#out on the moonlit floor

[ihadmysightsetonyourightaway]

Kiss me, out of the bearded barley

Nightly, beside the green, green grass

Swing, swing, (swing, swing) swing the spinning step

You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress💜

[bicurious-george-official]

bit of an omen of ill portent tho so idk about that

[luminouslotuses]

she completely devoured this i’m afraid

[lowkeyren]

—how to win my husband over 101

in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?

wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.

surprise pookies @vxnuslogy @luvether @knnichs @kazucee it’s finally here!!!!

PROLOGUE: HOW TO SURVIVE THE EARLY DAYS

you married a stranger to save your homeland.

there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment. 

it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity. 

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.” 

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?” 

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself. 

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you. 

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination. 

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband. 

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him. 

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in. 

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest. 

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah. 

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace. 

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing. 

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal. 

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down. 

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees. 

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality. 

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve. 

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you. 

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent. 

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him. 

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place. 

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena. 

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent. 

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side. 

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone. 

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit. 

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters. 

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence. 

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner. 

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts. 

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses. 

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—” 

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain. 

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing. 

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.” 

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—” 

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you. 

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry. 

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself.  she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward,  “take her away.”

 “y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction. 

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it. 

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly,  as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips. 

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words. 

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth. 

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters. 

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development. 

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?” 

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing�� or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite. 

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat. 

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall. 

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either. 

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble. 

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?” 

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear. 

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. 

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena. 

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching. 

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince. 

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout. 

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident. 

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway. 

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it. 

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears. 

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip. 

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal. 

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought. 

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want… 

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back. 

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see. 

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. 

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it. 

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. 

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands. 

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

MASTERLIST

[starfishcakes]

Moonlit Rut

synopsis: sweet bunny Xavier knocks off your potion and needs help in a rut.

content: mdni, piv sex, creampie, knotting, xavier is a bunny turns human in heat hell yeah

pairings: bunny Xavier x You

The full moon hung low over the quiet countryside, casting its silver glow over the wooden cottage nestled in a grove of wildflowers and overgrown grass. Inside, soft candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the cluttered shelves of herbs, spell jars and a collection of trinkets. And in the center of it all sat him, Xavier, your beloved bunny.

You found him months ago in the forest, all weak and trembling in the cold as winter approached. He was different from the wild ones: his fur was a strange silvery white, his blue eyes blinking at you like he understood your words. Since then, he'd never left your side. Followed you around the house, hopped after you in the garden, and curled beside you when you read by the fire. You brushed his fur every morning, fed him fresh fruit, and even knitted him a little scarf with his name stitched in a thread of gold.

Xavier was family, the company you didn't know you needed in your humble cottage far from the prying eyes of society. And tonight, you were brewing something new, an experimental tonic to help with magical transformation fatigue in familiars. A dear friend of yours reached out to commission it from you, and although you don't have experience in it, you reluctantly accepted and promised to do your research. You were so focused on writing down the ingredients that you didn't notice the subtle glimmer of moonlight that streamed through the open window, nor how it shimmered just over the potion's surface until—

CRASH—

A startled squeek. You panic at the sound of glass shattering, the liquid seeping into the floor, and in a blur of pale fur and cyan glow, Xavier twisted and groaned beneath the spilled potion.

"Xavier?" you gasped, reaching for him, but what met you wasn't the soft, round body of your precious bunny. You flinched at the feel of warm, smooth, human skin.

He lay sprawled across the rug, panting heavily, his bare chest heaving. His ears were long and velvety, twitching wildly atop his head, and a fluffy tail flicked beneath his hips. Sweat beaded on his temples. His pupils were blown wide, almost feral, but when he looked at you, his face softened at the familiar face.

"Hurts," he whimpered, crawling weakly toward you on his hands and knees. "Please... hurts so much..."

You stumbled back, heart hammering. "Y-you can talk?"

"I've always listened," he said, voice husky and trembling, "I can't think— it spilled—the potion—in a rut. I'm not supposed to—"

His hips bucked into the floor instinctively, like he was trying to rut against anything. Your cheeks flushed violently, horrified and guilty all at once. This was your bunny, you internally curse at yourself for being so careless in your workplace. You should've made sure he was at least away from the concoctions. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't mean to—Xavier, I'm sorry."

His ears dropped. "Need you. Please—mnh—only you smell right. I-it won't stop until..."

Until he's relieved. You've read about this in one of your books about familiars. But this wasn't your field of expertise, and you only knew so little about it. You feel helpless as you stared at him, your poor bunny trembling, leaking and panting like he was overheating from the inside out. His voice cracked when he tried to speak again, and tears welled at the corners of his lashes from how desperate he must have felt.

You knew bunnies were sensitive, easily overstimulated, and in constant need during rut season. But this? This was unbearable to watch, let alone imagine how your dear Xavier must be feeling. Your heart ached. Your sweet Xavier—the one who nuzzled your face every morning and slept curled up in your lap. You always loved him. Perhaps not in this way, but maybe it wasn't so different after all.

"I'll help you," you said softly, voice trembling, still so dumbfounded from the situation. You crawled closer, brushing his silver hair from his damp forehead. "Just this once, Xavier, I won't let you suffer."

His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, his hips jerking helplessly. "Love you," he groaned. "Always have. Even before this...always yours..."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't believe your sweet bunny carried these feelings all along. But you knew, somewhere deep in your heart, that he made sure to show it through his actions. "You've always been mine, sweet bun."

Xavier whimpered as you pressed your palm on his cheek, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His body was burning in flames, thighs trembling beneath him. He couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop the need from rattling through his core like an earthquake. At this point, it was purely intinctual and maddening. His cock twitched against his stomach, flushed and dripping, already so hard it pains you to think how painful it must've hurt. He was panting like a prey being chased in the wild. And really, that's all he was right now—a creature ruled by instinct. A bunny in heat.

"Please," he begged again, his voice cracking. "It won't go away—please—need you, please—!" His ears twitched violently as he bucked forward without rhythm, grinding against your thigh like it was the only thing keeping him alive. You were on the floor with him now, his nails digging through your floorboards, trying to anchor himself, but nothing soothed him. Not until you touched him again.

Your fingers stroked behind his ear, the way he always liked when he was a bunny, and he immediately collapsed into your lap with a trembling gasp. "Xavier, I'm sorry—you're overwhelmed, baby. It's okay." You attempted to soothe him.

You should've felt shame. This wasn't what you imagined. You love Xavier, but not like this. Seeing him writhe helplessly, soaking with sweat, every inch of him begging for you, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. This is pure devotion; he didn't want anyone else but you. But still...

"Are you sure?" you asked, reaching down between you, curling your fingers around his slick length. He twitched violently, his whole body arching into your touch.

"Yes— yes-I'll die if you stop," he choked. "Please, I need to finish inside you—need to mate, to mark, I can't—!" he sobbed against your neck. "Please let me—!"

You inhaled sharply, heart still broken, hearing him struggle this much. His voice was broken, ruined from pleading. His whole body trembled as if he were already on the verge, and he hadn't even been inside you yet.

You leaned down, gently brushing your lips against the space near his ear. "Okay, okay, sweetheart," you said softly. "I've got you, I'll help you."

The moment your clothes came off, he lunged like he was starved, nuzzling, licking, whimpering. His nose buried against your skin, twitching like a bunny's, smelling you, needing your scent to ground him. His hips bucked wildly, leaking against your thigh, rutting like it was hardwired into him.

That's because it was. Bunnies didn't just want it once; they needed it over and over. They're fast and desperate. So when Xavier didn't waste a second to sheathe himself to the hilt into you, you yell out a whimper at the intrusion, arms hugging him as you shudder, adjusting to his size. Every thrust was frantic, almost mindless, not a rhythm in sight, ears flicking and tail twitching behind him. He couldn't slow down, nor stop. And your eyes roll back at the sheer pleasure alone of his heat radiating to your body. He was big, and every pump made you clench around him, his cock curving in the right places inside your gummy walls.

"More—can't stop—hurts if I stop," he sobbed, face buried in the crook of your neck. "Let me—again, please, again!"

His body folded over yours as he came the first time. He was shaking, gasping for air in breathless pants, and whispering thank you like a prayer. Oh, but he didn't soften like you thought. No, not even a little.

"Xavier," you panted, clutching his trembling back. "You're still...?"

He nodded frantically. "I have to, until it's out of me. I don't care if I die—I just want you. Please."

It wasn't gentle after that. It was just pure bunny heat. He became even more frantic and pathetic. He rutted into your slick cunt with animalistic force, whimpering at every clench, caressing your breasts, nipping at your throat like he didn't know what to do with himself. Tears stained his flushed cheeks, and each climax only made the next wave worse.

You thought he might finally slow down after the fourth time, but Xavier only grew more desperate. His thrusts had become erratic in another level. Almost like he was in a frenzy. He was panting, nearly crying against your neck, nails digging into your hips, anchoring himself. His soft ears flattened against his hair with every cant of his hips. He has you on the bed now, his sweet master, sweet owner. You owned him, and the thought alone was enough to make him go insane.

"So tight," he whimpered, "You feel so good—too good—I can't hold it-something's changing!"

Your brows furrowed, but in this moment, you were already too spent to even try to think straight. But when you felt it, you gasped at the realization. His cock felt different now, swelling at the base with every thrust, a bulge forming, pushing deeper, stretching you open in a way that made you cry out in both shock and pleasure.

"Xavier—! What's—what are you?!" you gasped, nails clawing on his back.

"I-I'm sorry," he choked out. "Wanna knot you—I didn't mean to—but I—I have to!"

He pushed deep, so deep—the swollen base of him slipped inside with a wet, forceful stretch, locking him in place inside your warm cunt. Your entire body jolted, breath catching in your throat as the knot swelled fully, sealing your sweat-slicked bodies together.

It was too much.

Your walls clenched instinctively, fluttering around his swollen cock, feeling every vein as waves of pleasure rippled through your heat. You moaned, nails scraping down his back as your orgasm crashed over you without warning for the nth time. It felt like being filled to the brink, stretched in the most obscene, possessive way. The knot pulsed inside you, keeping him in place, keeping every drop of his sweet release deep inside as he came with a loud, broken cry.

"Mine—mine—mine—" he sobbed, face nuzzling into your neck, hips still grinding in tiny, helpless thrusts even though he was stuck knotted in place.

You couldn't move; it was hard to even breathe. Every pulse of his knot inside you pushed another wave of warmth through your womb, and you could feel how much load he was giving you, how much he needed this. Your own body clenched around him again, milking him through every twitch and pulse, your climax dragging out far longer than normal just from his cock buried inside, all warmed up from your creampied walls.

You blinked up at him, eyes in a daze, face so flushed, and hair sticking to the sweat on your forehead. "Bunny... you knotted me," you panted.

Xavier whimpered. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—don't hate me"

You shook your head, cradling his face. Only then did you realize how cute he looked up close, his cheeks and nose a tint of rosy pink. "I don't hate you, bun. I just... didn't expect it to feel so good."

His eyes fluttered shut, a soft whine escaping his throat. His hips gave one final twitch before he finally slumped forward, buried to the hilt, still locked inside you. And only then, once the last wave passed, did Xavier finally collapse, breathless, his body melting into yours with a soft, exhausted whimper.

holyshit what did I just write hehehe ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

[mononijikayu]

2011 — moonlit reunion

when you married nanami kento, you just knew that you wanted a life with him. but in that still, certain place deep in that chest of yours, you knew that you also wanted him to be the father of your children.

it wasn’t about legacy or expectation. no, if anything, you hated that about life. you didn't want his children because of that reason. there was something more important than that.

it was about how he existed in the world. he was gentle, principled, endlessly patient in the ways that truly mattered. he had a kind of strength that wasn’t loud, but lasting. he made things feel safe. not just for you, but for something larger, something future-shaped.

and that's what you believe would be so beautiful in the world. if someone as gentle and tender as him had something of him brought into the world to be just as gentle and tender. to be so loved by him, to be so loved by you.

you imagined it all so clearly in your head, if you were being honest. a child with his hands, his eyes, maybe even his brow when they got frustrated.

you pictured the quiet warmth of sundays, crayon drawings on the fridge, the sound of small feet padding across the floor, laughter tucked into corners of your home like sunlight.

he’d be a good father, you thought. the kind who teaches without raising his voice. the kind who holds everything steady when the world feels like it might tip over.

and so you tried. you both tried. with the kind of quiet hope people don’t always talk about. it wasn’t immediate, but you told yourself it was okay. these things took time. you had to be patient. patience wins in the end, you tell yourself.

soon enough, months passed. then more. the hope bent, thinned, but didn’t break. not at first. there were appointments. careful calendars. silence after the tests. reassurances. more silence.

until one day, the silence wasn’t a pause anymore. it was an answer.

you remember sitting in the bathroom, staring at the negative test like it had something more to say if you looked long enough. it didn’t. all it said was no. again. and again.

the grief came in waves, brutish ones that crash against the shore brutishly every single time. some days it was a sharp, bitter feeling. it was like a pang in your chest when you saw a family of three holding hands.

on the other days it was a soundless dullness in the boroughs of sorrow, like a blanket of fog you couldn’t shake off, a ghost that leads you to a bed of nothingness and tears.

you didn’t talk about it much at the time. and you can tell that neither did kento. not because you weren’t hurting. but because the hurt was so big, and you didn’t know where to begin. you didn't know how to grieve something you never had.

sometimes you caught him looking out the window, brow furrowed just slightly. quiet in a way that felt heavier than usual. and you knew. he felt it too. but he never blamed you. not once. you blamed yourself. he never did.

and then one night after a particularly hard week, when even your hope felt tired, you couldn't help but curl into bed beside him. you were unsure of what you were asking for when you reached for him.

he pulled you close without hesitation, without a second thought. held you like you were still whole, even if you didn’t feel like it anymore. your voice broke in the darkened room.

“what if it never happens? what if… it’s just us?”

and he was quiet for a long moment. but not the kind of quiet that avoids. the kind that holds. then he found himself speaking in reply, soft and low, the way he always spoke when something mattered.

“does a lifetime of love between us need to leave evidence?”

you didn’t answer. you just buried your face in his chest and cried. because that was him. kento, always seeing the heart of things. he wasn’t asking you to stop grieving. he wasn’t telling you not to want it.

instead, he was reminding you about all the things that mattered. gently, without pressure, that your love was not less because it had no name to pass on. no small voice to echo it. it was still here. still full. still real.

you and him. it was a whole universe, even without anyone else to witness it. that was more important to him. that was more precious to him. living a lifetime with you full of love was evidence enough.

and that night, something shifted. you still felt the ache sometimes blossoming in the bossom of your chest. many a times, you both did. but you know that it softened. you started noticing the life you’d built together more fully.

the slow mornings with coffee and tired eyes. the way his hand always found yours when you weren’t even looking. the quiet rituals of care. the laughter that still came, despite it all.

maybe your love didn’t need to leave evidence.

maybe your love was the evidence.

and maybe, just maybe, that was everything.

as you stare at kento's memorial image, you couldn't help but breathe and nod. tears flowing over and over again, until your eyes were red. until nothing could be done about it.

"you were right." you whispered to yourself, to him. to the nothingness. "it was more than enough for a lifetime....to love you."

[nightingale-prompts]

Just your average coffee shop AU-DCxDP prompt

What do you do when you've been blacklisted from every coffee chain in Gotham?

You have to find other sources.

That is Tim's current predicament but he put out a few messages out and an informant got back to him about a new café that opened on the outskirts of the city.

There wasn't much else on it other than the fact that it was located in an old cemetery. No details or anything.

Desperate for the black icker that made up his blood by this point Tim went.

Walking down the cobblestone path Tim began to doubt if the shop was real. The decrepit tombstones seemed to be the only people here but as he passed the mausoleums he saw a single stone crypt that had a sign.

Hours:

Tues-Saturday 12pm-3:00 am

Sunday: All day

Mon: Closed

(Vlad Masters is banned)

Tim opened the stone door and heard the faint sound of violins and saxophones. A staircase led deeper to an aged wooden door.

The rusty door henge screeched as he opened the door like a doorbell. The room was a lounge with plush seats and smooth wood tables. A dance floor was in the center currently occupied by well dressed patrons. The scent of fresh dark roast coffee filled the air. A band played live music, it was a blend of gothic folk and Jazz. The booths were filled with a few patrons cheering for the performers as they drank coffee and played cards.

The counter where he could order his drink was a bar. Despite what you'd assume they weren't selling alcohol at least not yet. The man behind the counter beckoned him over.

The barista dressed in a white dress shirt and a black buttoned vest embroidered with a ribcage design. He had fingerless gloves with matching skeletal hand design. The man's face was a pale bit warm tone with a blueish green hue on his cheekbones. His lips were a dark ashen black with a subtle shine. It was probably just the aesthetic.

