines that trail up and out from his lower back.

Your self-indulgent gaze lands on his ass. It’s cute, adorable even. The thin material covering his lower half leaves little to the imagination, the perky and plush flesh of his butt calls out your name.

You’ve had plenty of attractive clients before, but never any you actually wanted to touch outside of the massage, and none of them were Frankie fucking Morales. Your moral compass and professionalism are fighting tooth and nail to keep you grounded.

“Okay, I’ll start with a gentle touch and once you get used to it, I can do it harder,” you say, and immediately cringe at your word usage. You half-ass salvage it by adding “you know, increase the pressure as I go.” You hope he can’t hear the shaky exhale you release.

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physalian · 3 months ago

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I think being an ace writer lets me write sex and romance with less of my own biases/wants/what-I-think-is-sexy getting in the way, to better incorporate these scenes into the story as a method of plot and character development instead of just gratuitous, among other things. In the same way being atheist lets me write real and fantasy religions without my own beliefs interfering, because I can respect religion academically and objectively, as a tool, not a given.

I write my characters in tons of situations that I myself would never enjoy, anything from bathing together or having kinks or even making out. I know why people enjoy these things and I’ve read enough romances to know how to write the proper buildup and the right tone to strike and all that jazz and I do enjoy reading romance.

There’s absolutely other factors at play here and I can’t speak from experience for a lot of the situations I put my characters into (nor do I write smut, I’ve tried, I’m bad at it because I’m ace) but I’ll beta read sex scenes for original authors, especially cis/het authors, and while “writing to satisfy yourself or your readers” is different than straight up just writing a story that includes romance, I seem to keep finding myself stuck with a constant stream of author wish fulfilment, a lot of newbie original authors seem… narrow-minded when it comes to sex.

Like they can only imagine what they find kinky or romantic or sexy, like the subtext is saying “this is sexy because I think it’s sexy and if you don’t think it’s sexy something’s wrong with you”. Which isn’t at all a problem in fanfic for whatever reason (probably because these authors also tend to think sex=romance thus smut=character development).

So I have a character with a medical kink, for example. I haven’t had readers gushing over him or that scene (haven’t had that many readers period, mind you), but I haven’t had any complaints, either. Heck, my protagonist in ENNS is a frustrated virgin in a vampire romance who at one point realizes “hm yeah I definitely don’t hate teeth anymore pls do it again” meanwhile I’m sitting back with my metaphorical coffee going “you have fun now, enjoy”. Maybe because it’s not just an 111k word fantasy smutfest but his self-discovery is part of his arc.

But I think the difference is, either in just skill at my craft or being on the outside looking in, is that I think “what would he think is sexy? And how would I go about writing that?” vs “what do I think is sexy? And how do I go about contorting my characters to fit that?” I spend the time making sure he’s in character, it makes sense for his character, and that he’s acting authentically.

Or at the very least, I think aceness (and possibly aro-ness we are undecided in that department) gives you a baseline of 0, clean slate, not that aces can’t enjoy the idea of sex, the idea is that sexuality is self-contained. But when your whole life is sex-favorable/allonormative I think it puts blinders up.

Or, I just keep reading heterosexual romances that leave something to be desired. Not just beta-reading, the romances in like, Maas books, for example—no kinkier or more wish-fulfilling than a fanfic with the same tags, but there’s something so cheap and artificial about those sex scenes. The first time I read… I think it was book 3 or 4 of the TOG series and I realized just how much sex there was, I legit got bored and scanned ahead until I could get back to the story—and I have sat through fanfics that surpass 100k words with as much smut and I am fine and entertained. Is it because she’s not a great author, or because she’s a cis/het author with blinders up, or some mix between the two? I have enjoyed poorly written but sincerely written smut in fanfic, so it can’t be that, either. If this was a science experiment and I’m controlling for all other variables except the sexuality of the authors and/or characters, I’d have my answer.

That’s not at all to say allonormative authors cannot write beautiful romances and hot sex scenes. There is only one (1) romantic scene in Maas's books that I used to go back specifically to reread, and it was just two characters finally tossing decorum aside to make out. She lost me completely after that.

Just in my experience, inexeperienced allonormative authors vs queer of any kind tend to be worse at making it compelling and sincere and my theory is that they can’t escape their own ideas of what sexiness is, because they've never had to, and can't get in the minds of characters and readers who don’t all think like they do.

—

Interested in a queer vampire fantasy novel? Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is out now!

#writing #writeblr #writing a book #writing resources #character development #allonormativity #acespec #asexual #queer lit #queer fantasy

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fragilefirstchance · 1 month ago

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It's Either Tourist Traps or Drugs

Gen, family-centric, rated T or M depending on installment

Do you like longfics? Gen fics? Reflective, OC-centric examinations of family dynamics? Maybe you'd like my fic!

Hi! I am not generally speaking active on Tumblr, but I just completed Part 5 of a fanfiction that is almost 150k words and which shows no signs of slowing down soon. I figured I'd show it to class. :)

Fragile First Chance and its follow-ups is a story about a nineteen-year-old boy whose legal name is Joss William [redacted] Pines but if you call him anything except Will you might end up in a fistfight. It's also a story about how the Pineses are basically good people with a lot of baggage.

Major themes are tagged and optional content warnings for individual chapters are included in drop-down tabs in the notes. For the most part, heavier themes are not gratuitous.

Below the cut you'll find a rough outline of each section. If you don't want spoilers, though, just head on over.

This story was well under way before The Book of Bill came out. It isn't perfectly TBoB compliant, but the themes and plot aren't really something that makes that an issue.

Part 1: Fragile First Chance

Dipper and Mabel Pines were sent to Gravity Falls at the beginning of summer for, from their perspective, no reason. In reality, it was because they were being sheltered from some very old family drama.

Will is May's son from her first marriage and Fil's son by adoption. He's nineteen years old, just getting out of his second incarceration, and a recovering addict. They planned to put him up for a few months, and after that Fil's weird black-sheep uncle agreed to give him a shot in Oregon.

Ford, of course, knew nothing about this. He's not happy about it.

Part 2: Learning to Breathe

Will and Ford are slowly acclimating to each other like two feral cats. They don't really have anything in common except insomnia and a mutual desperate quest not to get in too many fights.

Will doesn't like Gravity Falls. It's lonely, there's nothing to do, and it's full of weird bullshit he doesn't want to deal with. He's coping, though - Soos is pretty cool, the local teens are entertaining, and he ends up getting a long really well with the local bait shop guy and his dad.

Part 3: When Family Matters

Will has started to figure out how Ford works and make an effort to be nice to him. He also tentatively almost likes the guy. (cue Stan audibly sighing in relief off-screen.)

Also: Dipper and Mabel have figured out that their long-lost brother has reappeared, and there are certain family traditions about how you deal with long-lost brothers.

Part 4: Lancing the Wound

Ford and Will are both under a phenomenal amount of stress for a wide variety of reasons. By this point in the story, words like "panic attack" and "therapy" are coming up more often. They have more in common than they ever realized, although for two people with severe abuse-related PTSD, that's not necessarily a good thing.

The McGuckets are around to help. The Twins are too, although whether that's a good thing is open to debate.

Part 5: Nature versus Nurture

In the wake of Part 4, Stanford Pines is coming to realize that his mental health is a much more serious problem than he had previously realized. He struggles to come to terms with this and decide what to do next. This segment of the story is primarily about self-reflection and realizing that you need to change. We also get some serious discussions about the mental health industry (and how it tied into the gay scene in the 70s) by people who are personally invested in it.

Part 6: Definition of a Real Pines

This story arc just started and concerns Ford navigating his life as he tries to re-integrate with his family and society while working through a very difficult mental health situation.

We'll get to meet more of the Pines family. Shermie lives in Florida with his sister-in-law. (Note for those curious about the timeline incongruities: Shermie's age is- wait, look over there! *smokebomb, jumps out the window*)

Bonus: Erastus Kankerson's Toxic Ex

This is a stand-alone one-shot about Erastus Kankerson, an old friend of Fiddleford McGucket who dated him for a while after the divorce.

#ao3 fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #Gravity Falls #Ford Pines #Stan Pines #Gravity Falls OC #fanfiction #fiddleford mcgucket #tate mcgucket #dipper and mabel pines #PeacefulUnderneath #Erastus Kankerson #Dipper and Mabel's Parents #How do you tag fanfic on Tumblr?#Hey guys what tags do you search for new stuff #Bill Cipher #(He's there too)#(sort of)#(barely)

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eoieopda · 2 years ago

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aphelion (knj)

aphelion (n): the point in the orbit of a comet at which it is furthest from the sun.

Kim Namjoon was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x AFAB!Reader Type: Flashback Prequel | Genre: Fluff & Angst, Smut | Rating: M (18+) AU: Strangers ⇢ Lovers ⇢ Exes, Lacunaverse (aka Lacuna!AU) Word Count: 19K Content Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST; gratuitously autobiographical; POV switches; Namjoon and MC are both musicians but not envisioned as "idols"; emotional support producer!Yoongi; self-insert!OC, jinseo; panic attack implied (crying, rapid breathing, chest tightness); depressive episode implied (lack of self-care, lack of appetite); a relationship dying in slow motion (ouch.) Smut Warnings: Vaginal fingering, lil bit of biting, implied unprotected sex, reader rides it like she stole it. A/N 1: This is the prequel to Lacuna and its sequel, Redamancy. It takes place over the course of two years (2020 to 2022 — we’re pretending COVID never happened, btw) and will have month/date info. at the top of each vignette. You can read the series chronologically (starting here) but I definitely recommend reading in the order it was written (Lacuna ⇢ Redamancy ⇢ Aphelion) because I think dramatic irony is fun and sexy. A/N 2: Endless thank you's to my emotional support moots, @jihopesjoint and @here2bbtstrash for beta-reading this unabashed entry from my diary. A/N 3: To my "Namjoon" — You were the best thing I didn't get to keep. I hope you found the sun. Suggested Listening: Spotify Playlist. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

2020/7/18; 18:23

As awful as he knew it sounded, Yoongi was grateful to have someone in his life who was equally riddled with social anxiety. That flicker of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was easier to digest when there was a hand — metaphorical, mainly, because the real thing was the tiniest bit sweaty — to cling to whenever he had to feign extroversion. Before you popped up into his life, perpetually on vibrate mode in the way that he was, he’d ventured out of his studio even less than he did now.

With you, there had always been a silent understanding: neither of you ever wanted to attend the company events that appeared simultaneously on your calendars; neither of you ever successfully shook off the feelings of guilt and obligation that prevented you from bailing altogether; and neither had ever — would ever — consider attending without the other. Co-dependence at its finest, you wore each other like a backpack and held on tight.

One of the terms of this unspoken social contract was that, when it came time to rally for one of the aforementioned, godforsaken label parties, Yoongi rushed over whenever you put up the Bat Signal. Instead of a cartoonish symbol in the sky, it always came in the form of a text — usually with a minimum of six (6) very urgent emojis — declaring a fashion emergency. No questions asked, he showed up on your doorstep every time. Yoongi never had any valuable input to offer, but he could tell you when you looked nice.

You always did, but he tended to keep that part to himself.

When Yoongi finally arrived at your apartment this time, he didn’t bother knocking the way he used to. By now, he knew that part of your pre-party panic included unlocking your door for him whenever you sent out your SOS. So, he let himself in and left his shoes at the door. Immediately, he heard a relieved sigh waft out from your bedroom down the hall.

“Oh, thank god!”

He waited for the blush in his cheeks to fade before he continued his journey to you, willing his standard poker face back into existence before it ratted him out.

“Do I need to call in a helicopter evacuation?” Yoongi called out to you as he padded off in your direction. “How bad is the avalanche?”

Before he could get halfway to your bedroom door, you poked your head out through the doorway. You had those pink, plastic cylinders in your hair — the ones that looked spiky and uncomfortable, but that you somehow never complained about — and half your makeup done. Even in that cactus-printed bathrobe, Yoongi wouldn’t have been surprised if you wound up with a spread in the next issue of Nylon.