"Evening, traveler." His voice practically purred as he greeted the weary young man"The rhythm's alive, and the spirits are waiting—how can I make your afterlife?"

"Coffee. Black." Tim said gruffly despite to get it in his system.

"Oh, you got it bad, don't you? Let me get you something that will actually help." The bartender said turning to brew a cup.

Tim's eyes scanned the chalkboard menu that hung above the bar.

Hot Coffee Drinks:

Graveyard Brew – A rich dark roast with a hint of smoked caramel. (Tucker's pick)

Phantom Flat White – A smooth flat white with ghostly foam art. (Danny's pick)

Latté of the Damned– A spiced pumpkin latte with black cinnamon dust. (Jazz's pick)

Eternal Espresso– A bold, double-shot espresso.

The Velvet Casket – Mocha with dark chocolate and a touch of vanilla.

Sepulcher Spice – Chai-spiced coffee with a hint of nutmeg. (Val's pick)

Necromancer’s Nitro – Nitro cold brew with a dash of maple syrup. (Dan's pick)

Iced Coffee Drinks:

Cold-Brew Crypt– Smooth cold brew with a splash of sweet cream.

Chilled Cadaver– Iced coffee with coconut milk and a shot of hazelnut. (Dani's pick)

The Frosted Requiem – Blended mocha with chocolate drizzle.

Soulful Swirl– Iced latte with caramel and a swirl of blackcurrant syrup.

Moonlit Macchiato– Vanilla macchiato with activated charcoal. (Sam's pick)

Tim definitely sensed a theme here.

"I added a few shots of expresso and some dark chocolate liquor. It should get you right and some minor heart palpitations. I think I'll call it 'The Black Veil'." The barista smiled very cat-like.

"Am I getting my name on the board?" Tim quipped without thinking as he sipped the hot coffee. Actually, it was cooler than he thought it would be. It was the perfect temperature. And the taste was amazing.

"Only if you're a regular and I think your drink might be too much for anyone else." The barista laughed softly.

"So...this place is pretty um...gothic?"

"This place used to be just for the dead but we've recently over up to the living."

"Heh, I get it."

"Get what?"

Tim coughed awkwardly. He didn't want to stop talking to the goth barista yet and the quality coffee was convincing. Maybe it was the environment. It was like walking into a different world.

"So what's this place called? So I know what Im coming back to." Tim tried to sound cool but let's face it, he's been beat.

"This is the Catacomb Club. Where the spirits swing and the night never sleeps. You should come again soon, cutie. I think I got a good surge of inspiration just looking at you." He purred in delight as he leaned over the bar tapped Tim's cheek.

Tim felt his face burn, the touch felt like electricity tickling his skin. A string of babbling seemed to come out of this mouth as he tried to respond.

"Heh heh, don't keep me waiting dear," he laughed "Oh, and by the way. My name is Danny. Catch me in the early shift. My brother works the late shift mixing the alcohol. But if you want you can catch me on the stage or on the dance floor. I might even make you an extra cup or two." Danny said.

Tim found his footsteps on the way up lighter and only when he made it back the cematary gate did he notice.

He never paid.

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn���t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[iris-qt]

party prince

You didn’t hate parties. You just… didn’t thrive in them.

Too much noise. Too many people. Too many boys with collars popped like they invented being insufferable. And somewhere inside, probably holding court in the center of it all, was Mattheo Riddle, smirking, tipsy, radiant in that disheveled, reckless way that only he could pull off.

You lasted twenty-three minutes.

And then you slipped out the back, heels clacking softly against old stone as you made your way to the tiny balcony off the third-floor hallway. The night air was cool and quiet and still. It smelled faintly of your expensive perfume and a little like freedom.

You leaned against the railing, exhaled, and let the music dull behind you.

And then, almost immediately...

The door creaked open.

“Should’ve known,” came a familiar voice. “You’d be out here while the rest of us rot in eternal social hell.��

You turned.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, a little flushed, curls slightly messier than usual. His tie was loosened. His shirt had one too many buttons undone, his cheeks held a tinge of red.

He looked like trouble, personified.

“You’re drunk,” you said lightly.

He blinked, clearly weighing that. “Not drunk. Just… vibing.”

You raised a brow, mouth twitching into a faint smile at the muggle vocab he had undoubtedly caught from you. “Vibing?”

“Is that not the youth term?” he asked, stepping closer, boots thudding softly against the floor.

You shrugged, trying to look casual even as your heart pulled a little tight. “Wasn’t expecting you to leave your kingdom in there.”

He came to stand beside you, leaning on the balcony railing, gaze sweeping across the moonlit courtyard like he was sober enough to remember any of it the next day.

Then, softer than before:

“Wasn’t fun without you.”

You turned your head. He was already watching you.

“What, no fan club to entertain you?” you teased. “No admirers to fawn over your curls and devastating charm?”

He huffed a laugh. “There were. One of them spilled wine on my shoes. I considered faking my own death to escape them.”

You snorted.

He tilted his head, still watching you. “You’re a hard girl to impress.”

“That’s because you usually open with insults and chaos.”

Mattheo smirked. “It’s part of my appeal.”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice was gentler now, serious. “You didn’t have to follow me out here.”

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your face. “I just… wanted to.”

You blinked. There was something about the way he said it, no bravado, no smirk. Just quiet honesty, tinged with firewhiskey and warmth.

He nudged your arm. “Besides. If you’re not having fun, I’m not having fun.”

Your heart did a very dumb thing.

You tried to deflect. “You’re really bad at pretending you don’t like me.”

“Mm,” he hummed, still smiling. “I was worse at pretending you weren’t the only person I wanted to talk to tonight.”

You looked away. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you did, and that was somehow worse. Mattheo stepped closer, just slightly, shoulder brushing yours. “So. If I’m out here, and you’re out here… this is the party now, yeah?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Guess so.”

“Brilliant,” he said, pulling a tiny flask out of his jacket like he’d planned this all along. “Because I brought provisions.”

You laughed. “Is that your secret to surviving social events? Bribery and liquor?”

“Only when the person I actually want to spend time with escapes to the balcony like a mysterious, radiant little stormcloud.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already fluttering like a moth to a very unpredictable flame.

And when he offered you the flask with a lopsided grin and his fingertips brushed yours just a second too long, you knew This wasn’t just about escaping the party.

This was about finding each other in the quiet that came after.

[beloveds-embrace]

(p2 of this poly fae 141 x human reader (different take)) cw: bittersweet

The palace breathes for you.

It bends around you like soft wind around reeds, gently guiding your dazed steps through moonlit corridors and blooming halls. Time has no anchor for you anymore. Some mornings, you wake to suns that burn blue instead of gold, moons that double and chase each other through the sky. But it doesn’t matter, because the castle knows where you are meant to be even if you don’t.

When you rise, the curtains part without a hand to touch them. They sigh open like petals, letting soft light bathe the velvet floor. Your robe- light as spider’s silk- slide from their hooks on their own, floating to wrap around your body with reverent care. Your slippers are waiting at the side of your bed when you swing your legs over. They’ve been warmed by the hearth, and when your toes slide in, the threads whisper your name back to you in tiny, enchanted stitches.

The walls pulse faintly with warmth when you pass, as if the stone itself loves you. the chandeliers above never burn too bright; their glow always softens when your gaze turns up, as though they remember you used to hate harsh light when you read.

A cluster of servants waits quietly at your chamber doors- not because they must, but because they care and they want to, and had eagerly offered to be of service when you’d requested your own chambers. Gentle-handed dryads with hair like woven moss, old pixie seamstresses who chatter softly in riddles, even a hulking troll-footman who ducks his head so low it scrapes the frame. They do not speak unless you speak first, for sometimes you forget words, and silence is a safer thing to carry.

Then, soak in a bath drawn by nymph-handmaidens who speak in ripples and laughter, though mirror clouds when you stare too long- it doesn’t want to upset you, doesn’t want you to see how much time has tried to touch you, even when magic holds your youth like a fragile glass.

Today, your steps take you toward the gardens. The floor glows faintly under your feet- not because it needs to, but because the castle thinks maybe it helps you find your way. Everything- every stone, every breath- remembers you, even when you don’t remember yourself.

Or maybe you meant to go to the library. You aren’t sure- but the will-o-wisps know.

They flit ahead of you, little balls of mischievous light usually known for luring travelers into the woods until their bones turn to moss. But not you, never you.

They hover like faithful stars orbiting the sun, bobbing through the air with a delighted hum, zigzagging ahead in slow trails so your wandering feet follow the right turns. They tinkle like laughter when you stumble near a wrong archway and dart to the correct one instead.

You find yourself in your garden, after all, where the gardeners wait. Not the usual ones- no, the Queen's Garden has been assigned only to the most trusted now. A century-old elf in gloves of woven bark, a dryad who grows her own apron from her chestnut branches, and even a silent golem of moss and marble who only speaks in scents. They have trimmed the hedges into soft spirals and arranged the blooms into delicate mosaics.

Today, they have laid out a path of starpetals- tiny, glimmering flowers that shimmer faintly under moon or sun. Once, long ago, they were your favorite.

But now-

“I don’t like those.” You murmur as you pass, staring at the trail.

The golem stills, the elf looks up sharply, and the dryad tilts her head, concerned.

Kyle, who’d been a quiet shadow just behind you from the moment you stepped out of your chambers, slows his steps. “You always used to ask for them,” he says gently. “Had us plant ‘em everywhere your shadow touched.”

You frown. “… I don’t remember that. I don’t like them.”

“It’s alright,” he says after a short pause, and offers you his arm. “We can pick new ones. Whatever you like, love.”

You nod, but you don’t take his arm. Your fingers drift toward the flowers, brushing one before you turn away again.

Later, as your thoughts begin to drift again, the flowers are gone without fanfare. By the time you return to the courtyard, it is filled with soft white ferns and wandering frost-ivy that glows faintly in the dusk.

The castle heard you. It always does.

You wander deeper into the woods near the edge of the palace, where the magic gets older, thicker- where even the bravest guards rarely step.

A warm breeze carries the scent of jasmine and crushed duskberry petals. The patient trees sing here not with voices, but with the rustle of knowing leaves, always parting to give you gentle shade or letting sunlight filter through just when you like it.

There stands a shadow that heralds the first whispers of death.

Thrain.

The phantom stag, horned and enormous. He stands between two trees gnarled by age and shaped like reaching hands, his antlers scraping the sky, mist curling around his hooves.

But for you?

He bows his head.

You smile and reach for him as if you’ve done it every day of your life- and maybe you have. Maybe there’s no need to remember if the body still knows. And he lets you pat the velvet between his antlers, lowering his massive head so you can nuzzle your cheek against him. His body radiates cold like the mountain peaks, but it doesn’t sting. It soothes. Your hands slip into the thick mist of his mane, and you close your eyes.

You nap there, nestled against the beast feared by all.

When you stir again, you’re no longer alone.

“Thought we’d find you here.” Gaz murmurs, his voice quiet like the wind between reeds. He kneels beside you, offering his usual steaming cup- tea brewed with memory-moss and lemon-pearl leaves.

You drink. You always do, when he brings it.

“You missed lunch.” Simon says gently. He’s seated on a nearby root, his mask still on, though you know his eyes soften when he looks at you.

Johnny is already braiding moonflowers into your hair, humming a fae tune that turns the leaves brighter with every note. He doesn’t say much, just keeps you close with the warmth of his touch.

You blink slowly at them, still a bit sleep-soaked. “…Thrain didn’t want me to leave.”

“Aye, well,” Johnny grins. “He’s protective, tha’s all. You’ve got everyone wrapped ‘round yer little finger, haven’t you?”

Your head droops again. The fog curls soft around your thoughts. But then- you feel it; the weight of a gaze like a promise, like a spell woven in devotion.

John.

You don’t turn, but you feel him draw near. You always do, always will. His presence thrums like a second heartbeat in your chest, steady and storm-deep. He places a warm hand on your back, the other sliding under your legs as he lifts you into his arms.

“Time for rest, love,” he murmurs into your hair, the crown of your head. “You’ve wandered far enough for today.”

Thrain snorts, mist coiling between his antlers, but does not follow. He only watches as your husband carries you back into the palace, trailed by your silent protectors and glowing will-o-wisps.

“I don’t like the starpetals,” you say again, feeling the need to inform him. “They make me sad.”

His steps falter once, but then he is gently pulling you closer, his forehead against yours. “We’ll find new flowers, then,” John whispers. “And you can love them for the first time. As many times as you need.”

And the castle sighs with peace. Its walls bend again, opening the path home.

P3

[hannieween]

nightlight | lights out series

It was terrifying to think that you would now be in the limelight for the first time in your life. Terrifying, but freeing.

✮ pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader x joshua hong ✮ genre: fluff, smut [18+] ✮ aus: theatre director jeonghan, rockstar joshua, polyamorous relationship, mlm ✮ word count: 24.5k

✮ warnings: smut with plot, alcohol consumption (no dubcon), possessiveness, jealousy, mmf threesome, oral sex (m receiving), penetration anal and vaginal, making out, edging, dirty talk, fingering, cumming on skin, breeding kink, use of toys, exhibitionism, cucking, brat taming: cold shoulder, bondage. dom joshua, switch jeonghan, sub reader. pet names: beautiful, bunny, princess, baby (hers) babe, handsome (jihan)

› 🎧: seven – jung kook | am pm – jay b ft. whee in | can't get you – jaehyun | moonlit floor – lisa | baby – jay b | slow dancing – v | hit the floor – ethan low | being – tabber ft. yerin baek | truth be told – baekhyun

→ season one — season two — read more

✮ author's note: HELLOOOOOO!! i just want to preface this by saying that the content of this chapter and series as a whole is not a reflection of josh's life as an idol whatsoever. this is just fiction 🙂

✮ author's note 2: soooo, this one is a little bit long, lol. they take a little while to gdtf ksksks but bear w me, because the sex scene is loooooooooooong. i apologize but at the same time idc, this fic is super indulgent for me hahakjfhf

enjoy!

⌈special thanks to @aeristudios for helping me figure out some of these scenes out, ty baby ♡⌋

✮ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

part viii

Home.

You woke up with a slightly throbbing headache. As soon as your lucidity kicked in, you were aware of the arm draped on the curve of your waist. You stirred beneath the tangled bedsheets, breathing in deeply.

Jeonghan tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him before you could wander away from him. “Morning, princess,” he mumbled lazily, his tone low, and there was a slight gruff to it that you only heard when he woke up.

You smiled to yourself, curling back against his body. “Morning,” you mumbled back, creaking one eye open.

Joshua’s side of the bed was empty. And he was nowhere to be seen around the bedroom.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Dunno. Don’t care,” he breathed, but didn’t attempt to move.

You let out a disgruntled sound, trying to reach your phone on the nightstand, but the grip Jeonghan had on you made it difficult. You turned over, only to catch a sight of his face partially buried on the pillows. “Hannie, let me move,” you whined just as impishly.

He took a deep breath through his nose. “No,” he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

You stared at him in utter disbelief, yet he didn’t even open his eyes. “Jeonghan,” you muttered, kicking your butt back at him but only making him grunt. “Come on, I need to pee.”

He muffled a lazy giggle on the pillow. “Go and then come back here,” he replied sluggishly.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with the palm of your hand. “God, you’re so clingy,” you teased, giggling at him.

That drew a smile on his face. He stopped hugging you, pulling his arm from your waist. “Says you,” he mumbled lazily.

You slithered beneath the bedsheets, letting out a tiny yelp when Jeonghan slapped your thigh playfully as you were climbing off the bed.

But you walked to the bathroom through the hallways cluttered with cardboard boxes containing your belongings.

When you came back, the bed was empty and already made. You snorted when you noticed the noise coming from the kitchen. So you made your way there with a quiet gait, following the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.

Jeonghan was leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed on his chest. He was giggling about something you weren’t able to hear when you got there. But his eyes were on Joshua, who was busy putting ground coffee into the brewer. His back was turned, but he was saying something, and from the sound of his voice, you could tell he was smiling.

The moment slowed down for you as you witnessed it.

They both were so wrapped up in their conversation that you went completely unnoticed. You watched as Joshua turned to Jeonghan, putting a hand on the counter, right next to Jeonghan’s hip.

Jeonghan raised his face, a nervous look crossing his face as Joshua leaned forward, Jeonghan closed his eyes as they both shared a tender kiss. It was quick, but it left Jeonghan with a smile on his face as Joshua turned to continue his task. Jeonghan watched him briefly, but his eyes were drawn to you as if he might’ve felt your presence.

Joshua followed Jeonghan’s gaze, finding you standing beneath the doorway. “Good morning, bunny,” he said gently.

“Morning,” you replied with a smile, approaching him to plant a small kiss on his cheek, then moving to kiss his mouth.

Jeonghan watched, and you already knew what he would say before he uttered the words: “What about me?”

You panned to him, making him giggle. “Come here, you,” you mumbled, pressing your lips to his. You noticed as you placed your hand on his shoulder that Jeonghan was wearing Joshua’s clothes.