You grimaced. “Admittedly worse than the holiday party, but nowhere near as bad as the Great MAMA Catastrophe of 2017.”

“So…” Yoongi teased with a tilt of his head, “Yes to the helicopter evacuation, then?”

He didn’t have time to emotionally or physically prepare for whatever awaited him on the other side of your bedroom door because you grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him inside as soon as he was within your reach.

Oh, good god, kid.

Yoongi opened his mouth to express how impressed — terrified? — he was by the explosion of outfits littering every surface of your room, but he quickly realized that no words would do it justice. He opted for a trademark, flat-line smile and a quiet grunt. You grimaced a second time, knowing full well what he hadn’t said out loud

Scurrying around him, you tore like a tornado through the immediate area to clear a path for him. You were clumsy enough to trip over every stray shoe but had reflexes — shockingly — quick enough to right yourself before your stumbling could send you to the ground. Once the carpet was sufficiently visible, you gestured to the small opening on your bed with a platform boot you’d unearthed somewhere along the way.

“You can, uh —” You continued waving the shoe in the direction of your bed, searching for the rest of your sentence. Yoongi watched in real time as your train of thought left the station.

More than a little endeared by your scattered brain, he offered, “Sit?”

“Yes!” You snapped your fingers and pointed a finger-gun at him with a sheepish smile, “That. Do that while I try to find my vocabulary. It’s gotta be somewhere in this blast zone…”

Voice already petering off, you wheeled back around to your regurgitated wardrobe.

Yoongi dropped into the only open spot on your mattress and leaned back to rest his weight on the palm of his hand. Settled into his usual space and routine, he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time, as if the answer to that question would make a difference.

It was half-six.

Ugh.

As always, the pair of you would wind up late; and, as always, that would still somehow mean that you’d be the first to show up. No matter how hard you tried to avoid it — leaving later and later for every party — you were perpetually, dreadfully guests numbered one and two.

“I never know what to wear for these things,” you whined, once again a disembodied head appearing in a doorway.

When did you even sneak off into your closet? How were you physically able to reach it?

The rest of you reappeared underneath your head. You were clutching a dress in one hand and a skirt in the other, looking like your will to live had been hung up in their place. Worse, you had that little anime pout on, which didn’t bode well for the schoolboy crush Yoongi was secretly harboring, but you didn’t say anything. You just kept looking at him, eyes all pitiful and sparkly.

“Do you want me to ask him about the dress code?” he offered, unsure if that was what you were after but otherwise at a loss for solutions.

The look of mild-to-moderate panic washing over your face caused Yoongi to sigh. He knew you were thoroughly starstruck — he’d heard you gush over Namjoon and his new release for hours by now — but maybe he’d underestimated the extent. Your relief was immediate when he waved you off and said, “I’m not going to tell him that you’re the one asking.”

Yoongi [18:30]: on a scale of sweatpants to tuxedo, how hard do i have to try?

While he waited for an answer, Yoongi glanced back up to check your status. You’d once again disappeared in the few moments he’d glanced down at his phone screen. So damn sneaky. There was a significant amount of shuffling coming from the depths of your closet. Something shifted, then you yelped.

“You okay?” Yoongi called out, primed to get up and dig through the presumed rockslide for you.

Meekly, you popped back into view with one hand rubbing gingerly at the top of your head. You frowned. “I found my snow boots.”

“Sounded like your snow boots found you, kid.”

Yoongi’s phone buzzed in his hand. He ripped off the velcro-grip gaze he held on you and blinked down at the screen.

Namjoon [18:34]: Hyung, since when do you give a fuck about trying? lol

Yoongi chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure what information to divulge: that he wasn’t asking because he gave a fuck; that you were the one who did; or that the only reason Yoongi was having this conversation at all was because you were the one that asked him to. He settled on something vaguely truthful.

Yoongi [18:37]: fuck off, joonie. since i’m bringing someone special and i want you to meet her.

The reply was immediate and three-fold:

Namjoon [18:37]: Call me Joonie again and see what happens 🤔 Namjoon [18:37]: Wear jeans in case I gotta chase you down for that. For real, though, it’s casual. Namjoon [18:37]: Also 👀

Yoongi shoved his phone back in his pocket without bothering to reply. He wouldn’t know what to say if he did, anyway. You weren’t the kind of person he knew how to summarize in a quick text; so he’d have to let your presence speak for itself. It always did.

When he looked back up from his hands, you reappeared in the closet doorway in a flouncy little dress. He had to stop himself from asking if you’d wear it to his funeral when he inevitably dropped dead. Once he succeeded at that, he swallowed thickly and focused on the two pairs of shoes you were holding, one in each hand.

Your face scrunched up while you mulled over your options. Without looking up, you asked absently and borderline shyly, “Did he respond?”

It took a beat for Yoongi’s brain to catch up; sundress season truly was the silent killer. In the pause, your inquisitive eyes flicked up to see if he’d simply ignored your question. He fumbled, pointed to the chunky, heeled sandals in your left hand, and then shot you a thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes with a snort and knelt down to slip into his choice without further comment. As you did, you triple-checked that the ankle strap was secured and Yoongi didn’t have to guess why: the last time you wore them out, you hadn’t buckled yourself in properly. The thick tread had snagged on a curb; and your shoe didn’t come with you when you stepped up onto the sidewalk. You waited on one leg, the other foot bare in the wind, while Yoongi returned to the street to grab what you’d lost.

When you finished your ministrations, you stood back up to your full height — now with fifteen added centimeters — and brushed your hands against the back of your dress’ skirt. The expression on your face was somewhere between exhilarated and vaguely nauseous.

You clapped your hands together suddenly and sighed, “We doing this, Yoongs?”

He rolled his eyes so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He was endeared by that stupid nickname but unwilling to let you know as much. Still, he followed when you led him out of your bedroom; when you grabbed a laughably tiny and arguably useless purse off your hallway console table; and when you skipped out of your front door.

“Who’s driving?” Yoongi glanced over his shoulder at you as he hit the lock button on your door’s keypad. He didn’t need to ask — you had the alcohol tolerance of a newborn baby and couldn’t assume the wheel after more than two drinks — but he knew it made you feel better when he did.

Sheepishly, you pursed your lips.

He sighed with a microscopic grin, “Garage gate wouldn’t open, so I’m on the side of the building.” Then, he shuffled towards the elevator with you in tow. Even with the added height of your shoes, your short legs still struggled to keep up with his pace.

As soon as the elevator doors re-opened on the ground floor, you threaded your arm around his and handcuffed him to you with your elbow bent. Before he could make a joke at your expense, you raised a manicured finger and said, “Do not start with me, Min Yoongi.”

So, he didn’t. He simply opened his passenger door for you and closed it once you’d slid into your usual place. As soon as he slid into his and pressed the start button, your phone automatically hooked to his Bluetooth stereo; and he couldn’t even whine about that fact because you’d already queued up some song he’d never heard in a language neither of you knew well. True to form, you didn’t let that stop you from singing along as loudly as you could — all the way to the venue.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to find a spot or to parallel park in it, much to your amazement. It did, however, take ten minutes of silent sitting for either of you to say a word.

“Do we have to go in there?” you asked, damn near inaudibly.

Where you sat, your left knee bounced at a speed almost imperceptible to the human eye. Yoongi only noticed because his knee was doing the same. He exhaled the breath he’d unknowingly held hostage and glanced at the time displayed on his car’s touch screen. He grimaced. “Shit started an hour ago. How much do you wanna bet that we’re still the first people here?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Even if we are,” you started as you pushed open the passenger side door, “I’m not waiting to start the clock until guest number three arrives.” You shot him a pointed look as you slid out of the car. Adjusting your dress once you’d made it to your feet, you added, “One hour of kissing hands and shaking babies, then we’re out of here, right?”

Yoongi clamped his mouth shut, but it did nothing to ward off the laughter that made his shoulders shake. He nodded firmly, let his feet hit the pavement, then let his car door shut behind him.

“Compensatory lamb skewers, as usual?” He asked once he rounded the back of the car to join you on the sidewalk. On instinct, you threaded your arm through his to keep yourself on your feet, and your feet in your shoes. “But not from that place you picked last time. I’m ninety-nine-percent sure they clean it with a garden hose at night.”

You grumbled something about never being allowed to pick the restaurant before reaching for the door handle and petulantly jerking it open.

The second your respective feet stepped over the threshold, you both froze. It was the social equivalent of rigor mortis, the pair of you standing with locked limbs and gawking at the sheer number of people inside the hole-in-the-wall venue Namjoon had chosen. Clearly, he’d intended this to be as quaint as possible. Even more obviously, management hadn’t given a shit or fuck about that goal.

“This is,” you inhaled deeply as if you’d never get the chance again, and on the exhale, you wheezed, “So much. Oh my god.”

No matter how many times his shaking eyes scanned over the crowd ahead, Yoongi couldn’t find a single person he recognized, let alone wanted to spend an hour talking to. He snapped to look at you in the same moment you turned to him.

“What an hour this minute has been.”

“Lamb skewers?”

“Yes, please.”

Just as quickly as you’d entered, the pair of you turned to head out the door. Yoongi couldn’t grab the handle before a loud voice rang out from behind, “Hyung!”

A hand clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, spinning him around and leaving his emergency exit out of reach.

“So glad to see a familiar face,” Namjoon’s grin took up his whole face, but his mouth didn’t move with his words. They were forced out through gritted teeth, pleading the way his eyes were: If you leave me here, I’ll kill you.

Yoongi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He would’ve asked you — not with words, anyway — to make up some excuse to get you both out of there, to grab take-out and watch Naruto on his couch, but you couldn’t answer. Your starry-eyed gaze was aimed above you, and he’d venture a guess that everyone in the room had disappeared.

Everyone but Namjoon.

Damn it.

Somewhere, somehow, Yoongi heard a record scratch.

“Oh, shit,” Yoongi coughed, suddenly aware of his obligation as a mutual friend. Gesturing languidly between you and Namjoon, Yoongi reported for duty. “Joon, this is —”

Namjoon finally seemed to realize that you were standing there with Yoongi. He tilted his head to look down at you, and as soon as he did, Yoongi watched in slow motion as Namjoon’s eyes grew three times their usual size. Your name barely cleared Yoongi’s lips before Namjoon was extending a hand for you to shake.

Somewhere, somehow, the music seemed to swell.

Am I having a stroke?

The next minute that passed felt like an hour, too, and nobody said a word. It was you looking at Namjoon; Namjoon looking at you; and Yoongi’s eyes flitting back and forth between his friends with a kind of bemusement he couldn’t fake if his life depended on it. He’d crashed-landed in the middle of a drama, and he didn’t know what else to do, so he cleared his throat and said, “Uhh — shots, anyone?”

The next hour flew by in sixty seconds, and Yoongi couldn’t wrap his brain around how that could be. He’d lost faith in the concept of linear time, he knew that much. The two people he sat next to were meeting for the first time, but there was a familiarity present that he couldn’t put a finger on. Like you were both saying hello in this life after saying goodbye in a previous one.

Throughout the conversation, Yoongi couldn’t keep his attention on the words being tossed back and forth; not even the ones he was offering up. Huh, he thought, so, this is what it looks like when people meet who they’re meant to.

“Listen —” You smacked your hand down on the tabletop, swallowing down a laugh as you faked incredulousness. You pointed directly at Yoongi, causing him to choke on his whiskey. “I don’t care if I have to read translations on an app, Nas’ lyricism is unparalleled —”

“Facts,” Namjoon chimed in with a tip of his glass.

The way your eyes sparkled in response wasn’t lost on anyone.

Yoongi rolled his. “Okay, but from a production standpoint, we all know that —”

Simultaneously, you and Namjoon sucked in breaths. The arguments you let loose didn’t match in words, but the sentiment was the same, downright seismic in its intensity.

“Don’t you dare bring Kanye West into this!”

“Hyung, I swear to God, if the next name out of your mouth is Kanye West, I’m leaving my own fucking party.”

The eldest raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine, fine,” he conceded. Yoongi slumped a little lower in his chair, accepting defeat. He glanced down at his phone to check the time — as if that wasn’t a lost cause — and when he looked up again, you and Namjoon had deviated down some winding tangent about the core of hip-hop being poetry.

It was odd, the way Yoongi’s stomach flipped then. Not jealousy, but fondness. Hunger, too, though that was secondary to the weird glimmer of pride he felt watching a bridge he’d unknowingly built link two spheres of his life together. There was a strange sense of clarity, to top it all off; one that changed all the question marks in his head to periods.

You and Yoongi would be friends.

Yoongi would be at peace with that fact.

The slightly sweaty hand that pulled you through that event wouldn’t be his; and he would be at peace with that, too.

Yoongi would grab lamb skewers on his way home and wait for your call tomorrow to hear how the rest of your night had gone without him.

With a signature, flat-line smile, Yoongi slid off his stool and slid his empty glass towards the bartender. Then, he clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. The younger stopped mid-sentence with a start and blinked up at Yoongi, whose smirk immediately dropped, deadpan.

He glanced at you and confirmed that you were too busy ordering another drink to overhear. Then, he leaned down towards Namjoon and whispered, “Don’t fuck this up, Joonie.”

Namjoon gulped. Yoongi could hear it as he turned away, letting that smirk reappear once his back was to Namjoon.

He won’t.

2020/7/18; 21:06

Namjoon’s face hurt.

There was a telltale ache in his cheeks that confirmed it: he hadn’t smiled that much, that completely, in a long damn time. At the rate things had gone over the last two hours, he wouldn’t be surprised to catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror and find wrinkles demarcating just how crinkled his eyes had been. It was a wonder he’d been able to see you at all with the way his laughter leaked over his lash lines. Then again, your grin was burned into his brain already. Given the way you lit up, he was convinced that he’d see you — just you — even in the dark.

“Stop laughing at me!” you whined with your hand covering your mouth. Though you tried to hide it, Namjoon could still see you grinning, even with your mouth full. “I feel very attacked.”

He snorted. “Not an attack, just an observation. Can’t say I’ve ever witnessed someone order a beverage they don’t like just to eat the garnish.”

Quickly, you skewered another blackberry with the end of your straw and guided it under the hand covering your mouth. When you placed the straw back in your drink, the fruit was gone; your eyes were sparkling.

“Are you just jealous that you’ve never thought to do it?” You tilted your head to the side as you chewed. The little flex of your eyebrows made his stomach flip, so he swallowed hard and wondered if you noticed.

“Honestly,” he started with a sigh. He slumped down in his seat, looking as pathetic as possible while he eyed the remaining fruit in your glass. “Yeah. Little heartbroken, too.”

“Oh?” You pouted and Namjoon was on the brink of passing the fuck out.

The hand over your mouth dropped. You shifted on top of your stool, grabbed hold of your blackberry malt, and leaned in as you scooted it across the bar to Namjoon. The smile tugging at your lips was petal soft, though the flash of bright white teeth hit him like high-beams. He was a deer; he was frozen; and he didn’t give a shit if you ran right over him.

Elbows against the bar, you leaned even further. This time, when you tilted your head to the side, your hair gave way and left your bare shoulder in his line of sight. For the first time in his life, Namjoon finally understood why something as innocuous as a short-sleeve or exposed ankle was deemed pornographic a century prior. In the year 2020, he was losing his mind over an acromioclavicular joint and some — smooth, touchably soft — flesh.

“Because I haven’t offered to share?”

Jesus Christ.

He was seconds away from biting down on his fist to keep from groaning. That coquettish, candy-coated voice of yours was a problem in and of itself, but when you looked at him from under your lashes like that, Namjoon was ready to call in a bomb threat to his own party. He couldn’t simply fuck off with you, though — not without an excuse he could sell to Bang Si-Hyuk later.

Namjoon needed an out, now. Unfortunately for him, all he could think about was biting down on that shoulder, following the curve of it with his —

He needed to get a grip. Fast.

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. “Exactly. Rude.”

You smirked; he winked. To keep his mouth occupied, Namjoon grabbed the spare straw from your drink and speared a blackberry for himself. Holding his prize out in salute, he nodded his head with a smirk of his own. “Geonbae!”

You smiled sweetly again as you watched him pluck the fruit off the end of the straw with his teeth; but you grinned with all you had when the whiskey-drenched berry hit his taste buds like a punch. Sour, unbelievably potent after steeping so long high-proof liquor. Every part of him clenched at once, prompting you to laugh with your whole chest.

What a perfect fucking sound.

“Shit,” Namjoon sputtered. His face unpuckered and gave way to a grin that likely rivaled yours.

“How are you not tanked right now? Seriously, I’m twice your size and can handle my liquor. That —” He waved his hand towards your glass, “— nearly knocked me on my ass.”

You opened your mouth to respond — to tease him mercilessly, he hoped — but you were cut off by the horrendous sound of Namjoon’s phone vibrating against the bar and his own empty glass. The cacophony rattled in his rib cage. Both of you flinched at the sudden interruption, leaving him to wonder if you also forgot that anyone else existed.

Namjoon glanced quickly at the illuminated screen, then back up to you. He would’ve ignored his texts in a heartbeat — indefinitely, without hesitation — but you squeezed his hand as you slipped off your stool to your feet. With your promise that you were headed to the restroom and would be right back, he gave himself permission to look back down at his phone.

Yoongi [21:43]: you tell her about that comet thing? she’s an unrelenting nerd like you. she’ll be into it.

If he could have, he would’ve kissed Yoongi through the phone for two reasons. The first of which was that, in the time he’d spent talking to you, Namjoon had completely forgotten about the one thing he’d talked about incessantly for the past month: the upcoming appearance of Neowise. The second was that, once again, Yoongi had come in clutch with a reason to bail on a social obligation.

Namjoon [21:45]: You’re a lifesaver and I love you. Yoongi [21:46]: ew

Namjoon was still chuckling when, unexpectedly, he felt playful fingertips trail across his shoulder blades. You, he quickly realized as you walked behind him and sat back down on your stool. He shivered, even after the trace of your touch was gone.

“All good?” you asked with a soft smile.

Yeah, he thought, really fucking good.

Namjoon grinned automatically. He picked up the spare straw he’d used earlier and harpooned another blackberry, not having learned his lesson last time. The whiskey hit his tongue, burned beautifully on the way down, and emboldened him.

Without hesitation, he asked, “Do you wanna get out of here? There’s something I want to show you.”

Your wide eyes blinked back at him, then they scanned the room to confirm that, yes, it was still packed with people — up to and including executives from the label. Yes, he did just offer to ditch all of them for you, consequences be damned.

“Yes,” you responded, as if that was the easiest decision you’d ever made.

Namjoon got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Not afraid of heights, are you?” His smirk all but dissolved when your fingers interlocked with his.

“Not if the fall would be worth it.”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that statement — one so simple, made so easily as if it was a thought you repeated to yourself often. You’d stunned him, really, and Namjoon was uncharacteristically lost for words. So, you both fell into a comfortable silence as he led you out of the venue, ignoring every wayward stare on the way out.

Even after he opened his passenger door for you and slipped himself behind the wheel, he couldn’t get over what you’d said. It took root in the back of his brain. In all the years he’d been in this industry, he’d determined that there were only two types of people: the ones who jumped without thinking and the ones who only ever did the latter. You, it seemed, were neither.

Not if the fall would be worth it.

As he drove, you hummed along to whatever played on the radio, gaze taking in the city lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the neon from roadside signs wash over your face as they passed. Pretty in all colors, he thought, in every light.

Five minutes passed before he realized that you hadn’t even asked where he was taking you. Maybe you’d made an assumption that you were headed back to his place, which, while true, still wasn’t entirely accurate. Or maybe you simply trusted him. Determined that he was one of those calculated risks worth taking.

Namjoon was warm all-over when he finally reached his parking garage and turned into his assigned space. By the time he rounded the back of his car to open your door for you, you were already standing and smoothing down the skirt of your dress.

God bless sundress season.

“Didn’t realize you were a fan of his work.”

He froze. Oh, fuck.

Swallowing down the embarrassment of broadcasting his thoughts out loud, Namjoon shrugged. The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to ruin his nonchalance. “Credit where it’s due, you know?”

He then glanced down at his watch and confirmed that he was running out of time. When he looked back up at you, you were visibly puzzled but you didn’t question him. So, he questioned you:

“You didn’t develop a fear of heights on the drive over, right? Fall still worth it?”

Your response didn’t come in words. To his surprise, you held out your hand and stared expectantly — sweetly — at him until he took it.

You didn’t have the key code to operate the elevator or any idea where you were headed, but you tugged Namjoon along after you as you crossed the parking garage. It was then that he noticed the sheer height of the shoes you were wearing and how carefully you moved in them. Not like heels were foreign to you, but with deliberate steps as if you expected one or both of them to make a break for it. He made a mental note of it.

After typing in his access code to summon the elevator, Namjoon gazed down at you. Trying to hide his smile again would’ve been an exercise in futility, so he didn’t bother. Without thinking first, he mused, “You know, you still haven’t asked where I’m taking you. That’s a lot of trust.”

“I mean, if my untimely end comes at the hands of Kim Namjoon of all people, my ghost will have a really interesting story to tell.”

Your snicker made his knees wobble. You stepped into the elevator as it opened, leaving him to stand starstruck outside the doors.

“Coming?”

When Namjoon finally regained use of his limbs and joined you in the elevator, he pressed the button for the top floor, overshooting his own by three. With every second that passed as the two of you ascended, the centimeters slipped away — overcome by what Namjoon could only assume was a gravitational pull.

He’d orbit you if he could.

“This way,” Namjoon instructed. He gestured to the door at the end of the hall with a sign that promised roof access.

You stayed close, your hand so near to his that he could’ve grabbed it and held it a thousand times before you reached your objective. He held the door for you and watched you duck under his arm as you stepped through, damn near salivating at the way your perfume lingered in your wake.

The door in question opened to something halfway between an exposed patio and a fire escape. If Namjoon had to venture a guess, none of the other residents knew this place existed; it was exclusively for maintenance staff who needed to access the electrical meters contained in the locked room in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at it, understandably struggling to figure out why Namjoon had brought you to a place like this.

Sensing your confusion, he nodded his head towards a steep metal staircase which led up to the building’s roof. Staircase was a generous description, really. The only difference between those steps and a ladder was the presence of handrails and a slightly more forgiving angle.

When you caught sight of them, your confusion dissolved into surprise. You paused. Anxious eyes darted down to your heels as you shifted your weight from one to the other.

Weighing your options, Namjoon figured. Bare feet or twisted ankles.

He offered a third and crouched down in front of you, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Coming?” He quoted.

You looked at him in disbelief, like he couldn’t possibly be offering to take you up those steps on piggy-back — but he was, and he was dead serious. He said as much, and you had to bite down on your lips to keep your shy smile to yourself. As had been the case all night, your reciprocal offer was intrinsic trust.

Once you secured yourself on his back, you looped your arms gently around his neck. A quiet giggle immediately flooded his ears. Namjoon peeked at your face hovering over his shoulder and smiled when he saw that you were, too. Your laugh was music, more than anything else.

“This feels like that scene in Twilight.”

Because Namjoon has a sister, he automatically knew what you were referring to, as embarrassing as that was to admit. It was worth it, though, when he bought into your bit. You beamed like the fucking sun when he warned, “Hold on tight, spider monkey.”

He kept one hand on the railing and the other secured over your crossed forearms as he took the steps slowly. When none were left, it was just you, Namjoon, and an uninterrupted expanse of orange and pink.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, squeezing his bicep.

He took your silent cue and ducked back down so you could return to your own two feet.

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon kept his voice low as if he were in a place of worship.

In a way, he was.

You wobbled, not because of your shoes, but because you were staring straight up, spinning slowly in your spot while you drank in a fleeting, tangerine sky. As the sun continued to sink, bright white stars popped up to take its place. You seemed intent on counting them, but they couldn’t hold Namjoon’s attention — not with you fawning underneath them.