“How did you sleep?” Joshua asked, turning the stove on.

“Fine, but I am kind of hungover,” you admitted with a shy smile.

“Well, you were partying like you’re the rockstar here,” Jeonghan snorted, nodding at you. “Go rest, baby. We’ll take breakfast to you.”

You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, watching your boyfriends move around each other seamlessly. Like they had a plan they had spoken about before you got there and were just following along without them having to talk.

They looked at each other occasionally. Jeonghan smiled like there was something he was keeping a secret. But you knew there was a shyness to his smile, the way he drove his gaze away and just kept to his task at hand.

But Joshua wasn’t having it—he mumbled something under his breath, making Jeonghan smile and huff. Joshua came closer to Jeonghan, leaning towards him and looking at his face intently.

Jeonghan didn’t skip a beat—he closed the space between his lips and Joshua’s, planting a quick and playful kiss. “You’re going to burn the pancakes,” he reprimanded with a chuckle.

“You keep distracting me,” Joshua mumbled, turning over his shoulder to look at you.

You smiled at him when he noticed your gaze upon them, observing the tender moment they were sharing.

Jeonghan turned around, following Joshua’s gaze. He left the open kitchen, wandering towards you and sat down beside you, his fingers brushing your ankle. “Did you take the drugs I left you on the nightstand?”

“Yeah,” you replied aloofly, looking at his dishevelled form. His black hair was messy on one side and flat on the other, he looked cute despite that. You noticed he was wearing Joshua’s t-shirt, one that he usually wears to sleep.

You reached out, brushing his hair with your fingers. “Thanks for taking care of me, Hannie.”

He pressed his lips into a smile. “Always, princess.”

Joshua came into the living room with a plate of toast and a mug of coffee, which he set down on the coffee table. He had a sleepy smirk on his face, but he looked happy, almost excited, even.

After he set everything on the coffee table, he practically plopped down across both your legs and Jeonghan’s with a dramatic sigh.

You switched your hand from Jeonghan’s hair to Joshua’s, which you noticed now was slightly wet from the shower he took before you woke up. “We’ll have to get a giant couch eventually. One that actually fits the three of us.”

Jeonghan smiled softly, a hand moving to rest on Joshua’s hip. “Yeah, about that,” he mumbled, aiming a knowing look at Joshua.

“What?” you asked, panning from Jeonghan’s face to Joshua’s.

Jeonghan’s fingers fumbled with the hem of Joshua’s t-shirt nervously. “I’m moving in,” he announced, lifting his gaze to look at you. His mouth parted as he studied your face. “I decided to move in with you both.”

The first thing you knew was that Joshua was fully aware of this turn of events. His silence told you that much, and his gaze was focused on you, waiting for your reaction.

What you felt then was an immense sense of relief. This was what you wanted—a home with both of your boyfriends, something that provided you with more stability. Commitment.

“Oh—o-kay,” you whispered, gathering your words. But you were happy beyond belief. You finally smiled. “Oh my god,” you stuttered. “I’m so excited.”

Jeonghan blinked when he heard the emotions making your voice quiver. “Yeah?” he mumbled, his eyes starting to glint.

You nodded happily. “This is going to be great.”

Joshua smiled too as he rose from the couch. “That means you’ll have to start packing up,” he told Jeonghan with a pleased sigh.

“That is the part that doesn’t excite me,” Jeonghan said through gritted teeth, but then he finally smiled. “I think I could hire someone to do that for me.”

You clicked your tongue, reaching to grab a waffle. “Don’t be lazy, Jeongjeong,” you said, taking a large bite. “I could help you with that.”

Jeonghan giggled, slapping your thigh playfully. “I am lazy. Do you know how much shit I have?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, then we’ll probably have to look at other apartment options,” you said.

Joshua pressed his lips, humming thoughtfully. “I think the apartment you chose is perfect,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t think we need more space than that,” Jeonghan chimed in, using his hand on your thigh to caress your skin.

“But I do agree with you, bunny. We need a bigger couch,” he smirked, entering the kitchen to grab the two forgotten mugs of coffee and bringing them over to the living room, giving one to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan received his mug, looking at Joshua sitting down next to him. “We need bigger everything,” Jeonghan agreed. “Maybe a bigger bed, even.”

You gave him a pained look. “I like my bed.”

“Yeah, because you don’t sleep with yourself,” Jeonghan chuckled and then explained: “You move around all the time.”

You gaped at him, shocked. “That’s not true.”

“It’s true,” Joshua mumbled under his breath, sipping from his mug quietly.

“Specially when you’ve had too much caffeine throughout the day,” Jeonghan said, now emboldened. “That’s why I hug you through the night, so you stop moving.”

You made a horrified expression. “So you don’t hug me because you love me?” you cried out.

Jeonghan started laughing, tipping his head back. “Of course I do, baby—”

“I thought you both liked cuddling me!” you squealed, trying not to smile at your own ridiculous act.

Joshua raised his palms innocently. “Don’t drag me into this,” he said. “I’m used to you moving around—”

“Oh, so you also hate me.”

Jeonghan squeezed his eyes shut, still laughing. “Princess—”

“You bastards,” you accused falsely, making him laugh even harder.

“You should’ve just kept your mouth shut,” Joshua told Jeonghan, concealing a small smile.

“Baby, you know we love you,” Jeonghan said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “But you need to fix your sleeping habits.”

You dropped your act, your shoulders going slack a little. “Yeah, you’re right,” you conceded, sighing through a smile. “Maybe one day I will.”

“Until then, we get a bigger bed,” Jeonghan said, laughing again when you deadpanned at him.

But you couldn’t lie, you were happy.

The morning of the move came. You woke up before your alarm went off, and the sudden rush of excitement kicked in, pushing you out of bed. The realization of how much stuff you had accumulated over the years hit you as you walked from your bedroom to the living room, which was littered with tons of moving boxes.

Around the time the truck came in, you were ready to go. Joshua helped you with moving boxes, and soon the apartment started to empty. Jeonghan arrived some hours later, more to monitor rather than do the heavy-lifting, occasionally taking one box to the truck.

As the space started to feel hollower, you slowed down, appreciating this part of your life you were leaving behind, taking a moment to reflect.

Joshua left the box labelled as notebooks on the kitchen counter with a loud thud. He sighed, walking towards you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately noticing something in your eyes.

The apartment where you had lived for years was now completely empty. Every single corner that you had filled with memories was now stripped, echoing with each footstep you took towards the door.

You had stopped in the kitchen to ponder, watching the space in silence.

“Nothing,” you finally replied, lifting your gaze to find him. “I’m okay,” you said, but your tone was off.

Joshua’s gaze softened. “You sure?” he asked, pouting slightly as his brow furrowed. “You look sad.”

“I’m just thinking,” you muttered softly, extending a hand to him.

He took it, slipping an arm across the small of your back, turning you around so he was the one leaning back against the counter, wrapping you with his arms in a hug. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, studying your face.

You placed your hands on his chest, shrugging slightly in his embrace. “After I published my first book, I had enough money to move out and live alone. I moved to this apartment and started building a life, little by little,” you told him, your gaze flitting across the white walls. “Then I met you. I’m just thinking of how crazy life is.”

Joshua tilted his head to one side. “Are you sad that you’re leaving this place behind, then?” he asked curiously, and when you nodded, he smiled slightly. “Well, look at this the other way around—we’ll be taking this huge step, all of us. Together.”

The twinkle in his eye told you everything you needed to know. Joshua was happy. It warmed your heart to see the corners of his eyes lifting in a happy smile. You ran your palms down his chest, holding his gaze.

“I’m only sad I’m leaving this place behind because it holds so many memories,” you said quietly, trying to convey all your emotions with a single glance.

“We’ll make new ones,” Joshua said, still holding you firmly. Something made his smile fade, but whatever he was thinking of, it didn’t tarnish the twinkle in his eyes. “And who knows—” he shrugged slightly, “—maybe being in a bigger place will give us the opportunity to start thinking of the future.”

You blinked dumbly at him. “Like what?” you asked.

He paused briefly, licking his lips as he selected his words carefully. “Yeah, I mean… we’re a family now. You, Jeonghan and I. It would make sense for us to take things further, right?”

“Further as in…” you trailed off.

He gave you a nervous smile, one that was gone in a second. “I know that things are more complex now that we have Hannie, but—” he took a deep breath. “I haven’t given up the idea of making you my wife.”

Your heart stopped for a second, and your mind started reeling. Everything about his demeanor told you he was sure of his words, even if he looked nervous to voice them.

Joshua noticed the shock in your eyes, so he continued: “Don’t panic yet,” he said, a smile spreading on his face. “I just think that we should talk about it. Soon.”

“Yeah, I think we should,” you agreed. “What about Hannie?” you asked, lowering your tone due to the nervousness tightening around your throat.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” Joshua smiled lightly. “I plan to talk to both of you about it. With us moving in together, I just think that we should consider taking things seriously. All three of us.”

You coughed an awkward chuckle. “Joshua, you’re making no sense,” you said.

But in that moment, Jeonghan stepped into the apartment, looking distracted. His sweet brown eyes fell on you and Joshua, and his shoulders went lax. “Oh, I see you two lovebirds are slacking off,” Jeonghan accused, looking at you reproachfully. “I was beginning to wonder why you guys didn’t come down.”

Joshua released you at once, and you backed away, still distraught. Joshua cleared his throat, facing Jeonghan. “There’s only one box left,” he pointed to the box he had left on the kitchen counter previous to your conversation.

“Okay, then you take it,” Jeonghan ordered with a cheeky look on his face.

Joshua smiled, but it was very obvious that his nervousness hadn’t washed off. Quite the contrary.

Jeonghan extended an arm out to you. “Ready, princess?”

You nodded, breathing in deeply. “I’m ready,” you said, approaching him to take his hand.

Jeonghan laced his fingers with yours as Joshua grabbed the remaining box with your stuff. Then you walked out of the empty apartment, throwing one last look over your shoulder before Jeonghan closed the door for you. And then you, Jeonghan and Joshua stepped out of the building, embarking on a new chapter of your lives.

Together.

Jeonghan sat on the foot of the new bed for a minute, staring at the screen of his phone.

He’d just agreed to direct a huge TV series for a very popular streaming service. And the script he’d been offered wasn’t even half-bad. But it felt unpolished. It had pacing issues, underwritten side characters and too many songs one after another.

He’d mainly been tasked with offering structural feedback before the shooting began—tomorrow, he’d sign the contract. And he already felt the burden of this opportunity sitting on his shoulders.

His phone buzzed inside the pocket of his hoodie. Sighing, he reached for it, pulling it out and glanced at the screen.

It was an email. An invitation passed to him from one of his team’s assistants. The subject read, You’re invited to The Quiet Spring Premiere.

He arched an eyebrow. And almost decided that it was too late in the day to open it.

But the pad of his thumb hovered over the screen.

He clicked the message.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of The Quiet Spring, directed by Daniel Hwang.

He huffed a quiet laugh. They had mailed him a proper invitation to his office. But since he had taken too long to give a reply, the director of the movie had reached out to his assistant to send him the email.

Jeonghan stared at the screen for a long moment.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been invited to one of these events. And he’d attended begrudgingly, only because he wasn’t the social butterfly everyone seemed to think he was. But that isn’t to say he wasn’t popular; he was just a little awkward.

But this one was a big deal. Not some indie screening in a bar. This was the press, red carpet, formal wear, full industry, and the world’s eyes.

He took a screenshot and sent it to Seungkwan, typing, Did you give them my personal email address?

His right-hand man and close friend responded immediately with a, What do you think? I almost gave them your phone number since you’ve taken like a month to respond.

Jeonghan clicked his tongue.

On his screen, he saw three little dots appearing, indicating Seungkwan typing a long message. But at the end of it, Jeonghan thought his friend might’ve changed his mind, because the text only read, Are you going alone?

Jeonghan felt a shudder. As though he’d just swallowed a cube of ice.

But he replied, I have a plus one.

And then he locked his phone, tossing it on the bed as he rose from it and walked out of the bedroom.

The boxes sat on the pristine marble floors of the new apartment. It had been just a few days since you all moved here. Half-eaten takeout boxes were littered on the counter, three sets of chopsticks sticking out like abandoned flags. The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamps on the ceiling.

Jeonghan sighed tiredly, walking down the hallway from the master bedroom to the living room. You were curled up on the massive new couch, legs across Joshua’s lap. He sat next to you with his head leaning back against the headrest, his hand resting on your knee. None of you was really talking; tiredness had consumed you from the eventful day. 

Joshua ran his fingers along your shin, absentmindedly looking at the ceiling, his gaze drifted. “You took long enough,” he said, looking now at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan had just finished a long work call that took the last bit of energy he had. So he plopped down on the couch, next to Joshua and instantly curled against him, resting his head against Joshua’s shoulder. “Thank god it’s over,” he said.

You looked up from your phone screen, a sweet smile spreading on your face once you saw your boyfriends curled up on the big couch. “What was it about?” you asked, not hiding the curiosity in your tone.

Jeonghan drew in a breath, a spark of mischief appearing in his eyes. And fighting the smile that threatened to break the soft features of his face, he said: “Oh, it was just one of my mistresses, honey. Nothing to worry about.”

Joshua clicked his tongue, shrugging Jeonghan’s head off his shoulder. “Like you have the time to get other partners,” he huffed.

Jeonghan grunted as his face bumped against Joshua’s shoulder. “Ah—you little shit!” he said while laughing.

“Who were you talking to?” Joshua pressed, as curious as you were now that Jeonghan was holding back.

“It was a work thing,” he finally explained, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Was it about the series you were invited to work on?” Joshua asked at once, as though the memory of Jeonghan telling him about the project had never left his mind.

“Yeah. I was negotiating,” Jeonghan sighed, driving his gaze to the ceiling. “I demanded that my production team get involved, too. That way Seungkwan gets to work with me—”

“And he will take a lot of workload off your hands, got it,” Joshua muttered under his breath.

Jeonghan shot him a dark look, which Joshua just shrugged off.

“Did they agree?” you asked.

Jeonghan nodded, a triumphant smile drawing on his face. “They agreed to all of my terms. Gonna put them in the contract tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” you asked agape.

Joshua also turned to him, eyes opened in surprise. “Hannie, this is huge,” he said, finally smiling. “Congrats. We should celebrate.”

“I agree. Congrats, baby,” you also chimed in.

Jeonghan smiled, hiding his face a little behind his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice muffled a little.

Outside, the sky had already deepened into a rich navy, and the windows were glowing faintly from the city lights below. Somewhere in the silence of the apartment, the buzz and the hum of the traffic provided a steady background. You, Jeonghan and Joshua just relished in the silence, too tired to move, but happy.

You sighed loudly. “I’m exhausted. We should go to bed,” you said. “I vote for watching a dumb show tonight.”

Jeonghan patted your thigh lovingly, his cold hand sending tingling down your skin. “Why don’t you go, baby? We’ll be there in a minute.”

You immediately caught on that Jeonghan wanted a minute alone with Joshua. It was pretty obvious, and as you looked at both of them, you almost refused. But you stood up from the massive couch, noticing Joshua’s curious face as he eyed you and then Jeonghan.

“Don’t take too long, you two,” you said, raising a finger at them. “Or I’ll come get you.”

Jeonghan smiled, blinking slowly at you. “Of course, baby,” he replied warmly.

You walked away from the living room with a gentle pace, feeling two pairs of eyes on you as you turned on the corner and down the hallway, disappearing from view.

“What’s up?” Joshua asked, raising his head from Jeonghan’s shoulder too look at him fully.

“We need to talk,” Jeonghan mumbled, peeking from where he sat to the spot you had disappeared mere seconds ago.

“About what?��� Joshua replied, following Jeonghan’s gaze. But you were very obviously nowhere to be seen.

Jeonghan hesitated for a second, his lips parting softly right before he released a brief sigh. “I got invited to a film premiere.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “For what?” 

Jeonghan sat up straight on the couch. “It’s called The Quiet Summer, or something like that. Daniel Hwang directed it. Big deal, apparently.”

“Daniel Hwang? You haven’t worked with him since—”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeonghan said quickly. “I was surprised, too.”

Jeonghan glanced between the hallway and Joshua’s face, then he continued, more cautiously now. “They’re doing a lot of press around it. And I’m on the guest list… so I am expected to walk the red carpet. Especially now that I’m on this new project, I need to put myself out there.”

Jeonghan could see in his boyfriend’s eyes the pieces of the puzzle coming together. But then there was a sparkle in his eye, Joshua had caught on.

“I’m asking Bunny to come with me,” Jeonghan said softly, his heart beating rapidly against his throat.

Joshua opened his mouth, then closed it. “So we’re doing another ‘official couple’ thing?”

Jeonghan bit his lower lip, nodding once. “Maybe I could pull some strings and get Midnight Haze invited too.”

Joshua took a long moment to reflect. “Why? You two could have your moment without me being there, you know? We avoid unnecessary drama.”

Jeonghan winced at that. “But I want you there too,” he muttered in a lower tone. “I want both of you there with me.”

Joshua gave him an empty smile. “We can’t just show up all of us there. It would defeat the purpose of you and Bunny doing the official couple thing entirely.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “You’re obviously not posing for the cameras with me, dummy. But I think you should also be there,” he said, and with a note of nervousness, he added: “I want you to be there.”

Hearing this, Joshua smiled lightly, his gaze softening. “You want me there or Midnight Haze?” he teased.

“I obviously want you there,” Jeonghan pouted. “Look, if you don’t want to be there for me, then fine, I c—”

Joshua laughed, pushing forward to grab Jeonghan, hands cupping his neck. “Shut up, you dumbass,” he said, crushing his mouth against Jeonghan’s. “Of course I’ll be there for you.”

The moment was put to a halt. Jeonghan melted instantly, his shoulders going slack at the same time that a sharp gasp spilled from him. But he gave in, grabbing Joshua by the hem of his t-shirt to pull him closer.

Joshua parted his lips, giving access to Jeonghan’s with a tiny but guttural moan. Jeonghan rolled his tongue inside Joshua’s mouth, now kissing him with abandon, and a hint of anger from his fleeting tantrum.

“Why did you tell Bunny to wait in the bedroom, though?” Joshua asked quietly, pulling away slightly to look a Jeonghan’s face.

“Because she’s planning to part from her anonymity because of you and me,” Jeonghan explained with a more serious tone. “Her career is changing—she’s growing quickly. And I’m going to put her in the limelight as my partner too. I wanted to talk to you about it before you freaked out.”

Joshua’s gaze disconnected as he listened. “It’s ok. I won’t freak out,” he replied quietly.

“Really?” Jeonghan asked. “People will be able to finally put a name on her face. There will be a straight line connecting her to you because of me and all the media perusing in your personal life.”

Joshua blinked, and the anxiousness was evident in the way his breath caught in his throat. “But the media talk surrounding you isn’t nearly as insane as it is with me,” he countered.

“And what if it gets to that point?” Jeonghan ventured, his pulse quickening too.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Joshua replied, but there was something off about his tone. He breathed in, shifting on the couch slightly in discomfort. “Look, I don’t have a lot of answers right now. But I do know that the way the media will treat her with you won’t be as harsh as it will be with me.”

Jeonghan knew this to be right. Even if it were just a simple theory.

So far, the only talk held by the media and fans surrounding Joshua’s complicated love life is that there was a girl in his life, but people didn’t know who this person even was. No one knew for sure it was you. Blurry photos, and low-quality videos of you walking hand in hand with Joshua were already floating on the internet. What gave Joshua some peace of mind was that no one knew your name or face yet.

“Promise me that whatever happens, we’ll talk about it before you lose control again,” Jeonghan said, his tone shaky but his gaze steady, lingering on Joshua’s face.

Joshua knew this wasn’t something to take lightly. Every promise he’s made with Jeonghan, he’d taken seriously—even those broken by life’s unexpected change of direction.

“I promise,” Joshua mumbled, his tone unwavering.

Jeonghan pulled back, but stuck out his hand, holding up his pinky finger.

“Really?” Joshua chuckled.

“Really,” Jeonghan punctuated, holding his hand an inch higher, insisting.

Joshua’s smile became wider. But he didn’t hesitate, lacing his pinky finger and meeting the pad of his thumb with Jeonghan’s. They stayed like this for longer than they needed to, none of them really wanting to let go—their fingers remained laced, their thumbs touching until they started to feel each other’s pulse.

A second lasted an eternity.

Jeonghan lifted his face, finding Joshua’s gaze set on him. And before neither could speak up, they were closing the space between each other, meeting in a slow, tender kiss. Jeonghan locked his lips with Joshua’s, matching a perfect synchronicity almost instantly.

The kiss was wet, warm, and it had everything that drove Joshua a little crazy. Jeonghan let out a sweet but tiny grunt into Joshua’s mouth, moving his hand to Joshua’s cheek, pulling him closer, telling him to crush him with kisses if needed. Joshua also moved his hand, finding Jeonghan’s waist, gripping it gently.

Jeonghan paused for air, pressing his forehead against Joshua’s for a long moment. And Joshua was too, breathing softly but with a slight hint of desperation. “We should get to Bunny,” he whispered shakily.

“Yeah, we should,” Jeonghan said distractedly. His hand lingered on Joshua’s cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth twice. “Just give me a moment,” he said.

Joshua let out a short sigh, smiling. There was a quippy remark sitting on the tip of his tongue, and Jeonghan could sense it. So he quickly brought his thumb to the center of Joshua’s lips, sealing them for a second, bringing him to a stop.

Jeonghan squeezed his eyelids briefly, armoring himself with enough valor to speak what he hadn’t for days since Joshua kissed him for the first time. He never said these things first, and he wasn’t good at confessions. But this time, he decided to take another route.

“Hey,” Jeonghan whispered, not removing his thumb from Joshua’s lips. He breathed in, feeling himself brimming with so much nervousness that he felt like a kid meeting love for the first time again. “I love you,” he said, a little bit louder now.

Joshua took a quick breath, one that Jeonghan felt due to the proximity he still had to Joshua’s face. But Joshua pursed his lips against Jeonghan’s thumb, grabbing his hand by the wrist and pulling it down. “I love you too,” he replied with a nervous giggle.

Jeonghan released a gentle exhale, slipping his hand below Joshua’s nape, feeling his dark hair through his fingers. Joshua met him halfway with a tender kiss.

“Are you two coming to bed?”

You were standing in the living room right in front of them, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt you stole from Jeonghan’s closet. But your pretty face wore a pout, eyebrows knitting softly—well aware that this expression was a weakness to both your boyfriends.

Joshua pulled back, Jeonghan’s hand slipping down his neck, causing a shudder down his spine. “Yes, baby,” he chuckled lightly.

You smiled sweetly, tilting your head to one side. Something about the glint in your eyes captured Jeonghan’s attention.

Jeonghan blinked, getting up from the couch. “You were listening, weren’t you?”

The giggle that escaped you told them all they needed to know, as with that laugh, you gave yourself away. “I didn’t mean to!” you cried, watching as Jeonghan approached you with two efficient steps. “I was coming to get you, but I also didn’t want to interrupt…”

“How much did you listen?” Joshua asked curiously. 

“Enough,” you giggled as Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “It was cute!”

“Come on, you little minx,” Jeonghan quipped, slapping your ass playfully and laughing at the tiny squeal you emitted. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, sneaking a look over his shoulder.

Joshua was rising from the couch, a serene smile painting the beautiful features of his face. He blinked slowly at Jeonghan, as though signalling that everything was fine. There was no need to worry, no need to leave the conversation pending.

And despite the quick beating of Jeonghan’s heart, he knew that he was safe. He was home—with you and Joshua.

“So…” Jeonghan started, trying to drag your attention as you quite practically threw yourself on the bed, sitting right in the middle, like always.

“What?” you asked.

Jeonghan sighed, not knowing where to start. “Will you go to a film premiere with me?”

Your mouth parted in a tiny ‘o’, blinking in surprise. “Oh my god, o-of course, Hannie,” you gasped, a smile forming across your features. “For what movie? When?”

A warm feeling washed all over Jeonghan, the rigidness in his entire body dissolving once he saw your eagerness. “It’ll be soon. But are you sure, baby? There’ll be cameras, and press—”

“I’m sure, babe,” you said, nodding twice. You let out a sigh that denoted a quiet resignation, one that you were more nervous to confront with both Jeonghan and Joshua. “I’ve decided to let go of my anonymity.”

It was something you’d already disclosed to both of them before. But it was never really a conversation held in depth, and so much has changed in the past couple of weeks that you’ve decided to put it aside.

“How would that work?” Jeonghan asked, careful and curious.

The question hung in the air briefly, and Joshua looked at you with the same curiosity written in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I’ll have to do now in-person interviews, maybe book tours, signing? Yena mentioned that I’d have to be more open now in social media, show my face more.”

“All the things you love,” Joshua commented, sarcasm coating his words.

You lowered your face slightly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt. “I used to think that I wanted to remain hiding behind a pen name the rest of my career. But now… I don’t know, plans change.”

Joshua climbed onto the bed, sitting right next to you. “We’ll protect you where we can,” he said, reaching to grab your hand. “And where we can’t, we’ll stand beside you.”

Your heart fluttered. “Yeah?” you asked softly, lifting your face to lock eyes with him. The optimism in his words felt like armor, soft and strong.

It was still terrifying to think that you would now be standing fully under the limelight. Terrifying, but freeing.

You shrugged slightly. “I guess I will be writing this new chapter with you two,” you smiled softly at them.

Joshua matched your smile, soft but proud. “That’s my girl.”

Jeonghan lay down on the bed next to you, grabbing your hand to place a tender kiss on your knuckles. “Our girl.”

There was an ominous silence in the car. One that you just assumed was born out of the nervousness that Jeonghan was trying to conceal.

He was partially turned to his window, his elbow placed on the windowsill of the car as he rubbed two fingertips on his lips. He did this as a nervous tick, you knew.

You reached out to grab his hand. “Hey,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

Jeonghan blinked, clearly snapped out of his thoughts. But he turned to you, turning his hand over to squeeze yours. “I’m fine,” he replied with a gentle tone, taking a deep breath. “Just nervous.”

You showed him a smile. “You’re going to do fine,” you asserted.

He pressed his lips in a kind smile, but you could tell he was still nervous. “What if I say something wrong?”

“What could you possibly say?” you shrugged.

“I don’t know. I stutter when I get nervous,” he chuckled, giving your hand another tight squeeze. 

You laughed softly, but then you noticed something in him. Something that wasn’t just connected to tonight’s evening. 

Jeonghan turned slightly on the seat, grabbing both of your hands in his. “Baby,” he breathed, and his sweet brown eyes connected with yours. “I wanted to do this differently, but I guess life has been too crazy lately and we really haven’t slowed down.”

You never saw Jeonghan this nervous, let alone this serious. Your tummy clenched, and your hands instantly started to sweat. “Yes?” you whhispered shakily. 

He closed his eyes, sighing slowly. “I really wanted to do this differently, but now I have no other choice,” he told you solemnly, opening his eyes. “Would you be my girlfriend?” 

You stared, thinking that you might’ve heard wrong. 

But he continued. “I feel sad that we started our thing with the wrong foot. But now I’m about to launch you to the world as my girlfriend without me ever asking you formally.” 

Your heart squeezed. “Hannie—” 

“I know I’m sounding ridiculous,” he chuckled. “But I love you. I want to do things right with you.” 

That instantly warmed you up. You smiled at him. “You know my answer is yes,” you told him, your tone honeyed. “I love you too.” 

Jeonghan smiled as well, leaning to press his forehead on yours. “I love you, baby,” he repeated, softer now. 

The black car rolled to a stop at the curb outside the hotel. Jeonghan let out a labored breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“Ready?” you asked.

He shook his head, his eyes catching sight of the man standing outside the door. “Nope,” he said honestly. “But I’m still doing it.”

Jeonghan’s door opened, camera flashes popping instantly as he stepped out of the car. He fixed his jacket, turning around to extend a hand at you. You grabbed his hand, stepping out of the car too and standing now next to him.

Flashing lights showered over you, and you could immediately tell that they were not solely focused on Jeonghan. People knew your name now. Your true name and not the author’s. The first person calling for you wanted you to turn to their camera lens. And at first, to hear your name being called out loud made your stomach turn.

Jeonghan linked your fingers with his, squeezing your hand tightly. And then you knew what had truly been making him nervous.

You were no longer a mystery. You were now a story. Something for the world to put a name on it, to fully appreciate. 

“Ready?” he murmured, leaning to your side slightly.

You wondered if he’d read the anxiety in your face now. “No,” you said, giggling. “But we’re here. There’s no backing out now.”

He nodded. “No backing out,” he repeated.

You walked hand in hand with him just like you did that same morning. But now it was in full view of the world, the gossip sites, and the media. The first few photos were polite, routinary. Jeonghan was standing stiffly at your side, smiling carefully.

But people started calling his name, trying to get his attention. He turned to give you a look and you nodded at him, stepping back to let him do his thing. The questions started as soon as he approached.

The first few questions were peaceful, aimed to the true purpose of his attendance at that event. “How does it feel to be stepping into this new role?” Was one of the first questions, or “Who are you excited to see tonight?”

But as he continued going down the line of interviewers from magazines, websites and such, smiling and replying to each question politely. And Jeonghan, being who he is, noticed everything. He knew everything was going to be livestreamed and knew that he would soon see his face plastered on social media.

It wasn’t his first rodeo, but it sure was the first being so… personal.

Jeonghan turned to you, grabbing your hand as his face contorted into an expression of true anxiety. He broke into a chuckle once you noticed the very obvious state he was in. “Let’s get inside,” he muttered, nodding to his team.

“You have one more,” one of his coordinators told him, nodding to a male interviewer.

He didn’t have time to let go of your hand when the person was already speaking to him. The man greeted him amicably, to which Jeonghan replied in kind, bowing his head. The guy wasted no time, saying: “You’ve been keeping things under wraps for a while. You’re for sure surprising us and your fans. Should we be asking about the project or the relationship?”

Jeonghan blinked, an anxious feeling gnawing inside him. But he kept himself composed. “We’re here to celebrate the work of our colleagues, nothing more.” 

Unfortunately, that just opened the door for everyone to scream questions at him. Questions that were to some extent, loud enough for you to hear and understand clearly, even though the voices clashed and mixed.

“Is it just the two of you tonight?” one woman quite literally shouted from the back. At the same time, someone asked: “Is this your official debut as a couple?” and one faceless voice from the bunch spoke loudly: “How long have you been keeping it a secret?”

At that, Jeonghan pulled you away from the swarm of microphones, video cameras and lights. And you caught a glimpse of his face as you tried to keep up with his pace, he was not pleased.

“That was insane,” he said under his breath, motioning for you to walk before him.

You wished to have something witty to say, if it weren’t for the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through your veins. “It’s my first time facing this,” you commented, shaking your head lightly as you got to the entrance to the hotel. “It is insane.”

“If it makes you feel better, it’s my first time getting questions like this and not people asking who I am,” he chuckled, but then slowed down to direct a scrutinous look at you. “Are you okay?” he mumbled, softer now.

You walked at his pace, almost coming to a halt. “I am,” you nodded.

He released a shaky breath. “Well, I was terrified,” he admitted shyly.

Your heart stuttered. “I know. I could tell,” you teased gently. “But you handled it well.”

“You think so?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, of course I do,” you replied with a light smile, bumping his shoulder with yours.

The anxiety on his face was broken by a broad smile. He panned at you from your feet to your head. “You stole a lot of looks tonight,” he said, biting his lower lip as he wrapped an arm across the small of your back, bringing you closer to him.

You huffed, blinking slowly. “It’s the dress,” you said, looking down at your chest. “My boobs look great, though.”

Jeonghan coughed up a laugh. “You’re right about that,” he said under his breath. But then he seemed to compose himself, directing you another look. “You look gorgeous,” he said softly.

“Thank you, Jeongjeong,” you replied, feeling your chest heat up.

You looked around the lounge, which was dimly lit and completely covered in luxury. There were velvet cushions and high-top tables, and just enough distance from the noise of the gala.

“Do you think Joshua is already here?” you asked, anxiously looking for him.

He followed your gaze while gnawing at his bottom lip. “I don’t know, but we shouldn’t look too suspicious.”

You looked at him. “There are no cameras inside this place,” you pointed out. “There’s no harm in just hanging out with him, right?”

Jeonghan tilted his head to one side. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, hesitantly. Then, he sent a look around too, through the unfamiliar faces. “Where is he?” 

As soon as he got there, Joshua wanted to leave. 

He had slipped into the side lounge quietly, pleased that his presence had gone unnoticed by the media. He had nearly begged his manager to find a way to get into this premiere without having to answer any questions. And he was lucky enough that he didn’t have to do any promotional duties for his band.

Midnight Haze had amassed recognition.

So he walked there with his hands tucked in the pockets of his black pants. His hair was styled in a messy way, strands of hair hanging messily in every direction while the rest of his hair was slicked back.

When he got in there, he noticed a few familiar faces, and he couldn’t quite avoid the attention he got from other famous people.

But then he saw you.

Joshua would never be able to explain what he felt when he saw you. In the room full of people, he heard your voice, instantly plunging him back to the day he saw you for the first time. Even though it happened a long time ago, his reaction was the same—he searched your face, saw your eyes and lips. You were gorgeous, the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

His nervousness evaporated when he saw you standing proudly, grabbing Jeonghan’s arm. And that’s when Joshua remembered the whole point of this. You had renounced a big part of your life that you held with secrecy, stepping into the light not only with Joshua’s best friend—but with his new life partner too.

And you both stood out—you always did. A slight feeling of perplexity coursed through Joshua when he noticed just how attractive you both were. You and Jeonghan attracted everyone’s eyes, and you simply had a very special synergy with Jeonghan.