“Reminds me of home, kind of.” You matched his tone like this mattered as much to you as it did to him. “The buildings are always in the way here. After a while, I stopped bothering to look up.”

It felt natural, the way you reached out for his hand to keep you tethered. The same was true when he tugged gently and pulled you closer. You tucked yourself under his arm, nestled into his side. There was heat rising from his chest to his cheeks, but he still shivered.

Trying to keep his focus on the point of all this, Namjoon glanced down at his watch to confirm that the sun’s interference would be gone within minutes. Softly, he dropped his arm so he could place his hands on your waist. You let him turn you until you stood with your back to him; then, you followed his pointed finger with your eyes.

“Keep your eyes on the Northwest, alright?”

Playfully defiant, you turned your head to smirk up at him instead. “I’m admittedly shit at directions.”

Namjoon wouldn’t have noticed if the stars above him disappeared. For all he knew, they’d relocated to the dilated black of your pupils. There was a hint of a challenge twinkling there, too. He wasn’t known for backing down.

“This is the southeast.” Namjoon covered his fondness with a feigned frown and tapped your left hip bone with the pads of his middle and ring fingers. “The sun’s behind you.”

“I know it is,” you acknowledged. Despite that fact, you were still gazing over your shoulder at him.

Oh.

His eyes widened when he caught your meaning; yours crinkled at the corners. Namjoon didn’t have a single clue how you could smile that warmly without using your mouth at all.

It’s decided, he thought. Wherever this night takes us, I’m down for the ride. You lead, I’ll follow.

There was a distinct drop in his body temperature when you eventually — belatedly — followed his directions. Instinctively, Namjoon pulled you even closer so he could properly wrap his arms around your waist. Your shoulder blades pressed into his chest as he leaned down to your ear.

This time, you shivered.

“See that up ahead? Under the Big Dipper.”

You were quiet for a moment, likely searching for whatever secret he was pointing out to you. There was no room for doubt when you finally did see it because you gasped for the second time.

Breathless, you asked, “What is that? A meteor?”

Now visible against inky black, Neowise burned on the horizon.

“A comet,” he gently corrected you. “A new one — well, one we didn’t know about until March. It’s just now coming out of perihelion.”

At the forefront, its bright white mass led a slow charge down the sun’s gravity well. The tail was smeared behind it as if someone had dragged a paintbrush through the cosmos. Once-in-a-lifetime wasn’t scientifically accurate; and heavenly felt pretentious. Namjoon couldn’t think of a word in any language to describe the way he felt in that moment, but he prayed it would last.

You were equally awestruck. For a while, it was simple, silent wonderment as the two of you kept your eyes on the horizon. Peaceful, despite the faint blare of car horns wafting upwards from the streets below. Namjoon might venture far enough to call it perfect.

“What happens now?” You eventually asked. He glanced down at you when your voice cut through quiet, though your starry eyes didn’t register his movement. Thoroughly transfixed, you stayed still.

Namjoon felt himself frown. The answer was scientific fact, but it sounded like an unhappy ending.

Like leaving.

“Aphelion,” he sighed. “It’s headed for the point in its orbit that’s farthest from the sun. All that light you see right now comes from gas made by solar heat, so… it’ll grow colder the farther away it gets. Then, it’ll get so dark that it’ll be more or less invisible.”

You repeated that word quietly to yourself like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth. Aphelion. There was an undeniable heaviness to it. Namjoon wondered if you felt it, too.

He continued, “Not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.”

2020/7/18; 23:12

If you could have, you likely would’ve stayed on that rooftop until morning.

The back of your dress would be even dirtier from sitting down on the concrete the way you had; and your elbows may ache a little more after additional time spent leaning back onto flattened palms, but it’d be a small price to pay. Calm like that was invaluable. Until you stared at that uninterrupted sky, talking through every thought you’d ever had with someone who understood them all, calm like that was foreign to you.

You never had the opportunity to sit still, much less settle. Never got to be quiet, never got to linger. On that rooftop, you received a necessary reminder that your universe was bigger than a schedule full of obligations. Bigger than hotel showers, each less user-friendly than the last. Bigger than drinking boba tea alone in an airport, letting life carry you like a dandelion seed all over the map.

It was endless.

You wished that moment had been, but the news helicopter hovering nearby had said otherwise. As it turned out, television coverage of the comet was more important than your personal enjoyment of it. The loud chop of propellers against air had been bad enough; the gusts of wind those propellers kicked your way were even worse.

Even though he’d been sitting right next to you, Namjoon had to shout for you to hear him. You’d squinted as if that would make sense of the shapes his mouth had made — it didn’t. You’d heard his voice but not his words.

I need to learn to read lips, you’d thought. The problem with that realization was that the harder you’d focused on his, the more you wanted to nibble on them. And then the urgency you’d felt no longer had anything whatsoever to do with the aircraft. You hadn’t gotten the message until Namjoon stood up and offered his hands to help you stand, too.

Through the climb back down to the door, the walk up the hallway, and the elevator ride to his floor, Namjoon hadn’t dropped your hand. Now, it was taking longer than you imagined was usual for him to unlock his apartment door because the thumb of his dominant hand was still roaming over the back of yours.

“Finally!”

His sigh was half-exasperated, half-relieved, all swoonworthy when the key — at long last — did what he’d been begging it to do. Namjoon pushed the door open. This time, neither of you had to urge the other to come along.

The second your shoes crossed the threshold into his apartment, you damn near crumpled on the ground they occupied.

Holy shit —?

Less of an apartment and more of an archive, Namjoon’s space was artfully curated. In the literal sense. Everywhere you looked, there was some painting, some exquisite sculpture. All of it was breathtaking — and shockingly breakable, which made you wonder how they’d survived ownership by someone so endearingly clumsy.

He chuckled sheepishly when he saw the way you gawked, open-mouthed, at his collection.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a museum!” You were dizzy. “I swear, you’re going to have to get security to escort me out at closing time. I’ll stand, and ponder, and muse all day; and I’ll never leave.”

In hindsight, that sounded more like a threat than a warning.

Suddenly rushing so that you could explore more fully, you moved to bend down and undo the ankle straps of your heels. That was, coincidentally, the moment Namjoon attempted to address his own shoes. Your heads collided with a thud that made you both hiss and retract.

“You good?” Namjoon frowned apologetically. As he did, he lifted his hand to run his fingers gingerly over the bump likely forming on the crown of your head. You were too busy vibrating to do much more than nod.

Is one touch all it takes? This doesn’t bode well for you.

As if his goal was to kill you where you stood, he dropped his hand slowly, caressing the side of your jaw with his knuckle and a touch that was barely there. Deep brown eyes smoldered as they focused on you. Then, that husky voice completed the attack combination.

Knock out! Game over!

He tapped your chin with the pad of his thumb and said, “Stay here.”

As if you’d want to be anywhere else.

Before you could wrap your brain around the turn of events, Namjoon knelt in front of you. His right foot remained planted on the ground, leaving his thigh parallel overtop. Thank god for his black jeans. If you drooled at the sight of his quadricep straining against the denim, no trace would be left.

Knees wobbling, you followed his cue and shifted your weight to one foot. The other was guided up to rest against his thigh so he could address the ankle strap for you.

Is your mouth hanging open? Why is it so dry?

Your body shouldn’t have clenched the way it did at something so innocuous. Really, he was being polite. Self-preserving after your eagerness nearly left him concussed. But he must have heard your heart hammering against the wall of your chest because he looked up at you and — no, there was nothing polite about the way his eyes trailed over your body.

Nothing innocuous about his low voice wrapped in velvet saying, “You look like an angel when you look down at me like that.”

It was a miracle that you didn’t break skin with the way you pinched your bottom lip between your teeth.

You must have blacked out after the first shoe was discarded; you weren’t mentally present to notice the other one’s removal. When your soul re-entered your body, Namjoon was back to standing at full height — and he was significantly taller now that you stood barefoot on his doormat.

Incapable of eloquence, you simply peeped, “Hi.”

Either you were going insane, or there really was a faint buzz of electricity humming in the few centimeters between Namjoon’s body and yours. Something was conducting through every nerve of your body, tingling.

“Hi.”

His little half-smile made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say next because the only thought in your head was something between a prayer and a plea.

kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me

When the tip of his tongue broke through the seam of his lips to wet them, the only conclusion you could draw was that he’d read your mind. He didn’t listen, but the glint in his darkening eyes confirmed it: Namjoon knew exactly what you wanted and he was holding back. Instead of his mouth, he gave you his hand.

Not bad for a consolation prize.

His fingers slotted between yours like they were the reason those spaces existed in the first place.

That’s the thing about magnets — they attract what they’re meant to. You didn’t need to look for him to find him. Unpaired electron that you were, you knew it intrinsically when someone was spinning in the same direction you were. Even though it’d been the furthest thing from your mind in every moment leading to the present, you couldn’t deny it now:

You found someone that clicked.

There was static sparking in the air when Namjoon led you from the foyer into the living room. Every breath was charged, even the one that caught in your chest when you saw the full extent of his collection.

“I feel like I’m walking barefoot through the Met,” You hummed, eyes flitting from portrait to portrait. Traditional, contemporary, modern — all of it chosen thoughtfully and displayed the same way. “What’s it like to live in it?”

He paused and you paused with him. He looked shy for the first time all night. “Like I’m not alone with my thoughts, if that makes sense?”

Perfect sense.

“You’re not coming home to an empty apartment if you’ve got a piece of Yoo Youngkuk’s mind on the walls.” You gestured with your free hand to a painting hanging to your right. It filled the otherwise neutral space with bright blues, greens, and yellows. “Gotta have some enrichment in the enclosure, or the fishbowl we live and work in will drive us crazy.”

When you glanced back at Namjoon — who was silent and completely still — he looked as if your words had punched him in the chest. Not like he was in pain, but as if the wind had been knocked right out of him. He was silent, though his mouth was slightly parted, and he blinked slowly back at you. You didn’t know what that look in his eyes meant, but it was a far cry from the lust in them before you started rambling.

Now, you had to worry about whether you’d offended him somehow. Fuck. You’d done it again, piggy-backed off someone’s statement to add the two cents no one asked for. Have you ever kept a single thought to yourself?

You quickly pointed to a different painting.

This one, unlike the abstract pieces you’d examined so far, was earth tones in oil paints. Sitting in the center was a young woman in white, staring down at her bare feet as if one of them had stepped on something sharp.

“What’s her story?” You asked.

Namjoon cleared his throat to reactivate the vocal cords you’d seemingly paralyzed earlier. “That’s Eurydice on her wedding day. She married Orpheus, if his name rings any bells.”

It doesn’t.

“She got bit by a snake on her wedding night, which is — uhh, admittedly not ideal.” Namjoon visibly struggled to hide his smirk when you snorted in response. He continued, “She died, which is even worse, but Orpheus went to the underworld to save her.”

“Did he?”

Namjoon grimaced. “Orpheus was not great with rules.”

“Did Orpheus leave his own reception to chase a woman?” You teased with a raise of your eyebrow.

You watched his eyes darken in real time. Viper quick, he tugged at the hand he never let go of and led you right back to him. To keep yourself from colliding fully with his chest, your free palm flattened against it. His pulse raced at your touch, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the searing warmth radiating off of him.

“I suppose he did.” He leaned down, nose tip nearly bumping yours. “There’s an important distinction here, though.”

Namjoon’s hand left yours, lifted up to rest with his fingers under your jaw and his thumb above it. You were sure that your shallow, useless breaths were fanning over his chin, given how close in proximity his mouth was to yours. His breath hit your lips and left them tingling.

The best you could do was whisper, “And what would that be, Namjoon?”

“Orpheus went home empty-handed.”

You didn’t mean to growl in response the way you did, but he’d awakened something feral in you, and there was no turning back. No caging it in. Just your hands gripping tight to his shirt, pulling him down to kiss you the way you wished he had hours ago. That was primal, too. All teeth and tongue with his fingers threading through your hair, and —

And he laughed.