Joshua approached you and Jeonghan with effortless calm, one that he could only get once he saw how happy you looked. You were so wrapped up in a conversation with Jeonghan that you didn’t notice him coming closer.

But Jeonghan did. He raised his gaze, finding Joshua standing right behind you. An easy smile drew on Jeonghan’s face, blinking at him slowly.

“Are they serving any champagne here?” Joshua said.

You winced, caught off guard by his presence. “Oh god,” you muttered, turning around. Your eyes glinted as you searched Joshua’s face. “Hi, babe!” You mumbled sweetly, not even trying to hide the affection brimming from you.

Jeonghan wrapped his arm tighter around your waist. “Easy there,” he muttered beside you.

You giggled bashfully. “Sorry, force of habit,” you said.

Jeonghan slid a flute of the champagne he decided to neglect across the high-top table. “Here. Drink mine,” he said.

Joshua gave him a thankful nod. Drinking the contents from the flute in one go. He directed you and Jeonghan a cheeky look. “You two look very convincing,” he said.

Jeonghan arched one eyebrow. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Absolutely,” Joshua said with ease. “But I shouldn’t hover for too long. I don’t want this to backfire on our faces.”

You listened intently, keeping your gaze on both of their faces.

“I think you could stay here for two more minutes without drawing unwanted attention,” Jeonghan rolled his eyes slightly. “You’re not that popular,” he teased.

Joshua smiled, giving you an amused look. “Okay. Two minutes.”

You laughed, unsure. “So do you think this is working?”

He scratched his forehead hesitantly. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he pointed at you and Jeonghan. “I’m pretty sure that you’ve convinced at least some people. And I’m pretty sure that the media is already frothing at the mouth about your debut.”

Jeonghan sighed, pressing his lips in a tight line.

You noticed it. “Are you sure you’re okay about this, Joshua?” you insisted.

Joshua tilted his head back a little, looking at the ceiling. “The fewer questions they ask about the three of us, the better.”

“They did ask, though,” Jeonghan said, keeping his tone flat.

But in his eyes, you could see a twinge of deception. He didn’t like this plan. And he didn’t like that Joshua had the urge to keep secrets. You knew this.

“That’s why I have to step back a little. Let you two shine,” Joshua urged, motioning a step back.

But you stepped toward him, Jeonghan’s hand slipping in yours, trying to reel you back to him discreetly. “Seriously, Josh, are you okay?”

If Joshua said no in that moment, you would drop the act. Deep down, you didn’t care about appearances, about what the media or the world thought.

But Joshua looked at you and smiled. It wasn’t a forced smile, but something softer, easier. “I’m fine, baby,” he muttered quietly, but then glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention.

Jeonghan stepped closer to you, placing a possessive hand really low on your hip.

Joshua noticed the subtlety of the action and thanked that Jeonghan shared the same thoughts as him. “As long as we don’t get weird headlines or speculations, I’ll be okay. You two make the cute couple the media can root for and I get to stay in the background where the real stuff happens.”

Jeonghan huffed. But he concealed his reaction by moving his hand from your hip to your lower belly, keeping you close to him. “Very selfless of you.”

Joshua smirked. “Don’t ruin it.”

They shared a look, and you didn’t need to tap into their special connection to know what was happening. Jeonghan was still unsure about this plan, but seeing Joshua relieved that it was working put him at ease.

Joshua cleared his throat, stepping back again. “I’ll go check on the boys,” he said, finally removing his gaze from Jeonghan. “Tell me when you’re ready to go home, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replied.

“Just wanted to say that you two are handling this well,” Joshua said, giving you both a gentle smile.

You huffed. “We’re pros,” you rolled your eyes playfully.

He started walking away, but a thought made him stop briefly: “At least... we’re the ones who know what really happens behind closed doors.”

You smirked, a nice warm feeling blooming in your chest. Joshua gave Jeonghan a quick wink, then walked away, leaving you and Jeonghan in the spotlight.

It was well past midnight when you got back home.

The elevator ride was quiet. The kind of quiet that spoke more about your collective tiredness than anything else. Socializing came harder for you than for your boyfriends, and it was a good thing that not much of it was required from you. But you still felt drained.

The apartment was dark. You slipped out of your high heels the minute you crossed the door, fumbling to get the light switch.

Jeonghan beat you to it, turning the lights on with one hand as he slid his jacket off his shoulders. Joshua came in last, slower than usual. He was tired, and even though the night had gone well, you could tell that there was a lot he was leaving unsaid.

He loosened his jacket, following you and Jeonghan to the bedroom and just stood there for a minute, like he didn’t know what to say once the noise was over.

You turned to him as you removed your earrings. “You disappeared after the set.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I know,” he said, unbuttoning his black dress shirt. “There were a lot of people looking.”

Jeonghan reappeared from the kitchen holding a large glass of water. “You didn’t have to vanish either, you know? You were also a guest.”

“It felt safer,” he replied gently, removing the shirt from his shoulders.

Jeonghan let out a labored sigh. “Well, I’m done with that for tonight,” he said, undoing his shirt as well.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around both of them. “I’m glad we’re back home.”

A fraction of a second passed before you felt both Jeonghan and Joshua ease into the hug. You felt one of them loosen up and heard the other one sigh. You lifted your head, sneaking a look at them as Joshua rested his forehead on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I needed this,” he said.

Jeonghan sighed, slowly leaning over to press a long kiss on Joshua’s head.  “Me too,” he replied softly.

Joshua lifted his head, his face so close to Jeonghan’s that it was easy for him to press his lips against Jeonghan’s. It was a sweet kiss that was immediately reciprocated, making Joshua hum.

Clothes came off first, jackets and shirts tossed over the chair that was pushed to the corner of the bedroom. No one spoke for a while, and you just co-existed with them in silence, letting it settle around you comfortably.

You flopped onto the bed with a groan, crawling to lie down right in the middle, as you usually did. Now the bed was wider and more spacious than your previous one, so there were enough pillows and space to stretch and get comfortable.

Joshua came to your side, curling up next to you. You rested your head against his chest, humming slightly as his fingers started playing with your hair.

“Tomorrow’s the recording session, right?” you asked him.

“Yeah, baby,” he replied, his tone waning in tiredness.

Jeonghan came back to the bedroom, sighing as he lay down on your other side. “What’s happening tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m having a live session recording with the boys,” Joshua explained, though this was the second time he told Jeonghan this information.

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Jeonghan said with a tone of acknowledgement.

“Are you nervous, Josh?” you asked softly.

“No,” he told you. “We’ve rehearsed a lot. I could practically do it with my eyes closed now.”

“How humble of you,” you giggled softly.

“What can I say?” Joshua smirked, giving you a quick wink. “We’re pros.”

You smiled in response, enjoying the look of quiet confidence he showed you.

Joshua was nervous.

There were only a few times when he truly felt like his anxiety was eating him alive. The feeling fluttered in his stomach, quick and alarmed, demanding attention. It also made his limbs tremble if he let himself feel it.

But he fought against it. He knew that he felt like this only because he cared so much. This was important, and it was a milestone that he had wanted to achieve ever since he took on the path of being a musician.

The makeup artist took little time with him, focusing more on styling his hair than his face. They adorned his ears with subtle earrings, his neck with a heavy choker made of leather and chain; and lastly and a detail that couldn’t be missed, they changed the stud piece for a black one on his eyebrow.

As he sat in front of the vanity mirror, he rehearsed in his head one more time. He didn’t doubt his ability to get the show done. It was more like a mechanism to fight off the anxiety running around in circles inside of him.

You’ll do amazing, babe. You got this. I love you, read your last text message, which sat at the bottom of the chat. You always had great timing for these types of things, always saving him when he needed it the most.

Joshua stood up from the chair once the makeup artists took a step back and went on to work on his bandmates. He grabbed the leather jacket from the clothing rack that was labelled with his name and put it on with a short sigh, letting out the last bit of his nervousness.

And as he was getting mic’d up, his mind slowly got into a state of unbreakable focus and determination. His body only followed, forgetting about the restlessness caused by his heart.

There were three stationary cameras planted on each side of the studio, where the positions would be filled by Joshua, Jihoon, and Vernon respectively. Their places were marked solely by their equipment, which where carefully and very stylistically placed—Joshua’s vintage guitar was neatly placed in a stand right next to his microphone.

A cameraman was standing behind Joshua. He could sense the air settle as the director gave the signal for the cameras to start rolling, the lights focused on each spot in burning oranges and muted yellows—and the room fell dead quiet.

Through the corner of his eye, Vernon and Jihoon walked into the studio and stepped on the small stage with an easy gait, quickly getting into their positions. That was Joshua’s cue to follow, and he started walking.

The camera moved with him, filming the back of Joshua’s head as he walked to his position, grabbing his guitar by the neck and strap and adjusting it on his shoulder as he regularly would. Stillness still ruled over them, aside from the quiet rustle of fabric, and the soft intakes of breath of his bandmates and him, who were all mic’d up.

Joshua grabbed the lonely pick that you had given him once from the mic stand. He lifted his gaze, directing a look at his bandmates, and with enough confirmation that they were ready, he started strumming his guitar.

The song was a quieter version of one of Midnight Haze’s most popular songs. They had adapted it only for this occasion, as they had with the rest of their setlist. The idea was for Midnight Haze to show their range, and that came with no difficulty for them. The first song was the one they usually played to open their shows, and it flowed quite differently now that it was stripped of the trashing of the drums and the strumming rhythm of the guitars.

But as the setlist went on, just like a regular show would, Joshua closed his eyes to relish the euphoric feeling of playing music—of his fingertips dancing on the neck of the guitar, the gentle sway of his body as he practically swam with the lyrics.

He felt how much he thought of you when he wrote music. Oh, because the lyrics weren’t subtle at all, they have never been. And in his heart, just like always, he felt you there with him on stage.

“You might be the melody I need, The only one that makes my heart complete, But you kiss me like I’m leaving, Even when I say I’ll stay.

Don’t let me go, Take me with you, Don’t let me go, Stay here with me.

I can give you what you want, I can’t give you what you want.”

His eyes remained close through each line, which he sang with a heavy layer of significance, letting them out with a rawness that he felt in his very soul. As if he were still deciding to set his emotions free, or let them choke him out.

But the attempt to keep his emotions to himself was merely futile. Soon, he became a puppet to his own songs, the words resonating in his chest, each chord he struck hitting a particular place in his heart.

And then, he was truly one with his music, as he always intended to be.

Time stopped and lost all importance—he forgot that he was supposed to be looking good for the camera while playing music nonstop. And when he looked at his bandmates, he was lucky to see that he was not alone in that.

The set was coming to an end, and Joshua almost didn’t want to let go. As much as he loved standing on a stage, sharing his music with tens of thousands of unknown faces—he was completely enamoured with a quiet, smaller session like this. It sent him back to the days when his only stage was Seungcheol’s bar, and only twenty people were there to listen.

Now, he knew that hundreds of people would watch this video. But in that moment, he didn’t really think of that. Right at that moment, he let himself feel his music just for the sake of feeling it. This was his dream.

And when the final song ended, the echo of the room captured Joshua’s voice, wrapped in the last chords of his guitar. The sound was beautifully haunting, like water running in a distant dream, fading into the stillness of the night. He stood there, hand wrapped around the neck of his guitar, while the other came to grip the mic as he sighed out the last note.

He blinked slowly, realizing that he hadn’t really engaged with the cameras at all. He had forgotten about them. About the people standing in the room with him.

Because no one moved, it was as though no one would dare to.

But then, someone clapped. One cooed in amazement. Then more joined in, putting their hands together, politely restrained, but there was a clear hint of awe.

From behind the sound console and cameras, the sound engineer nodded. “That was perfect,” she said.

And the director also gave a nod. “That’s it,” he agreed. “In one take.”

Joshua placed his hands on his hips, realizing he was out of breath. “Really?” he asked, shooting a glance to his bandmates, who were equally astounded.

“Yes! Really,” the director laughed.

People started moving again, turning off the spotlights, picking up equipment and such. The spell was broken now, but traces of it still lingered in the air for Joshua, even as he removed his in-ears, coiling the cord around his fingers.

A crew member came up to Joshua as he gathered with his bandmates. “Are you guys coming to the afterparty?”

Joshua blinked. He’d forgotten that was happening. “Ah, yeah. Just… I need a minute.”

He gave the in-ears to the first crew member who offered to take them off his hands. Then he removed the strap of his guitar from his shoulder and tucked the custom pick you gifted him in the pocket of his jeans. The next movement was transactional—the guitar returned to its stand just as Joshua pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans.

He had turned it off to avoid any potential interruptions. So when he turned it back on, he found out with a pleasant feeling that Jeonghan had also left a brief but sweet message right before the cameras started rolling.

You’ll do a great job, Shuji. Come back as soon as you’re off.

Joshua smiled faintly, his thumbs hovering on the keyboard as he thought of what to reply. I’m omw. I’ll change quickly and then we have a party to tend to.  

Jeonghan’s reply came back instantly. A party?

The elevator ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. This new building had a very ostentatious feel to it. The floors were made of faux marble, the walls slick and gray, and the small monitor to one corner beside the doors displayed the many levels he still had to go.

His new home was spacious, yes. But it accommodated three people perfectly. And although only two weeks had passed, there were still boxes full of stuff in the hallways as he stepped inside the apartment.

As soon as he closed the door, he heard a rustle of fabric, clothed feet running from the bedroom and down the hallway told him that it was you running to receive him.

“Hi, handsome!” you squealed as soon as you laid eyes on him, brimming with so much joy that it showed in your sparkly eyes.

You didn’t give him the opportunity to reply on time, throwing your arms around his neck as he barely caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist.

A gasp escaped him, but he was smiling already. “My love,” he murmured tenderly, sinking his nose into your mane of hair and using his arms to lift you off the floor. “Hi, beautiful.”

When Joshua lifted his head from the crook of your neck, he found Jeonghan—leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a light smirk displaying on his face as he looked at you with adoration.

Joshua might belong on stage, yes. But his heart was here. With you. With Jeonghan.

“Hi there, Shuji,” Jeonghan said, pushing himself off the wall and approaching slowly.

Joshua returned you to the floor, receiving Jeonghan with a brief kiss on his lips. “Hi there, you,” he replied, smiling softly.

“How did the recording go?” Jeonghan asked.

Joshua pulled his phone out, handing it to Jeonghan. “I recorded some snippets from the monitors, and it came out fine.”

“Honestly, I thought you would take more time to come back,” you said, still smiling softly. You slipped your fingers between Joshua’s, pulling him softly as you started walking in the direction of the bedroom.

“We did it all in one take, baby,” Joshua commented offhandedly, even adding a sigh.

“One take?” Jeonghan huffed. “Then it came out more than fine,” he said, unlocking Joshua’s phone by entering the number combination swiftly.

“I guess all that rehearsing paid off,” Joshua shrugged, starting to remove his jacket when you were all in the bedroom.

Jeonghan watched the phone screen intently, humming in amazement. “Oh, wow. You guys look like pros,” he giggled.

“We are pros, Hannie,” Joshua rolled his eyes, giggling too.

“You know what I mean,” Jeonghan replied without taking his eyes off the phone screen as he sat on the bed.

You climbed on the bed right behind Jeonghan, peeking over his shoulder to watch the video too. “Oh, wow, you look great, Josh,” you immediately said, adding a giggle. “I mean—you all look great. But you’re the most handsome.”

Joshua was undoing the button on one of the sleeves of his shirt when you looked at him. He flashed you a smirk, winking at you cheekily. “I know, baby,”

You smiled shyly, sneaking another look at the screen. “Oh,” you breathed. “Oh—you used the pick I gave you,” you realized, raising your twinkling eyes at him again.

Jeonghan blinked, looking at you and then the screen. “Why don’t you ever gift me things?” he asked, pouting dramatically as he set the phone aside.

You laughed, immediately catching on to his game. “I get you things all the time, silly.”

Joshua smiled at the little quarrel between you and Jeonghan. But as he finished removing his shirt, he saw both of your attention drifting to his chiselled chest.

Taking advantage that both you and Jeonghan were looking at him, he asked: “Are you guys going to get ready? Or are you going to show up in your pjs?”

“Get ready for what?” you asked.

“Didn’t you tell her?” Joshua asked Jeonghan.

Jeonghan sighed, a guilty smile painting his face. “I forgot.”

“There’s an afterparty the studio is throwing. I was thinking of going for a bit,” Joshua shrugged, as though discarding any importance to it.

“Oh, okay,” you said while climbing off the bed. “I’ll get ready.”

Jeonghan placed his hands behind him for support. He was still sitting on the bed, his gaze set on his two lovers as they got undressed in front of him. While Joshua did it methodically, you decided to put on a show, noticing his eyes on you.

Joshua followed you with his gaze too, as you removed your tank top, stripping your torso for their view. It messed your hair, but that brought a giggle out of you as you picked the stray pieces of hair off your face. Then, quite playfully now, you threw your tank top at Jeonghan, who, expecting it, caught it mid-air with a light but impressed chuckle.