His shoulders shook just enough for you to notice. It was the quickened exhale of breath through his nose that gave him away, more than anything else.

“Is something funny?” You questioned him when you pulled back breathless. His eyes were crinkled, swimming with mirth.

Tease.

You and your now-unoccupied lips changed targets, dipping down to assault the exposed underside of his jaw. Mumbling against his skin, you urged, “Share with the class.”

He opened his mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to be on the brink of answering. Whatever words he might have found were lost again in an instant when your teeth nipped playfully where his neck met his shoulder.

“All those blackberries you ate — oh, fuck.” Namjoon groaned, even more so when your tongue flicked over the faint indents you’d left behind.

After leaving an opened-mouth kiss on his collarbone, you looked up at him from under a curtain of lashes. His head was thrown back, but he sensed your stare; half-lidded eyes fluttered down at you, transfixed. It was a look you felt everywhere, downright pulsing as it shot straight to your core.

You weren’t ready for the hands in your hair to migrate, and that fact was made abundantly clear by the tiny gasp he stole from you in the process. He reveled in it; the corner of his mouth twitched triumphantly upwards. His left hand resettled on your hip while the knuckles of his right hand brushed over the space just below your belly button.

Namjoon must’ve known he had you spellbound because his smirk was full-fledged when he pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers. Gently, he tugged what he’d claimed, causing the hem to flutter against the tops of your thighs. You were left damn near liquified. More puddle than person, dripping dizzy under such a torturously soft touch.

He didn’t know you were kerosene until he struck the match.

“If your kiss tastes like blackberries...” He trailed off, head tilting to the side. His right hand dropped further. It hovered, red hot, just millimeters away from your core. “How sweet is the rest of you?”

You erupted in flames when his fingertips finally made contact with your clothed cunt. Clenching your desperate thighs together did nothing to extinguish the blaze, nor did the arousal that slicked the innermost parts of them. Swallowing down the whimper building in your chest, you did your best to keep cool.

Eyebrow arched, you whispered, “Asking questions won’t get you answers, Namjoon. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

The intention might’ve been to wind up in his bedroom at the opposite end of his apartment, but the execution was short-sighted. The farthest your lip-locked staggering got you was the adjoining, open kitchen — more specifically, the kitchen island. The chilled, marble countertop forced a hiss out through your teeth when the undersides of your legs settled on it. With Namjoon’s hands scorching the tops of your bare thighs, though, you were far from frozen.

Fingers raking through his hair, you let him kiss you stupid — until you couldn’t remember how it felt not to. Whiskey-laced and wanting, you licked into his mouth with a stifled whimper and came to two irrefutable conclusions. They spun pirouettes in your brain as his fingernails scratched up your thighs and under the hem of your dress.

Kim Namjoon was made to be kissed.

Up, up, up, his hands moved slowly until you felt his index fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t have to ask for your help; automatically and eagerly, you dropped your hands until your palms flattened against the countertop and lifted your hips. Down your thighs, off your ankles, tossed carelessly over his shoulder, gone — accomplished with his bottom lip kept as a souvenir between your teeth.

Kim Namjoon tastes like blackberries, too.

He was panting when he finally broke away. Large hands slid under your knees and pulled you forward. Now sitting at the very edge of the counter with Namjoon’s body between your thighs, you could feel him throbbing behind too-tight jeans. You were seconds away from reaching out to touch him, but he was the quicker draw.

The tip of his middle finger slid through your folds, wading through the slick that had pooled there. He moved slowly from the button of your clit to your entrance. That teasing filled your head with static and the silence with obscenity: you cursing under your breath as your forehead dropped to rest against his shoulder; you gushing, though he’d barely begun to touch you.

“All for me?” He hummed. Namjoon’s eyes were locked on your face, as if he was collecting mental snapshots of the fucked-out expression he’d put there. “Sweet thing.”

His lips connected with the underside of your jaw in the exact moment his digit finally slipped inside of you. You were sure he felt the way your mouth fell open, even if neither of you heard your breath catching in your throat. It didn’t take much effort on his part to coax it out of you, though; just a few slow pumps, and then you were whimpering near his ear.

You had to rely on your arm around his neck to keep you tethered. If you let go, you weren’t sure where you’d end up — floating off to join Neowise in its orbit, or crashing down into a heap at Namjoon’s feet. But then he added his ring finger, and you clung to him so tightly that you might’ve wound up in his rib cage instead.

“Oh, s-shit,” you keened as his fingers curled upwards. He’d found his target and attacked it slowly, forcing you to walk towards your orgasm rather than sprint — the way you needed to. The way you were willing to beg for. “Namjoon, please. I n—”

You felt the curve of his smirk against your skin. Before you could finish asking, he murmured low in your ear, “Say less, beautiful.”

The kiss he placed on your temple was the last thing you remember before his increased pace lit the fuse waiting deep in your abdomen. His thumb pressed against your clit, winding quick spirals, and he didn’t let up until he blew your mind sky-high.

When the smoke cleared and your pieces fell back into place, you had to blink to get the stars out of your eyes. “You should’ve warned me,” you panted. Namjoon was puzzled, which only made you beam. “You didn’t strike me as the dexterous type.”

The feigned shock on his face didn’t stick for long; it was quickly replaced by a shit-eating grin that made you tingle for an entirely different reason.

“These hands are good for two things, and two things only.”

You snorted, flexed an expectant eyebrow. “Breaking shot glasses, and…?”

Namjoon shook his head. His fingers were still shining with your orgasm when he brought them to his lips. It was ridiculous how he could still look pensive with you dripping down to his knuckles.

“Making you cum, first and foremost,” he corrected you matter-of-factly, like it was an undeniable truth dictated in one of the many books you’d seen littered around his apartment — and really, it should’ve been.

He took those glistening fingers into his mouth to clean you off of him; you couldn’t look away from his tongue as it ran down their length. You swallowed hard when he did. Then, he released them with a lewd pop that made you clench around nothing. “And making you cum again.”

You rolled your eyes, as if you weren’t still irreparably charmed by him. Namjoon bit back a grin, like he didn’t already know.

“My hypothesis may be confirmed, by the way,” he mused.

The magnetism you’d felt earlier brought him back to you again. His arms snaked around your waist so easily that you had to remind yourself — over and over — that they were strangers to you, not a home. That this was adrenaline; this was infatuation; this was one night.

You hummed in response, “Is it?”

It felt like home when Namjoon kissed you, softness laced with eagerness. Or like wax pooling on an envelope, the deed now signed and sealed.

“I’ll have to re-run the experiment, of course. Scientific method and all that.” He waved his hand, as if this was obvious. Yours landed a playful swat on his bicep that only deepened the dimple at the corner of his smile. He kissed you again and you let him. Lips still flush to yours, he mumbled, “Your pussy may be even sweeter.”

2020/7/19; 01:04

You should’ve been exhausted. Your social battery — and your physical battery — should’ve been depleted. You, an introvert and a homebody, should’ve been halfway to sleep in your own bed by now, in your own clothes.

When you left your apartment all those hours ago, you were already prepared to hibernate for twice as long as you’d spent on the outside. That was the way it always worked. A plan you never deviated from; one you never wanted to. But you’d been firmly rooted in the moment — every moment — since you arrived at that party, and you hadn’t spent a second since wishing you were elsewhere.

Your voice cut through the music flowing from the speakers built into his bedroom walls. “I’m not buying it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You twirled at the center of the rug and watched the fabric of Namjoon’s loaned t-shirt attempt to keep up with you. It hung over your frame like a potato sack, leaving a comforting weight as the excess material spilled over your shoulders and landed halfway down your thighs.

Funnily enough, it fit like the dress it’d replaced.

Pausing to swallow down the last sip of the soju you’d been splitting, you gestured towards him with the empty bottle. From where he sat on his bed, Namjoon raised his hands defensively. That sheepish smile admitted that he knew your offense was justified.

“You’re a musician who is fluent in English. You’re also a human being living in a society,” you huffed. “There is simply no way that you don’t know the words to this song.”

He had to cover his face with his hands to muffle his laughter. Even before he hid behind his palms, you could see the way his mirth made his eyes swim. They sparkled even more in that moment than they had in the thousand other times he’d looked at you throughout the night. Once again, you tried to convince yourself that it was due to the rose-colored glasses you couldn’t seem to shake off.

A trick of the light.

You were doing it again, and you knew it — conflating relief and hope; confusing the temporary sense of belonging somewhere with the ability to stay anywhere. You weren’t looking for this, weren’t looking for him, because you knew exactly what you couldn’t have. But you also knew that your heart was racing in your chest, and its rhythm was starting to sound more and more like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

Apparently, you’d been staring. Looking at Namjoon for too long made your knees wobble more than your sore muscles did, so you had to avert your eyes when you snapped back to reality. Brushing off that odd flutter in your chest, you brought the empty bottle back to your lips, tilted your head back, and belted out the lyrics you knew he knew.

“Oh, wake me! I'm shaking.”

You took your clumsy choreography to the next level with an exaggerated shiver. Namjoon watched through the cracks between his fingers, unable to ignore the person coming unzipped mere meters away. Undeterred, you threw the back of your hand up to rest against your forehead.

“Wish I had you near me now.” Then, you wiggled your hips in time with the ad-lib. It was barely audible underneath the chuckling from the audience. “Uh-huh.”

His hands dropped to his lap as yours shot straight up into the air, where you held them. The expression on his face was indecipherable when he gazed back at you. Whatever it meant, it was quickly morphing maybe into something more hopeful and — terrifyingly — committal.

“Said there's no mistaking —”

Namjoon said it on an exhale, weightless and without any effort. It sounded natural tumbling out of his mouth and into the space between you. It sounded a lot like:

“I think I love you.”

Without missing a beat, you reeled your arms back down and set the soju bottle onto a nearby dresser. Head tilted to the side, you crossed your arms and smirked. “How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

He didn’t seem at all surprised by the way you bought in immediately. You wondered if you truly expected him to be. After all, you weren’t, even if a reasonably well-adjusted person should have been. Perhaps, you thought, you weren’t one of those.

Namjoon’s response came just as easily as his first admission, a perfect volley. “At least seventy-nine percent sure.” You couldn’t see the way you lit up, but you’d have liked to imagine that it matched the way he did. Quicker still, he added, “And yes, I would. All in.”

There’s that magnetic pull again.

You skipped back to where he was waiting on the bed and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. Up close, you could see the sakura tint to his cheeks; it blended perfectly with the faint freckles dusting over the heights of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You’re beautiful, you thought, and it’s no wonder that the sun found you worth kissing.

Something about his proximity to you made you bold; you didn’t fight it. You simply smirked, “Then let’s make a deal, Joonie.”

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows but didn’t interrupt.

“Two years,” you hummed as you tilted your head to the side. Then, with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, you elaborated, “If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

Namjoon nodded firmly. He put his hand out to shake on it, but you sat up on your knees. His gaze followed, leaving him to stare up at you as your fingers slid through his hair. You kissed him to finalize the contract, like all true devils do.

“Deal,” he murmured against your lips.

It scared you, just a little, how melting into him already felt like a routine. Like you’d done several times already that night, you spilled into his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs. Namjoon’s arms accepted you immediately; they enveloped you, kept you anchored against his chest.

This time, it was you who laughed.

Namjoon nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose. “What was that about sharing with the class?”

“I just — I’m not normally like this, you know? Completely unable to keep my hands to myself,” you snickered. “Can’t stop touching you.”

To emphasize your point, you removed your right hand from its place at the nape of his neck. Once your fingers were no longer woven through his hair, your fingertips traced light, languid lines, starting at his collarbone. Your eyes followed as your ministrations led you over the slope of his left pectoral muscle, down the bare warmth of his chest.

“So, don’t.”

When your eyes flicked back up to Namjoon’s face, you got the impression that he hadn’t stopped staring at yours. Right hand trailing further down, you maintained that eye contact and watched his pupils blow when you reached the bulge in his boxer briefs. Experimentally, the pad of your index finger whispered along the length of his cock; you relished the subtle twitch you received in response.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” You asked.