“You’re in a mood today,” Jeonghan pointed out, tossing your tank top aside on the bed.

You shrugged, tucking your thumbs beneath the elastic band of your sweats and pushing them down. “I wanna have fun,” you said with a light tone. “I think we need a party.”

Joshua smirked. “Haven’t you been partying a lot lately, princess?”

“Let her have fun,” Jeonghan interceded before you could open your mouth. Then, tilting his head mischievously, he added: “Maybe we could help her with that.”

Joshua’s eyes scanned your frame up and down once, the soft smirk not vanishing from his face as you paced around the room, wholly naked now. “Mmn, what are you suggesting?”

You slowed down, now paying attention to what they were planning. You had grown used to their schemes and also to their playful banter. To the point that sometimes you thought they said things to see if you were actually listening and not in your head too much.

“There’s a toy we haven’t used, remember?” Jeonghan said, still sitting on the bed and looking at you and Joshua like you were both Jeonghan’s personal little strip show.

“There are quite a few we haven’t used yet,” Joshua replied, arching an eyebrow. He stood before Jeonghan, wearing nothing but a pair of washed-down jeans.

Jeonghan lifted his gaze, letting his eyes outline Joshua’s toned body. “The one we could control both with our phones,” he said, smiling once Joshua hummed in acknowledgement. “Yeah. That one. Go get it.”

Joshua’s eyebrows flicked once, noticing the snappy tone that Jeonghan had used. But with a smile on his face, he turned around and pulled a drawer open.

“What are you two doing?” you said, finally catching on to what they were about to do. You were about to put on a little black dress you picked if an occasion like this ever presented itself. It was tight, and it allowed you to go braless without minimizing your figure.

Joshua pulled out a small satin bag, handing it to Jeonghan with a bottle of lube. You were observing them now carefully, so Jeonghan just patted his knee twice, motioning at you. “Come here, baby,” he said.

You panned to Joshua, who stretched out a hand and grabbed yours, pulling you in between Jeonghan’s thighs. Joshua’s large hands slid from your shoulders to your waist, gripping you gently. Standing behind you now, he bowed his head towards your shoulder, pressing his lips to your skin.

You shuddered instantly, skin instantly reacting with goosebumps all over. “What’s happening?”

The bed was high enough for Jeonghan to look at your naked chest directly, noticing your nipples pert and hardened. A tiny smile appeared on his face as he raised his sweet brown eyes to look at you. “You’re going to use this for us tonight,” he said, raising the small satin bag in his hand.

“What’s that?” you said, though you already knew it was a toy. From the moment you saw Joshua pull the first drawer open, you knew.

Jeonghan fished the toy from the bag, discarding the latter somewhere on the bed. The toy was small, egg-shaped, and it hung from a string by Jeonghan’s fingers, it’s pastel pink and blues gave it an innocent presentation it—but you knew better.

“Joshua and I will control it, while you have fun tonight, yeah?” Jeonghan said. He showed you the toy, biting his bottom lip as his eyes surveyed your reaction.

You swallowed. “Will it be very noticeable that I have it in me?” you asked at first, not saying no.

“I don’t know, princess. We haven’t used it yet,” he replied, giving a nod at Joshua. “He bought it for us to play with when he went on tour last time,” he informed you.

“Why haven’t we used it?” you asked, trying to glance at Joshua’s face, but he was still comfortably resting on your shoulder.

Jeonghan shrugged. “We were busy with other things, I guess,” he chuckled. “Like you pegging me.”

Your eyes widened at the memory. “Jeonghan!” you squealed, trying once again to see Joshua’s reaction at those words.

Jeonghan’s laugh filled you with a tingling sensation that sat at the pit of your stomach. “Baby, don’t worry!” he said. “Joshua loved watching the video we made of that time. Why do you think he wanted to try it next?”

“You never told me you wanted to try it,” you mumbled quietly.

Joshua’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Some day in the future, baby,” he replied to you as he lifted his head from your shoulder, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Jeonghan’s anticipation was palpable now. “What do you say, princess?” he said, tugging the toy by its string.

You nodded. “Okay. I’ll use it,” you said, but then paused. “But don’t go crazy with it, okay?”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Princess, that takes the fun out of it,” he said.

You disregarded his comment. “Should I lay down?” you asked curiously.

Jeonghan shook his head. “Just come closer, baby. And place your knee here,” he motioned you closer, patting the bed right next to him and taking the dress from your hands.

You raised your knee, placing it on the edge of the bed, as though you were about to straddle Jeonghan, but not quite so. Joshua pulled your hair back from your shoulder, leaving it bare for him to place more sweet, distracting kisses. You tilted your head to the side, opening your neck for his soft lips.

Jeonghan bent his head forward, meeting your chest with his lips too with a kiss placed on your heart. The contact of both their wet lips against your skin made you shudder, gasping softly as Joshua’s hands held you in place.

Your eyes fell close, relishing the sweet kisses that became needier as they progressed. Joshua continued kissing your shoulder, trailing up the crook of your neck, his hot breath brushing your skin. Meanwhile, Jeonghan kissed your chest, placing his free hand on your hip to bring you impossibly closer. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it to make you moan.

They knew that you could practically cum from a little nipple teasing. But this time, you felt like you were craving their touch for so long that it sent you into euphoria to finally feel it. Jeonghan suckled at your nipple—lightly at first, brushing the pebbled bud with the tip of his tongue over and over again. One of Joshua’s hands left your waist, his fingers teasing the nipple that wasn’t in Jeonghan’s mouth. You winced slightly when Joshua pinched you, and Jeonghan grazed his teeth on you in response.

With a low hum, Jeonghan pulled back, his eyes searching your face as his hand travelled from your hip to your crotch, slipping a finger in between your pussy lips. “So fucking wet. We just teased you a little, baby,” he said with a honeyed tone, biting his lower lip as his fingers explored your wet cunt.

Your face grew hot, but you angled your cunt for his fingers by pushing your hips forward. Jeonghan dipped his finger between your folds, finding your pooling entrance. “Hannie…” you sighed, dropping your head back on Joshua’s shoulder.

Joshua sighed, his arms keeping you firmly in place. But he found his own distraction, teasing your nipples relentlessly with the tips of his fingers as Jeonghan started thrusting his lithe fingers in and out of your pussy.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Joshua mumbled in your ear, making you shudder again.

You nodded aloofly, gnawing at your lower lip as Jeonghan’s fingers fucked you slowly. You were not cumming like this, you were sure of it, but it just felt so good to have them pleasuring you.

But then, Jeonghan inserted the toy inside you, making you snap your eyes open.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, pouting at him. “Why did you stop?”

“Can’t let you have too much fun before the party even starts,” Jeonghan said, chuckling lightly at the expression on your face.

You clicked your tongue, lowering your leg from the bed. “Can I know how this thing feels like beforehand at least?” you asked, still pouting.

Joshua stepped aside, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “You might want to lie down or sit,” he said.

You sat down on the foot of the bed, looking at both of your boyfriends expectantly.

Jeonghan stood beside Joshua, who was looking at the screen of his phone intently. “Is it this?” he asked quietly of Jeonghan.

“Yes—the lower mode first,” Jeonghan instructed.

And they both looked at you.

“Is this thing on?” you asked. “I can’t feel—oh!”

The toy became alive with slow, gentle vibrations that teased a particular spot inside you. You instantly sank into a puddle of pleasure, pushing yourself down the soft covers of your bed.

“How is that, baby?” Joshua asked.

“That feels…” You drawled the words with a sigh. “Good. So good.”

Jeonghan giggled playfully, muttering something at Joshua that you were quite too gone to even care. But they were discussing that the toy was very silent, and they wanted to see if it would still be like that in the highest mode.

The intensity of the vibrations increased, shaking inside you in relentless, almost violent patterns. And because of its design, it was lodged in one particular spot inside you that felt so much and very intensely. You cried out loudly, legs tensing and hands curling into fists.

“God, fuck!” you yelled.

“How about that, princess?”

“T-too much!” you squealed, opening your eyes to see them both looking at you with fascination written on their faces.

“Maybe we should just keep it on the lower modes,” Joshua said quietly, still looking at you dazedly.

You were writhing on the bed now, gasping for air as the toy pulsated inside your walls listlessly. “God… m-make it stop, please,” you pleaded, squeezing your eyes shut.

The toy died at the same time you felt it was just about to tear an orgasm out of you. You took a big gulp of air as soon as it stopped, feeling your body go lip almost as though against its will.

But once it was over, you wanted more.

“Oh… tonight is going to be interesting,” you said with a labored sigh, finding your shaking limbs to sit up.

Joshua and Jeonghan exchanged a meaningful look. You didn’t have to be an expert to recognize that brief gesture. You knew.

“You wanted to have fun…” Joshua shrugged, smirking mischievously.

You stood up from the bed, grabbing your dress from where it had been previously discarded to put it on. And then you grabbed a clean pair of panties. “If you two are going to have control over this thing, don’t you think it would be safe to put some limitations?”

“It’s your decision, princess. Whatever you say goes,” Jeonghan said as he put on some dark denims, which he paired with a black t-shirt and a leather jacket.

You smoothed the fabric of your dress while humming thoughtfully. “I think that as long as you don’t go overboard with it, I’m fine.”

Joshua smiled sweetly at you, approaching you to press a kiss on your forehead. “You got it, baby.”

“Maybe you could give us a signal if you want to stop,” Jeonghan suggested, running a hand through his long, dark hair.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I could squeeze your hand twice, or something,” you nodded.

“Or give me a very passionate kiss in front of everyone,” he said, giggling when you deadpanned at him. “What? It’s a great idea!”

The loft was already buzzing with life when you arrived.

It had an industrial feel to it. High brick walls with barred black windows extended before you on dark gray floors. A mix of blue and red neon lights gave the place a murky feel, like being in a club but exclusive only to friends. The place was already packed, and it surprised you to see some familiar faces, famous people such as actors and musicians.

But the world seemed to stop once Joshua stepped in.

All eyes were centered on him. Everyone stopped to say hi, to wave, and call his name. Your stomach dropped at the sight of people taking out their phones to snap photos of him.

Joshua looked over his shoulder to see you and Jeonghan. There was an air of coolness about him, but the flicker in his eyes told you he was nervous about this—about being so close to the limelight with you and Jeonghan closely behind him. An undercover lover, standing in plain sight.

Someone received him with a glass of whisky, sliding it into his hand while giving him a pat on the back. “There he is! I thought you had pulled a disappearing act!”

And that’s where the avalanche of praise started.

People came closer to Joshua, quickly surrounding him and swallowing him out of their line of vision. Your chest tightened once you couldn’t even get a glimpse of his face.

Jeonghan’s grip tightened. “Come on, let’s find something to drink,” he murmured close to your ear.

You nodded, deciding that maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt.

Slipping between the mass of unknown faces, you slowly became aware that Jeonghan was quite popular as well. People made subtle nods at him as you passed, by patting his back or his shoulder, to which he also responded politely.

But it was Joshua who continued moving through the loft like he belonged there. The smile he wore was intentional; you could tell as you cast a look over your shoulder, spotting him talking with people. He laughed and bowed his head, which made you think that he was being complimented.

Jeonghan tugged your hand, egging you close to him. “Stop gawking, people are already looking at us,” he told you, leaning towards your ear.

“Right, yeah,” you mumbled, turning to the bar in front of you. “Tequila?” you asked him.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips cutely. “Mmmn, I think we should switch it up a little, don’t you think?” he flashed you a grin.

“Gin and tonic?” you blinked.

He grimaced. “I hate gin.”

“You what?” you asked, scandalized, even though part of you already knew this bit of information.

He chuckled, tipping his head back. “Strawberry Mojitos?”

“Oh, you want to get drunk fast?”

“I mean, we gotta get through this party somehow,” he rolled his eyes playfully. “Besides—,” he leaned forward, his breath fanning your ear as he said: “—you need to get loose, princess.”

Your entire body became alight. You had forgotten about the toy still lodged inside your walls. “Okay, you may have a point there,” you nodded.

“Always do,” he said, winking at you.

“Pffft,” you huffed, giggling with him.

Jeonghan smiled once he heard your laugh, his eyes outlining your face swiftly. He turned to the bartender, raising two fingers as he gave the order. The very sleek and polite air to which he commanded himself was perfect—almost annoying. It drove you a little crazy.

It was hard to remove your eyes from him, but you still did it, scanning the room once. Twice. Then again.

Then your eyes found him.

Joshua had moved to the balcony. Leaning back against it and facing the loft. He was surrounded by unknown faces, silhouetted by city lights. He barely moved, but somehow, he sensed your gaze on him. Like something magnetic.

His eyes saw you, but he gave you no reaction. His face impassive as he yanked his gaze from you when someone called his attention.

It left you breathless. The empty exchange of glances, as though you were nothing more than his best friend’s girl. The past and present between you are shadowed by the spotlight on him.

Jeonghan circled your waist with his forearm, slipping a cool glass into your hand. He followed your line of sight, just as you were turning. But you saw, Jeonghan’s eyes were on the balcony, his features went rigid—probably encountering Joshua’s coldness too.

“You okay there?” Jeonghan asked you, glancing your way now.

You nodded. “I’m okay,” you said. Raising your glass to him. “It’s all part of the plan, right?”

The corner of his lips curled slightly. “Indeed, princess,” he said, clinking his glass with yours.

You both drank deeply, lowering your glasses once they were empty. Jeonghan sighed heavily, putting his empty glass back on the countertop. “Another?” he asked you.

You shook your head slowly, wiping the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb. “Hold your horses, cowboy,” you giggled.

“Right,” he smirked. “Lightweight.”

 “Don’t challenge me,” you quipped, but sheepishly.

Jeonghan didn’t listen to you; instead, he pulled out his phone, opening an app you didn’t recognize. “Are you ready for this?” he asked meaningfully, showing you his screen briefly.

You gaped a little, thankful for having tried it at home first. “Slowly, please, Hannie,” you said.

He gave you a smile in reply, but conceded to your request anyway. And your breath hitched, bracing for it.

The toy vibrating inside you instantly brought a hot wave of shame to your cheeks. You swore you could feel it spreading all over you. Your back instantly tensed up, and you quickly reached out to grip Jeonghan’s arm.

“Good?” he asked, his eyes scanning your face over and over.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll need another drink.”

Jeonghan sighed with a smile on his face. “Your wish is my command,” he said gleefully, turning to order the second drink.

Your fingers were beginning to shake in response to the toy inside you. An idea sparked in your mind—maybe having the toy massaging your walls was making you feel more embarrassed than aroused.

You sent another look over your shoulder. Joshua wasn’t looking your way this time.

Maybe Jeonghan was right. Maybe you needed to loosen up.

Jeonghan handed you the newly filled glass, and you began to drink.

It was difficult to relax with the toy activated inside you. Despite the gentle, unstoppable vibrations inside you, you couldn’t really allow yourself to feel them. Your surroundings were overwhelming, loud, and buzzing.

“Jeonghan!” someone called, probably an actor or someone important, judging just by the appearance alone. He was tall, slender, and beautiful—already approaching. “What are you doing here?”

Jeonghan turned with an easy half-smile that was already fueled by the alcohol you were both quickly consuming. “Oh, you know me, I’m everywhere.”

The other man grinned. “Honestly, that’s not even a lie,” he said, shooting you a quick look, as though noticing you there for the first time.

Jeonghan quickly got to it. “This is my girlfriend,” he said proudly. “Baby, this is Doyoung, a friend from high school.”

You smiled politely, heart beating rapidly in your chest due to the anxiety running in your veins. “Nice to meet you,” you said, bowing your head kindly.

Doyoung seemed appreciative of your demeanour, replying to you with a bow and a smile.

Something inside of you blossomed with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. It excited you to think that no one but you and your partners knew what was going on, the game you were subjecting yourself to with them.

But at the same time, you were expected to play a role in this party. You were here as Jeonghan’s girlfriend, and he was expeditiously introducing you to new people, important people. You couldn’t afford to make a fool of yourself in front of these people.

You squeezed Jeonghan’s arm once, tightening your hand meaningfully.

Jeonghan pulled out his phone mid-sentence, but without stopping the flow of his words as he told a story to his friend. With zero regard for any potential possibility of someone catching sight of his phone screen, he switched the intensity of the vibrator inside you and pocketed his phone elegantly.

You relaxed your grip around his arm. Even though he hadn’t brought the toy to a stop, it was a significant switch.

But you were being edged. And that left a bite that you couldn’t quite fend off for much longer.

You cast another look over your shoulder.

However, this time, the scene you caught was different.

Joshua had moved from the balcony and was now standing closer to you and Jeonghan. He was, as expected, not alone. People surrounded him wherever he went, and even though the crowd was different this time, you recognized one face in particular. It was from a long time ago; however, the experience had left its mark in your memory, otherwise she would be just a face in the crowd. Just another person trying to catch five minutes with the famous Joshua Hong.

Her name was Thea. Your brain clicked with the information immediately. And from that moment on, you found it very difficult to pull back. As if the memory activated a slope in your mind, and your hands were too slippery to stop it.

Seconds. Just mere seconds were the ones you got to see from the scene unfolding before your eyes. Joshua was a few meters away from you, but close enough to discern the words Thea told him.

“Did you miss me, Joshie?”

Her voice was all but low. And with a jab to your heart, you assumed that she had nearly screamed those words to grab your attention. Did she remember you? You did not know. And you hoped she didn’t.

Joshua turned, and for the first time in the night, his shoulders relaxed. He smiled, but much to your painful demise, it wasn’t one of those smiles he used for the cameras. It was a smaller smile. Kinder.

“Thea,” he replied, still wearing that stupid smile. “It has been a while.”

You turned back. You couldn’t watch anymore.

But you heard her laughter. And the words she replied to Joshua were all but a ringing of her voice. Almost like echoes designed to haunt you.

You almost obligated yourself to pay attention to Jeonghan’s conversation with his friend. But they were far too deep in their chat that you couldn’t discern what the topic even was. You forced a smile when they both laughed amicably.

Doyoung excused himself, saying he had to say hi to other friends. He said goodbye to Jeonghan and bowed again to you politely.

Jeonghan wasted no time, pulling you closer to him with his arm around your waist. “He’s handling it. Calm down,” he muttered into your ear.

You winced in alarm, shock washing over you like an iced bath. Was your reaction too obvious? You pulled back, looking at him with a question written all over your face.

Jeonghan blinked, showing you a tender smile. “If anyone knows you well, it’s me, love,” he told you sweetly, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“But I haven’t said anything,” you countered, frowning slightly.

“You keep gawking at him,” Jeonghan said, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “And he’s talking to his ex, so you’re obviously coming off as interested in the situation.”

You arched an eyebrow. “So you know her too?” you asked.

Jeonghan rolled his pretty eyes. “I don’t like what that tone is insinuating,” he chuckled briefly. “Yes, princess. I know who she is. I met her a couple of times after she and Joshua were done.”

“Oh,” you let out quietly, trying to sneak another glance at Joshua. “So you didn’t meet her when they were…”

Jeonghan shook his head twice. “Nope. But I know that she tried to sleep with him multiple times after they broke up. He said no every single time,” he coughed another chuckle. “So you have nothing to fear, baby. Trust him. He knows what he’s doing.”

Trust Joshua.

You were able to look past Jeonghan’s shoulder, spotting Joshua—still engaged in his conversation with Thea. She was gorgeous as you remembered her. Tall and slender, shiny hair, sparkly make-up, and long eyelashes. The way she leaned towards Joshua and laughed made your stomach churn, evoking a wave that boiled up the blood in your veins, so strongly that you were completely unsure whether it was just jealousy.

Maybe the jealousy was also fueled by the relentless massaging of the toy that was still lodged inside your walls.

You looked down at your shoes. “Am I making a fool of myself?” you asked.

“No, baby. You’re not,” Jeonghan said with a warm tone. He shrugged. “If anything, you’re just reacting naturally. I’d be concerned if you weren’t at least a little bit jealous.”

It was then that it dawned on you. “So you are jealous too?”

Jeonghan slipped his hands on your waist, trailing down until his fingers reached the line of your panties that were well concealed by the little black dress you wore. His smiling eyes looked at you up and down, pulling you closer with his hands nearly reaching your ass. “I don’t let it get to me anymore,” he replied sincerely.

You blinked repeatedly, overwhelmed partly because of his words and also because of his hands pressing on your rear. You placed your hands flat on his chest, trying to find some support there. “Anymore?” you wondered. “Were you ever jealous of me?”

Jeonghan smirked, as though already expecting your question. He bent over, pressing the tip of his nose against your cheekbone, angling your head back for him to kiss your cheek. He pressed his lips against your cheek, then against your ear, then lastly on the shell of your ear.

“No,” he replied to your question. “I liked you from the moment I met you. I wanted to know how your lips tasted, how your kisses felt. I wanted you for myself.”

You laughed. “Stop lying, Jeongjeong,” Your voice rose higher, manipulated by the arousal your body was subjected to, and also from the kisses Jeonghan was leaving below your earlobe.

“You think I’m lying?” he purred in your ear.

“Yeah,” you sighed, almost inaudibly. And it was then you knew the alcohol had poisoned your judgment. “I think you’re full of shit.”

Jeonghan laughed, the sound low and raspy in your ear. “Ready for more, princess?” he asked, pulling out his phone. 

You nodded, circling your arms around his neck to brace yourself. Your knees were beginning to tremble, and you knew that despite not being able to pay attention to the toy vibrating inside your body, it was getting to a point where you couldn’t just ignore it. Jeonghan amped up the mode of vibration, and you squeezed your eyes shut to embrace it.

“Good?” Jeonghan whispered in your ear.

You nodded, unable to talk.

“Just feel it, baby. Don’t worry about it,” he talked you through it, kissing your ear, your cheek and then your lips.

“Okay,” you whispered shakily, not sure that he could hear.

Maybe you were already drunk. Maybe Jeonghan was, too. But as seconds went by, the world surrounding you started to drift away, to lose meaning. Faces became blurry, music louder, and lights too intense.

You slipped your lips between Jeonghan’s, moving passionately, seamlessly. His hands slipped further down, now fully cupping your ass quite shamelessly. You didn’t know if this was for show or to fight back against Joshua. As though reminding him what he’s missing—or what he stands to lose if he lets his diversions go out of hand.

But Jeonghan kissed you deeper, a deep moan vibrating in your mouth when you rolled your tongue inside his mouth, feeling his tongue in the process. You were now fully making out, oblivious to the people around you, not caring whether you were seen or not. 

The vibrations were slowly and very efficiently building their way into getting you to climax soon. Despite the mode of the toy being still on low, the kissing and the groping were not helping in keeping you still.

You hugged Jeonghan tighter, arms still around his long neck. “Jeonghan,” you called out at once when you pulled back from the kiss.

“Still good?” he asked knowingly.

The music was loud, and people were either too drugged or too drunk to even look twice your way. But you still pulled Jeonghan closer. “I think I’m close,” you muttered shyly into his ear.

You could feel him laughing in the way he released air. “Just feel it. No one will notice,” he told you, pressing a kiss on your temple before adding: “I got you, baby. Let go.”

His arms tightened around your waist, keeping you steady as you crashed down against him. This orgasm was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You were still on your feet, knees shaking, and barely keeping you up. You tried hiding your face on the crook of Jeonghan’s neck—but he was faster, catching you with a kiss before you could even move.

Jeonghan kissing you made your orgasm better—more violent and intense than before. You felt waves of heat expanding inside your body, easing all tension, and leaving you feeling languid, almost depleted of energy. You tried to moan, to writhe, but it was nearly impossible. Pleasure burned inside you like never before, and it was exciting.

You searched his body, finding his arm to squeeze, feeling as if you let the toy keep going, you might need to find a place to hide completely.

But before Jeonghan moved to get his phone, the toy was shut off. At first, you thought that the battery might’ve died, but as Jeonghan frowned at his screen, you realized something.

With little to no control over yourself, you sneaked another glance at Joshua. Where you had previously thought that he was letting the conversation with Thea be his diversion of the night, you were instantly corrected.

Joshua was watching you and Jeonghan. Even as he tried to pretend to be entertaining Thea, his focus was still on you. And he’d watched you cum in the middle of a crowd of strangers.

You saw it. Joshua’s reaction. Barely. His grip tightened around his third glass of whisky. Then he gave you a tiny smirk.

You tilted your head in reply, trying your best to give him the lightest of smiles. A you okay?

His eyes flicked through the crowd, then back. A tiny shrug.

He was surrounded. Untouchable.

You took in a big breath, letting it out with a small hint of frustration. You wanted him to be there with you and Jeonghan. You knew you were being just jealous, possessive. But you also didn’t care.

Joshua saw that from afar, and it was as though he had a direct line to your thoughts because of the slow blink he gave you. As though saying, I know. I see you. I want to touch you too.

Jeonghan’s arms came to hold you against his chest, pulling you closer to rest his chin against your head. “I guess he’s feeling a little bit left out too,” he said, and by the tone of it, you knew he was smiling.

You thought about it for a second.

You were still in a position where you could spot Joshua. Thea told him something that made him turn her way, the pad of his thumb still hovering on his screen. But he listened to her intently, his smiling eyes outlining the perfect features of her face.

It didn’t matter. Whatever good judgment you could muster was nullified by either the alcohol or the jealousy still running in your system. Greed took over you, and you were instantly switched to his position.

Whereas you were jealous of seeing the situation in front of you, Jeonghan was the only one who could have you in the light of the world. Joshua had made it so he couldn’t come close to you like this.

And something sharp twisted in your chest.

Thea giggled. She was gorgeous. Whatever the tone of the conversation was, it had her slipping her hand around Joshua’s wrist, making him act quickly and shut his phone off before her gaze could wander to his screen.

You didn’t wait.

You grabbed Jeonghan by the hand, pulling him through the crowd in the direction towards the first room you could find. Lucky for you, it was a bathroom. You locked the door, switching the light on in quick succession.

And then you pushed Jeonghan against the cold wall of the large bathroom.

A sharp exhale left his body, his eyes widening in surprise. “Someone’s riled up,” he smirked, but welcomed you in his arms, nonetheless.

“Shut up,” you sighed, suddenly feeling thankful that you wore high-heels to this stupid party, because there was no need to stand on your tiptoes. You grabbed his chin, pushing your lips against his almost forcibly, making him hum into the kiss.

“Yes, I am,” you whispered, wasting no time and started fumbling with the buttons of his silk black shirt.

“Wait, wait,” he stammered, trapping your hands with his own. You tore your gaze from his chest, looking at his eyes, still widened. “Right now?” he asked, sending an alarmed look around. As though you were still standing in the middle of the crowd.

You cupped his face with your hands, looking at him intently, from his eyes to his lips. “What, are you scared now?” you asked, lowering your tone to an innocent one. “You’ve been teasing me the whole night. Now you don’t want to?”

Jeonghan responded with a startled look. “I just didn’t think you’d want to do it—” he stuttered when you lowered a hand, undoing one more of his buttons. “—here, you know?” he laughed softly, closing his eyes as you finished unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you put that stupid toy inside me,” you countered.

Jeonghan swallowed hard. Your hand was running down from his chest to his belly button, the tips of your fingers brushing down the soft hairs of his happy trail. “You know, princess, you’ve become even more daring these past few months.”

You hummed. “Try having two insatiable boyfriends at the same time,” you quipped, smiling at him softly.

He was a squirming mess, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the straps of your dress. “I’m the least insatiable out of the two of us,” he argued, his eyes flitting to the door behind you and your face. “We’re gonna have to do this quick.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. “Why do it quickly when you two have literally edged me all through the night?”

Jeonghan gave you a hollow laugh, successfully removing the straps from your shoulders and zipping it down to let it pool at your feet. His demeanour changed the moment he saw you half naked, the only thing covering you was your lace panties, which literally left nothing to the imagination.

“Because,” he started, his tone so low that you could barely hear it over the loud banging of the music outside. “I want us to come back home and have you all to ourselves, princess.”

His finger trailed from the dip between your collarbones then down to your chest, between your breasts. “We can’t do that in here, don’t you agree, baby?” he purred, his eyes lowering to follow the tip of his finger, pausing before the band of your panties.

“It’s not entirely my fault that we can’t,” you said, trying to shrug to appear uninterested. But the quiver in your tone betrayed you. Your skin tingled where the tip of his finger stood, right before the band of your panties started.

“Mmn,” he sighed, the sound deep and almost raspy. But still, it was sweet. Jeonghan was always so sweet to you. “Baby, you got all riled up with a little teasing, don’t tell me you can’t handle it?” he purred, the tip of his finger finally sliding lower, making it to the crotch of your panties.

Your eyelids fluttered when his finger swiped a line between your pussy lips, feeling the obvious heat and wetness pooling in your panties. “Jeonghan, stop playing.”

“Stop playing?” he asked, pulling back to look at your face. “You’re the one who wanted to have fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but just slightly. A smile betrayed you, too, stretching on your lips before you could command the muscles of your face. “Just shut up and fuck me, Jeonghan,” you said, trying to exert as much confidence as you could.

But he smiled, defeating you instantly. “Talking to me like that won’t get you anything,” he said defiantly. But clearly enjoying this, he bit his lower lip briefly, nodding at your lower half. “Take your panties off.”

You hooked your thumbs beneath the band of your panties, pushing them down your legs and effectively going completely bare in front of him. To the exception of your high heels.

His hands quickly found the button of his pants, undoing it and swiftly moving his boxers down. You saw him as he pulled his cock out, already hard and leaking for you. And suddenly you realized—he’d been playing with you the whole time, making out with you and holding you close as you had an orgasm in the middle of a party.

Jeonghan acted quicker than you. Before you could push him to sit on the nearest surface so you could ride him, he grabbed your hips, turning you over and facing the mirror. You saw your face, already looking fucked out—eyes glazed and dreamy.

“Hold this for me,” you told him, putting your panties in the pocket of his pants.

He sighed, the smile not quite vanishing from his beautiful face. “We’ve created a little monster, it seems,” he mumbled, looking at you as you took the toy our of your pussy. It was slick, covered in all your mess.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, biting your lower lip as you reached behind to grab him. You rolled your hand all over his hard cock, feeling the veins in his shaft and the precum leaking from his dark pink tip. Your mouth watered, anticipating the feeling of him stuffing you full.

“I suppose we shouldn’t play with you too far next time,” he said with a low tone, his voice raspy as you guided him inside you, notching his tip in your entrance to taunt him. His hands clenched at your sides, his body tensing beneath you. “You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he sighed, tilting his head back.

You saw his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes, which had stopped looking at the door from time to time and were now zeroed on your reflection in the mirror. He saw your face, your tits, the way you arched your back and angled yourself to take him.  

“God, I love you so fucking much,” Jeonghan exhaled blissfully as he bottomed out on you completely. “That’s it, baby, take me. Take all of me,” he whispered, his eyes lost on the reflection of you in the mirror.

And you were also captured by the sight of him. His silk shirt was parted, slipping from his shoulders slightly. You had fumbled with his pants and boxers enough to get them halfway below his hips. But it was his face that you couldn’t look away from—the pieces of his dark hair were messily on his face, lips chapped from kissing you all night, and his eyes were darkened by a lust you were well acquainted with.

Jeonghan was looking solely at you. And you knew why. The muscles of your face had relaxed—whether it was because of the alcohol or the arousal flowing through your veins, you didn’t know for sure. But your eyes were dreamy, glistening slightly as you blinked slowly at him. Your mouth was parted, lips swollen, red and wet.

And your body—wholly naked to the exception of your high heels that you had kept on. Your tits bounced at each thrust Jeonghan gave you, nipples pert and swollen, skin already covered in a light film of sweat.

You were hot. Alluring, even. The near-animalistic way you were letting Jeonghan take your body made you even more aroused, seeing yourself angling your ass for his thrusts, arching your back to take him in deeper—you loved it. You felt obsessed with it.

Jeonghan showed you a fucked out smirk. “Like what you see, baby?” he asked, noticing that you were getting off by looking at yourself in the mirror. The way Jeonghan’s eyes scanned you through the mirror and then switched to looking at the line of your back all the way to your ass made you think that he also liked what he saw.

You nodded, unable to talk back.

Having him inside you satisfied an urge that you had been trying to keep at bay all night. You instantly moaned, unafraid of being heard, and almost careless. Something invaded you. The same need that crawled beneath your skin came back, but ten times harder now that you were bending over for him.

You pushed a hand against the mirror for support, but angling your ass for his relentless thrusts. “Hannie,” you mewled, taken over by the pleasure quickly building back inside you, but stronger now.

He closed his eyes, humming softly under a long, blissful sigh. “Fuck, princess,” he moaned, grabbing you by the hips to keep you in place. “I needed this.”

You knew it was a quick fuck, but god you wanted it to last. You were so needy from being teased for hours that you were almost too overstimmed to enjoy him fully. Especially when you were in a bathroom, a party was going on outside. And Joshua would probably take notice of your absence in the next seconds.

You tightened your jaw, angling your hips on him to search for that spot that never failed to drive you crazy. You moved your body back, but just slightly, ready to take him deeper inside your walls with each thrust.

Jeonghan noticed that you were seeking to satisfy yourself more than him. His eyes quickly scanned your face in the mirror, a smile stretching on his lips. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his hands grabbing your ass. A strangled moan spilled from his pretty lips. “Make yourself cum.”

He tipped his head back, his eyes rolling back too as he breathed in deeply. You knew he was trying to resist his orgasm, squeezing his eyes shut and sinking his fingers onto your skin. “Baby—fuck. Princess, I’m not going to last long.”

You whined. “No, please. Just a little more,” you said, not caring how pathetic you sounded. “I’m close too.”