He was throbbing under your touch, growing hard once again, as if you hadn’t been at this for hours already. That didn’t stop you from driving him further wild. More breath than words, you teased, “Or here?”

With a light hand, you flattened your palm to encompass him more fully and squeezed, prompting him to curse.

“Fuck.”

Namjoon’s eyelashes fluttered, but he seemed entirely unwilling to let them close. Desperate brown eyes pleaded with you, sending heat straight to your core.

“Need you, pretty thing. Hand, mouth — doesn’t matter, just fuck me.”

Your fingers slipped away from the base until they resettled at the crown. Even without looking, you could feel the spot where his leaking tip had soaked through the fabric. He groaned when your fingers pulled away, though he stopped in his tracks when he realized where they were headed.

Namjoon shuddered when your hand dipped under the waistband of his briefs and picked up exactly where you’d left off.

“How do you want it, Namjoon?”

As you stroked him, you pressed your lips to his. Slow, hungry, like you’d die before you’d get the opportunity again.

To the best of his ability, Namjoon rolled his hips forward with each pass of your fist. And when you redirected that teasing pressure to his balls, he downright jolted, let loose some deep sound from the bottom of his chest. The sound hardly had time to dissipate before you felt the hem of your shirt lifting above your hips.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head, it was gone in an instant, landing somewhere unseen off the edge of the bed. Ridding him of his briefs was a more concentrated effort. You pushed up on your knees so he could shimmy them down far enough for you to discard them entirely.

“How are your legs, pretty girl?” His palms warmed the tops of your thighs as he massaged his way from your kneecaps towards your hips.

Dipping his head down, Namjoon nipped affectionately at your earlobe and earned a squeak from you. His low chuckle vibrated through you. He was quick to redirect himself, though the teasing didn’t end at his teeth.

“You seem to like being bossy, but I can take over if you’re tired.”

You feigned a scowl. “Are you baiting me?”

The wicked grin on his face answered for him, but it was quickly replaced with wide-eyed surprise when you pressed your hands against his chest and pinned him back against the pillows.

He shrugged, eyes still sparkling with mischief. “Not my fault if you take it, sweets.”

“Never would I ever have assumed that Kim Namjoon is a pillow princess.”

You pointed accusingly at him with one hand while the other slid into the space between you to line yourself up with his cock.

Impish grin still locked and loaded, he leaned up on his elbows until your extended finger was centimeters from his face. He kissed the tip of it chastely between his words, like his own tip wasn’t dripping with you, seconds away from obscenity.

“Hook — line —”

You dropped down on his length, and it shut him up immediately.

Though Namjoon was certifiably, world-endingly thick, you’d acclimated well enough to the stretch of him in your time together so far. He didn’t seem prepared for you to take him to the hilt in one fell swoop, if the way his head crashed back against the pillows could be taken as a hint.

With a swirl of your hips, you grinded down into his lap. Coquettishly, you finished where he left off. “Sinker?”

“Christ,” Namjoon groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, then followed up immediately with a sheepish laugh. “Feel like I can’t even watch you do this. You’re too fucking good — never gonna make it out of here alive.”

Pride bloomed in your chest at the compliment, even though he was prophesying his own downfall between your spread legs.

You imagined he could feel it for himself: you weren’t any more likely to survive. Not full of him, with your slick spilling down his cock as you bounced. Definitely not with the sick sounds of your ass colliding with his pelvis, squelching with every thrust.

There was something blooming below your navel, but this time, it wasn’t pride. A tingling heat coiled tight, desperate to snap again. You needed it, but the burn in your thighs was stronger by far.

“Joonie,” you whimpered, incapable of caring about how pathetic you knew you sounded. Your head, previously thrown back, drooped forward to find him and his flushed cheeks fighting to maintain composure.

God, he looked as fucked out as you felt.

Namjoon focused on you immediately, attentively, and your heart leapt of its own accord. He curled his finger and beckoned you to lean forward.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he sighed.

Less gracefully than you would’ve liked, you all but crashed into him, sweat-slicked chest to chest. Arms wrapped around you like they were made for that very purpose.

Anchored.

Dangling from the last, frayed thread of your resolve, you were damn near speaking in tongues. Namjoon pushed up onto his heels and buried himself in you — over and over and over — at a punishing pace, hellbent on unraveling both of you at once.

Your moan was halfway to a sob. All the words you knew had been knocked loose some time ago, leaving only his name and please. They rattled around your skull, alternating as they spilled out of your mouth.

“Say less, baby,” he panted.

There was a kiss pressed to your forehead, and then there were stars bursting behind your screwed-shut lids.

2020/11/2; 07:22

Namjoon sat across from you at his kitchen island with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book he’d forgotten the name of in the other. He’d started it over an hour ago, though the two turned pages might indicate otherwise. Instead, he’d spent his time attempting to read whatever scrunched-up, pensive expression you had written all over your face.

You hadn’t said much since the two of you sat down, just pushed your sliced fruit around your plate with chopsticks that had yet to pass your lips. Every now and then, you’d hummed in response to the random thoughts Namjoon relayed out loud. Ultimately, whenever you’d realized he said something at all, your eyes widened; and you’d blinked your way out of whatever daydream you’d gotten lost in.

He loved that about you, your internal wanderlust. Even if he didn’t always know where your train of thought was headed initially, he’d board it with you regardless, find out on the way.

Eventually, you plucked a blackberry off your plate and popped it into your mouth. Your eyes were still glued to your laptop when you started to chew. Then, he suspected that the tartness of it truly hit your tastebuds. The lightbulb switched on and you were back, beaming across the countertop, warming him like a UV lamp.

“Hi,” you peeped.

Namjoon loved that about you, too. Infinite hellos sprinkled throughout his day at random; feeling like you missed him whenever you looked away, and that you found it necessary to greet him when he finally stepped back into frame.

He lit up, too. “Hi. Where’d you go just now?”

You swallowed. Whether it was exclusively the fruit or anxiety, too, he didn’t know. That is, until you claimed your bottom lip between your teeth and mumbled, “Got a weird email from the Overlord.”

The sip of coffee Namjoon had taken while he waited for your answer was a bad idea. He sputtered, nearly spitting it out onto that book he couldn’t care about. The would-be spit-take made your brows raise on your once-crinkled forehead; your amusement was palpable, even if you did him the courtesy of not laughing in his reddening face.

“If Bang finds out you call him that, he’s gonna want it on the nameplate outside his office,” Namjoon coughed. Clearing his throat, he bumped his fist against his chest to shake loose any coffee that might be lingering near his airway. “Weirder email than usual?”

You nodded, then you waved him over to you. It was an odd thing to be grateful for, but he was glad you didn’t just turn your laptop around and scoot it towards him to read. You always took any opportunity for closeness.

When he crossed around the island to you, Namjoon threaded his arms around your waist and ducked down to rest his head on your shoulder. The second he laid eyes on your screen, he was paralyzed. You had so many browser tabs open that none had enough space to display what they contained.

Is this what the inside of your brain looks like?

“Jagi,” he started, breathing in deep to keep from laughing with his entire chest.

It was bubbling there beneath the surface, he could feel it. Begging for composure, Namjoon buried his face in your hair. Vanilla and honey. Instantly calm, perfectly prepared to nudge you further. “How — how did you even find your inbox?”

Just to fuck with you, he pressed his fingertips against that secret spot on the right side of your rib cage. It was the one place on your body he’d been able to confirm was ticklish.

Eventually, maybe, he’d learn his lesson. Today was not that day.

You squealed, thrashed wildly in his hold until your elbow wound up on the right side of his rib cage. It was hard enough to make your point, but way too gentle to hurt. Still, Namjoon had to capitalize on it. He sucked in a gasping breath and stood bolt upright to clutch his chest like he’d been shot.

With you watching wide-eyed, he staggered backwards — away from you, away from the kitchen — until the back of his knees hit the sofa in the adjoining living room.

At some point, Namjoon would have to shoot up a thank you to the God of Entertainment. Somebody had clearly been looking out for him when open-concept apartments came into existence. His slapstick would’ve been so underwhelming if there were doorways involved.

Flopping backwards, his limbs splayed out across the backrest and cushions. Whatever parts of him didn’t fit spilled over the edge and dangled above the floor. He froze that way, playing dead with his tongue jutting out of the side of his mouth.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

“Hope you watered the plants before you died, Joonie,” you called out. You sounded distant, like you hadn’t gotten up from your stool. “If you left it up to me, they’ll be dead soon, too.”

Joonie.

God, the way his heart still fluttered at that. Coming from you, that nickname didn’t sound stupid, or inspire him to choose violence. It wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t followed by some shit-eating grin. It was soft. Made him soft.

Jooniejooniejoonie.

“Actually, for all you know, I’ve got a tab open somewhere with an article on how to keep plants alive.”

Namjoon heard the faint scrape of the stool as you pushed it away from the counter. Then, the soft pad of your slippers coming his way. The hints were lost once you hit the plush living room rug, and so were you — until he felt your knees slotting on either side of his legs.

You settled down on top of him with your cheek pressed to his chest and your hair tickling his nose. Bravely, he didn’t sneeze.

Hand slipping down to the small of your back, he rubbed spirals into the space between the hem of your sweatshirt and the waistband of your sleep shorts. He hummed, “What’s on your mind?”

For more than a few moments, you were so quiet — so still — that Namjoon had to wonder whether his ministrations had put you straight to sleep. If that was the case, he’d keep going, blow off his to-do list for as long as he could just to keep you like this.

This.

Neither of you had settled on precisely what this was.

For nearly four months, this something was one of few constants in his life. Yours, too. It wasn’t a secret that needed keeping, but whatever this was felt too important to share. It belonged to the two of you, not anyone else — with the sole exception being Yoongi, who would’ve noticed the massive, tectonic shift whether or not he’d been the one to kick it off. Everyone else, though? Non-factors, as far as Namjoon could tell.

Until —

“Label’s expanding overseas.” It came out muffled, either because your cheek was smushed against his sternum, or because you really had fallen asleep in the pause. You continued, slightly clearer, “Putting a flagship sub-label in Los Angeles to crowbar their way into the American market.”

Namjoon wasn’t surprised, not really. Si-Hyuk had been daydreaming about this leap for as long as Namjoon knew him. It was only a matter of time before he got his little contractual ducks in a row. If anything, Namjoon was surprised that it took him this long to do it — what, with American money and American awards on the table.

But he knew you, knew that you didn’t give much of a shit about executive decisions, so long as they didn’t get in the way of your decisions.

That was precisely why he knew you were bringing this up for a reason.

“The hard launch is at the end of the month, so Bang is hoping to sign some of us over in the meantime. He’s trying to boost the curb appeal, I guess.”

You sighed and Namjoon felt the rush of air leave your lungs.

Namjoon nodded carefully to avoid knocking the top of your head with his chin. He sighed, too. “To water the plants.”

You didn’t say the quiet part out loud, but he could sense your brain working overtime; damn near hear your train of thought as it picked up speed. He half-expected to feel heat seep from your head to his chest while all your synapses fired off at once.

The warmth came from your eyes instead. You shifted so that your chin rested in the space between his pectoral muscles; and as soon as your gaze settled on his face, the crease between your eyebrows relaxed. Your pupils dilated, too, blown wide enough for him to notice the shift.

So, that’s what love looks like.

Not merely a neurochemical reaction or some grand, Hallmark-style gesture. Love looked like you, looking at him, while a wave of patent relief smoothed out the worry digging trenches in your features. And if he had to describe how it felt, well… The only word that came to mind was home.

“Is he asking or telling?”

Part of him wondered; the other part knew there usually wasn’t much of a difference between the two.

Even more quietly than before, you responded, “Asking — like, actually asking.”

The wrinkle in the center of your eyebrows reappeared, informing him immediately that you were split between the answer you wanted to give and the one you felt you should. Namjoon wouldn’t dare to make that call for you — to press down on either side of the scale — so he leaned forward and kissed you in the middle, right on top of that conflicted little crease.

“Joonie,” you started in a tone split three ways. Shy, sad, and sparked with a sense of hope that made you wary.

Bang Si-Hyuk wasn’t alone in his daydream. You brought it up considerably less than he did, but Namjoon sensed that this was because you didn’t want your motives to be speculatively linked with the prospect of profit. That would be the furthest thing from the truth.

For you, it was about your craft — Namjoon felt comfortable calling it that — and the million ways you could improve it with new collaborators, new ideas, new experiences.

For Namjoon, it was about you; and hoping that when you dove into life head-first, you never touched the bottom. Wanting everything you wanted to fall straight into your hands like confetti. And, if he could remain just a little bit selfish, he wanted to stick around and watch you catch them all.

If you wanted him, too, the rest of it would fall into place, one way or another. It’d have to, because Namjoon was struggling to remember how his days passed at all without you laughing through them. Maybe he’d have to reacclimate to sleeping without your knee pressed into his back, but he was confident that he could.

He could wait for you until this detour was over.

He would wait for you.

Without needing to think twice about it, Namjoon kissed your forehead and smiled with his lips still pressed to your skin. It was routine, as easy as breathing when he said, “Say less.”

You both stayed there on that couch for a while, though he couldn’t guess how long. Simultaneously minutes and months, but somehow — confusingly — it didn’t feel like the clock was moving at all. He could’ve easily believed that the universe has pressed pause on the moment, but you peeped and he had proof to the contrary:

“I’d be there by Thanksgiving.”

The realization clearly made you a little bit giddy. If your tiny gasp hadn’t given you away, your pulse would have. Namjoon could feel that hummingbird heartbeat against his own rib cage, and — shit, did that fondness squeeze his heart with a vice grip

You sat up, wild-eyed and urgent. “Is pumpkin pie just for colonizers, or are they obligated to share it?”

Fuck, he loved you.

“Joonie, this is serious.” You pouted and it was all he could do to bite back a grin. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

He nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose and smirked, “Just do what they do.”

“Steal it?” You snorted, devolving into a fit of giggles when he began to pepper kisses down your cheek, then along your jawline.

Eighteen in total, one for every stroke.

Saranghae.

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “Steal it.”

2021/6/19; 04:11

Most people — normal people — were in bed at four o’clock in the morning. You were not most people, though situations like this were becoming more and more normal to you. Unfortunately, you’d been forced to learn that normal and easy weren’t interchangeable. If they were, you’d have gotten used to taking the red-eye by now.

This was your third late-night flight. Not at all coincidentally, this was your third trip home since you left it for Los Angeles. You’d spent seventy-eight hours in the air, making this trip; flown more than 57,480 kilometers in less than a year.

Seven months, technically, but who’s counting?

The elapsed time seemed to run in dog years, though the calendar maintained that only seven months had passed. At the rate they slipped through your fingers, it felt like seven years of trying your best to take advantage of every break in your schedule. Flinging yourself across a black sky on a semi-regular basis, even if you’d just gotten off a tour of your own. Praying that the odd hours and lack of layovers meant your thirteen-hour trip didn’t steal a second more than was absolutely necessary.

Time, you’d learned, was a luxury you failed to properly budget for. Unable to do much else, you accepted whatever scraps you could afford. Make them worth it, you’d demand of yourself each time you landed at Incheon. Every time, your excuse would follow: I’m trying, I swear, but I’m so tired.

Instead of a bed, you were slumped in Namjoon’s passenger seat, clutching the small bouquet he’d brought you in a hand too exhausted to register the brush of soft, white petals. You’d never lose track of his fingers interlocked with yours, though. His touch was inimitable, and the warmth of it stuck with you long after it was gone.

“Pretty,” you mumbled, gaze zeroed in on the flowers. You lifted your right arm to bring them in for closer inspection. It was futile, mostly, given how bleary your eyes were. You guessed, “Baby’s breath?”

This airport ritual of his combined two of your favorite things: the careful consideration he made in choosing flowers that conveyed messages, and the dimple that appeared on his cheek when you guessed correctly. Gifting you an additional prize, Namjoon raised your clasped hands off the center console. Without taking his eyes off the road for too long, he flashed a sleepy grin at you and kissed your knuckles.

Fuck, you loved him.

He turned onto the expressway, let your hands drift back down between you, and yawned. Automatically, you yawned, too.

As he drove, Namjoon’s sleep-drenched brain did its best to ask about all the updates you might’ve acquired since your last phone conversation. He asked about the extended play you were writing, the weird leak in your apartment, and the only friend you’d truly made in the time you’d lived there.

“What’s their name again?” He asked, visibly embarrassed that he’d forgotten. “Jisoo?”

With a chuckle, you corrected him, “Jinseo.”

He echoed you firmly under his breath, clearly determined to commit it to memory this time. Word association was apparently part of that process, you realized. Your heart fluttered wildly when Namjoon proceeded to state the first thing that came to mind about her, proving that he did listen when you talked.

“Jinseo’s the attorney who tried to slide into Yoongi’s Instagram DMs,” Namjoon stated, as if he were being quizzed. “He never looks at them. She’s been checking for three weeks to see if he’s even opened it.”

The way he recited this fact made it sound like he’d learned it from a book, rather than overhearing your friend’s complaints directly while he spoke to you on the phone. Still, he glanced at you for confirmation that he was correct. You nodded, proud.

Then, you provided the update he’d been seeking: “For the record, he still hasn’t.”

You mustered enough energy to laugh along with him, but neither of you was awake enough to keep the conversation going. At least, you hoped that was the case. The alternative — that you’d run out of things to talk about — was worse. It was all you could think about, and now silence crept into the lulls, sitting heavy.

Namjoon was the first to speak again, after a long pause: “It’s lunchtime back home, isn’t it?”

It was an innocent question — a caring one, checking in on you — but it struck like a sucker punch, nonetheless. There might come a day that association didn’t sting, but you knew intrinsically that this wasn’t it.

Los Angeles wasn’t home, even though you’d lived there for the better part of a year. Seoul wasn’t home, either. You had no real roots in either location, continuously jumping back and forth between the two. Namjoon was home, though he was beginning to feel temporary, too.

“It’s so early for you, Joon.” You squeezed his hand. “We can go back to bed, and grab food later. I’m not hungry yet, anyway.”

A lie, but a well-intentioned one. You hoped your stomach kept quiet, kept your secret.

Though he wasn’t looking in your direction, there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes that you couldn’t have missed if you tried. You were sure it matched yours whenever the sixteen-hour time difference made you miss his calls. His schedule lately had made them fewer and farther between.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sighed.

He meant it, and he emphasized as much with a reciprocal squeeze of your hand. It stung, knowing that he was apologizing for all of it, up to and including this moment; and that neither of you was at fault for any of it.

“We’ll be back in sync in no time. I’ll —”

You cut him off with a whisper and your best attempt at a smile, “Pssssst.”

Thankfully, Namjoon was stopped at the only red light that still separated the two of you from his parking garage. Otherwise, the way his alarmed eyes flitted in your direction may have had consequences.

“Say less,” you mimicked, like any of this felt the way it did before. He beamed, but his grin left just as quickly as it appeared.

Namjoon looked away when the light changed, unaware that your face fell before you could catch it. Something that insignificant shouldn’t have had the power to make you that sad; but it did, and you didn’t know what to do with that fact.

The rest of the ride continued in silence. If Namjoon also felt like that silence was suffocating, there were no hints about it in his expression or his posture.

Does this feel easy to you? Am I the one making it hard?

He had to let go of your hand to park in his assigned space, and he forgot to reach for it again when he finished. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t make it hurt less. Didn’t make the tears biting at the corners of your eyes any less embarrassing.

For two people as jet-lagged and otherwise exhausted as you were, it didn’t take long to drag yourselves from his car to his apartment. It took even less time for Namjoon to begin shuffling off towards the bedroom. Halfway there, he realized you weren’t still close behind.

“Where —?” He turned his head to search for you before he turned his body fully. Ultimately, he found you hovering near the kitchen island. The relief in locating you was quickly diluted with concern. “You okay?”

Are we? Is this?

“I think I left my phone in the car.” You patted down the pockets of both your joggers and your jacket, brows furrowed. Then, you picked up the keys he’d just set down on the counter top. “Gonna run down and look for it.”

Too tired to be steady, Namjoon swayed slightly where he stood. You couldn’t help yourself. That magnetic pull tugged you over to him, pushed you up onto your toes, and demanded that you kiss him until that confused frown curved upwards.

For a moment, you smiled, too.

“Go back to bed,” you whispered, leaving a kiss at his temple. You hadn’t meant to speak so softly. Your voice was caught wherever your breath was, and they refused to cooperate. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

He nodded, accepting a proper kiss before his bedroom-bound shuffling continued. Out of sight, you heard the thump of his lead limbs collapse back into his mattress. You felt it in your chest, which was tightening by the second.

You turned for the door, ready to run, only to stop dead in your tracks. Just ahead of you, tending to a snake bite, was Eurydice. The sight of her portrait hanging on the wall threatened to rip out the sob you’d worked to keep buried. She was all you could think about when you slipped out the door, and stumbled down the hall.

Maybe Eurydice would’ve lived if she’d never met Orpheus.

Shoulders shaking by the time you reached the stairwell, you shoved your hand into your pocket as you crumpled downward onto the concrete steps. You pulled out your phone and gripped it tight, like closing your fists around it could keep you together, too.

With the extent of your tears, you couldn’t make heads or tails of that bright, white screen. You did what you could, though, like you always did. Warbled voice bouncing off the walls around you, you found a loophole and slipped through it.

“Hey, Siri —”

The swirling grey, red, blue, and green at the bottom of your screen looked more like a life-preserver than anything else. Automatically, you pleaded, “Call Yoongi.”

It was a fifty-fifty chance, calling him at this hour.

He’d either be awake because he never went to sleep in the first place, or he’d have just drifted off. Either way, you were already sorry for bothering him. When he picked up on the first ring, that was the very first thing you said to him.

Immediately, his tone shifted from the grogginess of his initial greeting. Now, he sounded worried. You wondered if you’d woken him up, but you didn’t ask.

“Hey — whoa, whoa, whoa — what’s wrong? Your plane didn’t crash, did it?”

He wasn’t trying to be funny and you didn’t mean to laugh, but you did. Sort of. It was some odd, gasping sound that felt wrong as it came out of your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you kept repeating, as if you could manifest the outcome. “I’m fine. I just — I need someone to tell me if I’m crazy, or just doing this whole thing wrong —”

“Doing what wrong?” Yoongi cut you off. “It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing properly, if that’s what you mean. Can you take a deep breath? Count to five on the inhale and on the exhale.”

You did what he said. It helped with what it was meant to, but hyperventilation had been the least of your concerns.

“Sit on the floor if you aren’t already. If you can, lean your back against a wall and flatten your palms on the ground, okay? That’ll help you feel anchored.”

Halfway compliant, you slumped against the metal railing next to you. You threaded your left arm over the lower of the two rungs and held on tight. Part of you wanted to laugh at this, too. It wasn’t much different than the safety bar on a rollercoaster; the way your stomach dropped was identical.

“I can come get you if you tell me where you are,” Yoongi continued. “That twenty-four-hour place has lamb skewers now. We can eat, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

You didn’t know where to start. All of it, you thought, it’s all wrong.

The answer you blurted out was, “I love him.”

“I know, kid,” Yoongi sighed, and it sounded like an apology. He didn’t need any further explanation. “I know you do.”

Your voice broke when you continued, splintering painfully in your throat. It wasn’t a question you had any conscious intention to ask. It was simply shrapnel flying out of your mouth:

“Is loving someone supposed to hurt this much?”

2021/11/13; 14:36

Your fourth trip home felt different than the rest. There was something in the air that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Whatever it was, it’d kept your stomach in knots from the time you left your apartment until you wandered through customs in Incheon.

It’d only gotten worse when you finally reached the sidewalk outside the airport. Your first instinct had been to cry, though not for the reason you usually did; you’d swallowed that urge with a hastily taken sip of boba. Just like he had for your three previous homecomings, Namjoon was waiting for you, flowers in hand.

Flower, singular.

Of the two of you, he was the one with encyclopedic knowledge of floriography. Regardless, you knew enough to understand what that lone, white tulip said. It was an apology; and by now, you were well acquainted with those. Even still, you hadn’t gotten any better about accepting them because he still hadn’t done a single thing to be sorry for.

Sorry.

That word had slowly mutated into a punctuation mark over the last year. It’d wormed its way into every sentence, whether or not it had any business being there.

Hi, sorry, I was in the studio when you called. I love you, sorry. I miss you, sorry. I’m so proud of you, sorry, I wish I could have been there.

You heard it even when neither of you spoke, felt it in every bit of quiet. It sat between you on the drive from the airport to that restaurant you used to like — the one by the lake. It filled your unoccupied hands on the walk in from the parking lot, rested like a centerpiece in the middle of your table.

Neither of you ate much. You wished you’d had some semblance of an appetite, if only to fill the pit growing in your stomach. To distract from the way Namjoon’s eyes went glassy whenever he looked at you, or to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

Silent and sorry, the two of you watched the wind force waves; which, in turn, forced anchored row boats to collide with the dock.

Anchored.

There was that word again.

It’d been sitting untouched in the backlog of your vocabulary for longer than you’d care to admit. You knew its dictionary definition, of course, but it’d never been a word you’d ascribe to yourself. Leading up to last November, it wasn’t a feeling you’d knowingly craved, either. If you were honest, you might have hated it and its synonyms, too.

Rooted. Tethered.

They were on the tip of your tongue now, finally yours to taste. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that your resistance to them had always been a coping mechanism. Your amygdala trying to intervene.

Until you met Namjoon, stability had been unfamiliar and elusive. It’d outrun you for so long, there’d only been one conclusion left for you to leap to: You didn’t deserve to catch it.

But you did catch it. You found him, opened yourself up to believing that you were the kind of person who got to have roots. For a year, you tried so hard to nurture them, loved the beautiful thing you’d grown in spite of yourself.

You earned them, so why couldn't you keep them?

Namjoon noticed your breathing pick up. He knew you well enough to see precisely what direction your brain was spiraling in; and that you needed a gear shift. So, he hummed, “Been thinking about changing up my hair.”

“Oh?”

It certainly caught you off-guard, but you figured that was the point. You weren’t sure if you should have — or why you felt you couldn’t — but you reached up to run your fingers through it. Longer than last time, lighter.

“I’m not sure if the blonde has ever actually suited me,” he laughed. “What do you think? And, seriously, give it to me straight.”

You nibbled on your lower lip as you studied him. No matter how many times you stared at his face, you uncovered some new, favorite feature. Today, it was his irises, warmer than you remembered them being. Namjoon became more beautiful the less you saw him, as awful as that thought felt.

“I do like the blonde,” you mused. His cheeks blushed, just barely, but it squeezed your heart to know that was still a reaction you could pull from him. “But I think it would be nice to see Kim Namjoon as he exists naturally, you know? I haven’t met him yet.”

He smiled — genuinely, with his eyes and all his teeth — and it ached.

“I’ll make a note of that,” he promised with a laugh. Then, he gestured to your largely untouched plate “D’you want a box for that before we go?”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. It slipped out before you could stop it. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

The corner of his mouth lifted again, less happily than the last time. You knew as soon as you saw it that his half-smile was an apology, too.

2021/11/25; 19:59

Over the last week, Jinseo Kang had spent more time in your apartment than in her own. The spare key you’d given her at the start of your friendship was intended for emergencies, and while this wasn’t what either of you had in mind back then, that was the only word she could use to describe the state of you now.

In twelve months of knowing you, she’d gathered enough trivia about you to fill a memoir. Of the facts she’d collected, two came to mind immediately whenever Jinseo thought of you. The first was that you were a workaholic to a borderline clinical degree; so resistant to rest that the mere thought of being unproductive gave you hives. The second was that, despite the cursed hours you kept, you were never not in contact with Min Yoongi.

Since you’d flown back from Seoul, you’d done neither.

Jinseo didn’t have to ask to know what happened; you didn’t need to say a word. In fact, you hadn’t — not that she’d heard — since you touched down at LAX, two days ahead of schedule. The only reason Jinseo even knew to pick you up was a direct reply on Instagram that didn’t look a thing like she’d hoped. Worse, the only way she’d been able to recognize you in her passenger seat was by the signature, mint green headphones clenched tightly in your hands.

Immediately, she’d noted the absence of your smile. That was a seismic shift, in and of itself. As was the case with those pastel headphones, that smile of yours wasn’t something you’d ever be caught dead without. Part of you never got off that plane, she’d thought then. Looking at you now, crumpled on your couch, Jinseo knew better. A piece of you was missing long before you boarded that return flight in the first place.

From your kitchen, she glanced over at the heap of blankets, though she didn’t know why she bothered. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t done much of anything since you shuffled out of bed at two o’clock in the afternoon. Still, she had to check for proof of life. Proof that you were still there, somewhere, even buried.

Illuminated by the television screen and underscored by A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, there was movement. Half-hidden by a pile of knitted throws, she spotted the top of your head. Like it did every other time she saw the tangled bun sitting crooked there, her heart sank. I know you’re in there. I’ll find you, I promise.

In the absence of an instruction manual, she’d have to make one. This was a crash course — what to do when love dies in slow motion — and Jinseo was flying by the seat of her fucking pants. Maybe she didn’t know how to pull you out of this pitfall you were trapped in, but she could hold your hand and refuse to let it go.

So, that’s precisely what she did.

Before making her way to you, Jinseo grabbed the dish she’d been preparing off the counter. Spare fork in hand, she rounded the kitchen island and made a beeline for you. You didn’t react when she reached you, unless you counted the way you hugged your knees a little tighter to your chest. Jinseo certainly didn’t; she would’ve sat directly on your feet if you hadn’t cleared the space.

This close to you, she could see the way your jaw was still clenched. Going on eight days now, it was impressive, in some sick way, that the unrelenting pressure hadn’t left you with a mouth full of dust. See? She wanted to grab your knee and shake it, make sure you heard it loud and clear: Look what you can survive!

She didn’t, though. Jinseo simply held out the plate in her hands and stared at you expectantly until you sensed her gaze on you. Red-rimmed and glassy, your eyes lifted to meet her face and she was not going to cry at the sight of you. Nope. Swallowing thickly, she glanced pointedly at the plate, then back up to you.

You were unfazed, barely conceding a blink. You didn’t even look down.

Please, sweet bean. Please eat something.

She tried again, nudging your knee with hers. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

For whatever reason, that holiday greeting was the only thing to reach you in a week. Finally, you looked down.

Jinseo hadn’t finalized her expectations prior to this moment, but the short list had included an eye roll, a groan, something. Even if you didn’t reciprocate, she would’ve been grateful for a response of any kind. Her list hadn’t included you bursting into tears over a piece of pumpkin pie, but that’s exactly what she got.

Charlie Brown can go fuck himself. There’s no such thing as good grief.

It was a reflex, dropping that plate onto the coffee table like it’d bit her. With her hands now free, she grabbed your shaking shoulders and pulled your limp body towards her until you all but collapsed in her lap. Even then, she squeezed you tighter.

I will not let you shatter. I will not let you slip away.

The two of you stayed there, just like that, for however long it took you to let go of the tears you’d stockpiled for eight straight days. And when you were finally quiet — finally still — Jinseo thought for sure that you’d finally fallen asleep.

“I think I hate him.”

Your voice was weak from lack of use; so much so that Jinseo could barely register that you’d spoken at all. Once she did, she didn’t know where to start.

Quietly, she asked, “Namjoon?”

With your head in her lap, Jinseo felt it shake. Again, you surprised her.

“Yoongi,” you whispered. God, you sound so broken. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I know it makes me a bad person, but I’m so fucking angry at him. I went to that party because he begged me to. I wouldn’t have — I wasn’t looking for him.”

Your voice cracked. “I wasn’t looking for him, for anyone. I’ve lost everything, and I don’t know what to do now. I’m so angry that it hurts.”

“That’s grief, sweet bean,” she corrected you gently. You sniffled, glanced up at her from the corner of your eye. “Not anger. Grief is just love with nowhere left to go.”

At this, you sat up more fully than you had in eight days, albeit looking more hollow than you ever had. Face tear-stained and bottom lip quivering, you croaked, “I don’t know what to do with it all.”

“Call Yoongi,” Jinseo hummed as she squeezed your knee. “If you need a place to put all that love you have left, then write one.”

2022/7/7; 00:00

Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time he had a day go the way it was supposed to; and frankly, he was getting sick of his own shit.

That morning had started off fine.

Scratch that.

It started off as well as he could possibly expect it to, waking up in an empty bed with no kneecap pressed into his spine. He drank coffee at his kitchen island, alone, and ignored the blackberries he’d unwittingly scooped onto his plate with the rest of his fruit. Dumped them in the trash before he lost his mind over a berry. Read half a book and remembered none of it.

All things considered, Namjoon was doing just fine.

Unfortunately, things started going off the rails somewhere around sundown. He and Yoongi had wrapped up the last track on Namjoon’s upcoming release; and for once, Yoongi agreed to leave his studio. Agog and aghast, Namjoon dragged his favorite recluse to every sordid bar in that pocket of the city. As he piloted his tailspin, Namjoon repeated one thought, over and over:

Any dive he stumbled into was better than an empty apartment.

As he spiraled, he drank enough to blur the image of you, which was plastered on every television and burned inside his brain — but not too much. Namjoon learned a long time ago that he couldn’t sleep if he went to bed alone, so he made a habit of not doing that. After all, he didn’t have to like himself; he just needed to live with himself.

Whatever her name was, Namjoon only fucked her because she looked like you.

Her presence on your side of the bed might’ve summoned you because, when he finally checked his phone, your name was tied to a missed call. Better — or worse, he hadn’t decided — there was also a voicemail. The thought alone left him dangling precariously between wanting to cry and needing to vomit. Phone in hand, he staggered toward the bathroom before he’d made his choice.

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon leaned back against the wood. Everything was spinning, though none of it could be attributed to the whiskey he’d had several hours prior. This was all you.

You and that gravitational well he couldn’t ever seem to leave, trapped at his furthest point from you and growing colder all the time. Darker, too.

Aphelion, he remembered with a humorless laugh, not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.

Fuck!

Namjoon startled himself when he slammed his hands down on the counter, less due to the involuntary action and more due to the fear of breaking his phone. In a panic, he glanced down. It was perhaps the one thing left that he hadn’t shattered.

Typing in the code to his voicemail felt like disarming a bomb, given how urgently his fingers moved. He needed it, whatever it was that you deemed important enough to say to him. Needed you, but this was the closest thing he had, and that was fine.

“Hey, Joonie. It’s me — well, that much is probably obvious, I guess? Uhh — Anyway, Yoongi mentioned that you finished cutting the album today. I just —”

Namjoon’s racing heart stopped dead in its tracks. You’d paused for so long that he feared the recording stopped there. Thankfully, you started up again, taking his pulse along with you.

“I just wanted to say, congratulations. You’re — I’m sure it’s incredible,” you sighed, “I hope you’re proud, and I hope you’re doing well.”

He was neither of those things. It’d been months, and it still hurt to breathe whenever he thought about you. He thought about you all the time, asleep or awake, no matter what — or who — he attempted to distract himself with. No matter how much of himself he lost track of in the process.

You were all he wanted, all he wants, all he’d ever want.

Namjoon caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Purposefully avoiding his own eye contact, he looked up, just above his crumpled brow. That bleached blonde hair still didn’t suit him, now even less so than when he asked for your opinion that day by the lake. He made a note of what you’d said, just like he'd told you then. It’d been sitting inside his medicine cabinet since the day after his whole fucking world exploded.

Jaw clenched, he broke the magnetic seal between the mirrored door and that bottle of black dye.

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