He straightened, moving a hand from you to palm the pocket of his pants. He quickly fished out his phone, opening it and pressing the on button for your toy. You gasped instantly, feeling it vibrate inside your closed hand.

“Give me that,” he ordered, his tone raspy and low. Hearing the urgency in his tone, this ignited something in you.

You obeyed, handing him the toy without question.

Looking at you through the mirror, he pressed the toy against your mound, sending its intense vibrations straight to your clit. You opened your mouth, a strangled cry coming out of it as you practically started slamming down your hips with more urgency.

“Oh, Jeonghan!” you cried loudly, the sound high-pitched and raspy at the same time. “Fuck, Jeonghan! Yes, yes, yes,” you mewled, closing your eyes to welcome the orgasm you’ve been craving to have all night. It came in fiery waves, crashing over you and causing you to writhe and moan desperately.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and the hand that remained clutching your hip tightened.

With clean and perfect synchronicity, you grabbed the toy from his grasp, keeping it on your clit as his hand switched to grip your throat, yanking you back up. You gasped, instantly immobilized by both his hands on you and the quick jackhammering of his hips against your ass.

“God,” he gasped on your ear, and through the mirror, you saw him blinking slowly. “I fucking love this pussy. Feels so good.”

You let out a strangled moan. The sounds from his skin slapping against yours became louder, faster. And the squelching from your dripping pussy also became more noticeable, made you feel ashamed.

“I’m gonna cum,” he told you, directing a look at you through the mirror. “Want me to do it inside?”

You nodded, but barely. His hand still gripping your throat made it impossible for you to move freely.

A cunning smirk lifted only the corner of his mouth. “Course you do,” he whispered, kissing your earlobe. He was panting, trying to keep the pace of his merciless rutting. “Want me to put a baby in you?”

Your eyebrows instantly knitted, and a moan caught in your throat. “Please,” you mewled pathetically. The thought alone made you feral, even though you knew it was nearly impossible—the attempt to get you pregnant was enough to make you orgasm.

He pressed the tip of his nose against your ear, and you felt his breath fanning your skin and making you shudder. “I’m gonna make you a mommy,” he half moaned. “Make you mine forever.”

You were quite practically helpless. The vibrator was still pressed to your clit, but it was what Jeonghan said that sent you to another climax. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out of it, silently cumming hard until your eyes brimmed with tears.

Jeonghan smiled, as though the sight was something he wanted to achieve before he fucked his load inside you. “C-cumming,” he told you.

You opened your eyes, finding his face in the reflection. He looked languid in bliss and pleasure all over—sweating from the neck down, completely disheveled. He gave you a couple of sloppy, deep thrusts until both of your orgasms started to subside. Panting, you pressed your back against his chest, taking the vibrator off and then his arms wrapping you in a languid hug.  

Jeonghan dipped his head to kiss your neck, softly pressing his wet lips against the crook of it, and then trailing down to your shoulder blade. “That was intense,” he admitted with a soft laugh, his breath fanning over your skin.

You laughed, unable to comment on anything about it. You were trying to catch your breath, feeling the loving pecks Jeonghan was leaving on your back, making your skin prickle.

“Be my girlfriend.”

You blinked and turned over your shoulder, thinking that you had misheard. “What did you say?”

Jeonghan had a smile on his face, it was playful and full of joy. “Be my girlfriend,” he repeated.

“I thought I already was,” you replied, arching an eyebrow. You were convinced now that this was another one of his pranks.

He shook his head lightly. “I wanted to ask you again.”

You snorted. “Right here?”

He emitted a laugh, one that was loud and playful. You loved it. “I could ask you every day. Anywhere,” he said.

“We live together now, Hannie,” you teased him, tangling your fingers in his hair lazily.

“Maybe I just want to make extra sure,” he said while still panting softly. He gave you a lazy grin, one that made his eyes glint. “Before we start talking about marriage.”

Your heart slowed down. “You heard that,” you said, your smile fading.

He blinked slowly at you. “Of course I did, baby,” he told you in a slightly lower tone. “And everything that came after.”

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have talked about it without you,” you said, your heart squeezing painfully. “It just came up, and the conversation just flowed naturally.”

He tilted his head to one side, searching your eyes. “It’s okay, I get it,” he reassured you. “But I still want us to talk about it.”

You gave him a tiny nod. “Then we should get out of here,” you suggested firmly.

“Agreed,” Jeonghan smirked.

You braced yourself before he pulled out of you, and then you immediately started to clean up. Quickly, you gathered your clothes, putting them on as fast as you could with trembling fingers.

“Do you think we were too loud?” you wondered now that you were coming down from your frenzy.

“Pfffft,” Jeonghan giggled, waiting for you at the door with a hand on the handle. “Of course we were, baby,” he told you shamelessly.

You felt a hot wave wash all over your face, leaving a tingling sensation on your cheeks. “Fuck,” you gritted. “Oh, that’s so embarrassing.”

“Well, you didn’t look one bit embarrassed when you were screaming my name,” he mumbled under a breath when you approached the door.

You looked at him blankly.

Jeonghan giggled again anxiously. “What?” he shrugged, playing innocent.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble?” you asked, now more nervous to come out of the bathroom.

“With security?” he asked, but then he gaped in acknowledgement. “Oh—with Shua?”

You nodded, unable to speak up.

“Well, obviously,” he arched one eyebrow. “I thought that was what you wanted,” he said. Then he opened the door for you, grabbing you by the waist to pull you in closer to him, and serve as some sort of shield as you walked back into the sea of unknown faces.

Jeonghan pushed his shoulders back, slipping his arm from your waist to grab your hand firmly. When you looked at him, you noticed him holding his chin up, a shadow of a smirk on his face as though telling the world that yes, you were his. His girlfriend.  

The music was still so loud that it brought you an odd sense of calm. As it reverberated against the walls and made your whole body vibrate, you knew that it would’ve been nearly impossible for everyone to hear you and Jeonghan.

But as you saw Joshua still standing in the same spot, you knew that there was no way he didn’t know what you and Jeonghan had been up to when you both disappeared. The quick, dark look he shot at you told you everything you needed to know.

A smirk spread across his lips, and then he blinked away.

Jeonghan squeezed your hand tightly. As though saying, I told you so.

“Can we go home now?” you asked, feeling shame heating up your entire body.

Joshua was still talking with his ex. But the fixed features of his face told you he was nowhere near pleased to be looking at her face.

The music swelled, louder, almost as though trying to expel you out of that place.

“I’ll call a car,” Jeonghan told you, leaning over so you could catch his words. “Let’s tell Shua, okay?”

But before you could protest, he took you with him, pulling you by the hand.

You tried slipping off, but Jeonghan took it as you were still frustrated with Joshua, so he pulled you tighter, making you unable to escape.

So you hid behind Jeonghan, trying to lower your face as much as you could. Jeonghan approached Joshua, leaning to his ear to inform him that you wanted to go back home.

And through the corner of your eye, you caught her looking at you. It was quite impossible to escape it now. Recognition flashed through the features of Thea’s face as she blinked at you. Her mouth parted, and you knew that she remembered you from that very brief moment where you both met a year ago.

It felt like that had happened a lifetime ago.

But Thea still knew you.

Her widened eyes panned from you to Joshua, and you could almost read her mind. The clear, there’s something going on here, was evident all over her face.

Shame coursed through you, but you couldn’t back away now. You knew that there would be different stories forming in her mind, but this is what you had to commit yourself to.

Joshua nodded when Jeonghan finished speaking. And you were irritated that the music was so loud, because you couldn’t tell what Joshua replied, but his demeanor was dry, devoid of all emotion.

But you were relieved when Jeonghan pulled you in the direction of the door.

Casting one final glance over your shoulder, you saw Joshua waving Thea goodbye. Her face was riddled with questions all over, but a hopeful glance lingered over Joshua as he walked away from her, following you and Jeonghan.

But then she looked at you. And a dark smirk painted her face.

You tore your gaze from her, now determined to look down as you stepped into the elevator.

The minute Joshua stood by your side, you knew you were in deep trouble.

He was quiet. Not the kind of quietness he exerted whenever he was tired or sleepy. No, this kind of silence was the kind he kept because he wanted to tell you something once he felt safe to do so. It was the kind of silence he kept before he bent you over to spank you.

It made you feel excited.

Jeonghan slipped an arm on your lower back once you swayed to his side, stumbling slightly, partly because of the high heels and the alcohol intake. “Steady,” he whispered, looking at you fondly.

“Mm, sorry,” you replied, giggling softly. You placed a hand on his chest for support and then leaned your head on his shoulder, using this new angle to direct a look at Joshua.

But he wasn’t even paying attention. He was holding his phone up, looking at the screen intently as though reading something very interesting or amusing.

Joshua was giving you the cold shoulder.

You turned to look at Jeonghan, who gave you a light smirk, lifting his eyebrows slightly. You sighed in response, either too tipsy or too deep into your post-orgasm haze to even muster a bolder reaction.

The car ride was even more off-putting.

Joshua kept his act up, not fading once in his own way to exert his dominance. He only did one thing—ignore you completely. And it worked, because once you were home, you felt the pressure of his silence start to choke you. It left a pulsated feeling inside you.

“Josh,” you called softly as he headed straight to the bedroom.

“Baby, you’re not getting anything out of it right now,” Jeonghan told you as he followed you down the hallway.

But you were stubborn. “Joshua,” you called again, your voice more demanding.

He was beginning to remove his shirt, undoing each button with one hand expertly. “Sit her down,” he commanded, motioning to the armchair placed directly in front of the bed.

Your heart fell to your stomach when you felt Jeonghan’s slender fingers circle your arm, pulling you to the vintage armchair. A huff escaped you in sheer disbelief. “So you flirt with your ex all night, and I get the cold shoulder?” you asked, feeling emboldened somehow.

Joshua had absolutely no reaction to your words. And you hated it. Half-naked now, he turned his back to you, pulling the drawer open and getting a pair of leather wrist cuffs, and with no word at all, he threw them at Jeonghan, who was pushing you to sit down.

Your body started heating up. You sat down on the velvet chair, a short sigh escaping you as you looked up.

Jeonghan knelt before you, looking at you sheepishly through his eyelashes. “Safeword?” he mumbled, testing you.

The word spilled from your lips. However, you held out your hands for him.

Jeonghan paused, the shadow of a smirk appearing on his lips before he grabbed one of your wrists first, strapping it safely to one of the arms of the chair. “Too tight?” he said, testing the buckle carefully.

“It’s fine, Hannie,” you replied to him. And he gave your other wrist the same treatment, strapping it to the other arm of the chair with the same tightness. It was tight enough for you to move your wrists slightly, but not loose enough so you could pull out free easily.

“Good girl,” Jeonghan whispered, a tender look in his eyes as he bent over, grabbing your leg by the back of your knee to place a sweet kiss on the inner side of your knee.

You giggled softly at the feeling of his breath fanning on your skin.

“The sweetest girl,” Jeonghan added, louder this time.

“Put this on her,” Joshua’s voice came like a whip.

Jeonghan obeyed, turning around to receive what Joshua had in his hand. It was another toy. But unlike the one you used at the party, this was supposed to be worn inside the tiny pocket in your panties, tightly pressed to your mound. Jeonghan turned to you again, consent written in his eyes as he motioned to your legs.

You shifted on your seat, tilting your pelvis up, inviting him in.

“So obedient now,” Joshua muttered under his breath, sitting on the edge of the bed to get a better view of Jeonghan sticking a toy inside your panties.

“She always is,” Jeonghan mumbled softly, lifting his face so you could see him wink swiftly.

You smiled in response.

“If that were true, this night would’ve ended differently,” Joshua said.

But Jeonghan didn’t reply at that. He swallowed hard, asking for permission once again with his eyes, and when you nodded wordlessly, he moved forward. His hands slid on your bare thighs, under your dress, pulling the skirt up to uncover your body from the waist down. He moved slowly, as though giving you ample chance to stop if anything wasn’t to your liking.

However, you were more than eager to know what was going to happen. Even more, you closed your eyes to enjoy the melting shudder that shot across your skin, leaving goosebumps all over it. Jeonghan’s touch was light on your thighs, and even more so as his fingers sneaked beneath the crotch of your panties. A sigh escaped through his parted lips when he felt the warmth and the wetness pooling there.

When he stored the toy inside the tiny pocket of your panties, Jeonghan got up, removing his leather jacket in the process.

“Why am I getting punished?” you asked almost innocently.

Jeonghan smiled without looking at you, as though telling you to be careful with your words, but at the same time enjoying seeing you dig your own grave in real time.

Joshua placed his hands behind him, leaning back on the bed as he looked Jeonghan up and down as though you didn’t exist. “Did you have fun, Hannie?” Joshua asked, his tone honeyed.

“I did, Shua,” Jeonghan replied, removing his watch with his lithe fingers. “And you?”

Joshua blinked slowly, shrugging. “It was fun watching you two from afar, even if I couldn’t join for a lot of it.”

“You were busy,” Jeonghan muttered, approaching the foot of the bed and standing right between Joshua’s parted legs.

You just watched, balling your hands into fists as Joshua fidgeted with the small controller that was between his index finger and thumb. “Busy talking with his ex,” you said under a huff.

It was then that Joshua acknowledged you for the first time. A smile spread across his lips, but he didn’t look at you, he didn’t even reply verbally. He raised his hands, placing one on Jeonghan’s hip and the other flat on the abdomen. “Take this off,” he muttered softly.

Jeonghan obeyed again, beginning to unbutton his black shirt with swift fingers. As Jeonghan’s shirt parted, leaving his chest exposed, Joshua leaned closer, placing a trail of kisses from Jeonghan’s sternum all the way down to his belly button. Jeonghan laughed softly at the feeling, and despite you being a mere spectator, you also shuddered, knowing well how Joshua’s lips feel.

The second acknowledgment from Joshua came when you least expected it. He pressed his thumb down on one of the buttons, activating the toy inside your panties. Your thighs tensed up, knees bouncing slightly as you fought and lost against the gasp that came out of your mouth.

Jeonghan turned to look at you, but he was quickly subdued. Joshua grabbed him by the chin with one hand, forcing him to look directly ahead, not at you. “Eyes on me,” Joshua told him sternly. “You’ve had her all night, fucked her for everyone to hear.”

Jeonghan smirked as he slipped the silk shirt off his shoulders. “Well, you didn’t look too bothered by it.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Joshua said, arching his pierced eyebrow. “Walk in there when everyone saw you two go into the bathroom?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Maybe,” sighed shakily when Joshua started toying with the belt on Jeonghan’s pants. “Would’ve been fun. Very rockstar on your part.”

Joshua smirked bemusedly. “Did you enjoy it? Taking her in that bathroom?” he asked, bending his head to press a soft, wet kiss below Jeonghan’s belly button, right where his happy trail ends.

“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan replied aloofly, tilting his head back as Joshua palmed his growing erection beneath his pants. “She felt so good, Shua,” he drawled lazily. “She was so good for me.” 

“Mmm,” Joshua replied. Raising his eyes to look at Jeonghan’s face, Joshua muttered gently, his tone gruff with arousal. “Yeah, I know. She’s only good for you.”

You gasped, wrestling slightly against the handcuffs. The vibrator was gentle at first, merely distracting and not at all intense enough to bring you to a climax. But you could feel its gentle motions starting to cause a tickling sensation around your groin, making you writhe.

“I’m also good for you, Josh,” you said, trying to make him look your way, to do something to acknowledge you one more time.

But he rose from the bed, now standing face to face with Jeonghan. And then they dove into each other’s lips again. Joshua hummed into the kiss, the sound coming out almost like a purr. The kiss was sloppy, and you could see it progress into something more demanding, more urgent. Jeonghan let out a grunt, slipping a hand below Joshua’s nape to pull him in impossibly close.

But then Joshua pulled back, exerting his control again.  

“Get on your knees.”

With no hesitation, Jeonghan obeyed once again, dropping to his knees as Joshua and you just watched. But Joshua was still ignoring you, knowing that this was the kind of punishment that you absolutely hated.

But he pressed another button on the controller, bringing the vibrations a little higher. You gasped, closing your eyes briefly to get used to the change.

Joshua caressed the side of Jeonghan’s face, sliding a finger down the cut of his jawline. “Are you going to be good for me, Hannie?”

As you blinked again, you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan nodding his head silently, looking up at Joshua.

“Good boy,” Joshua whispered, smiling softly.

Jeonghan didn’t look at you again as per Joshua’s instructions. And jealousy gnawed at your heart when you saw Jeonghan willfully pulling Joshua’s boxers down. Joshua’s cock was fully hard already, veins trailing down his shaft, the pinkish brown tip dripping with precum.

And Jeonghan just didn’t wait a second longer. Circling his fingers around the thick shaft, Jeonghan rolled his tongue around the bulbous head of Joshua’s cock, bringing out an airy moan from him.

“Fuck,” you gritted, squeezing your thighs together, but in that, you just ended up pressing the toy to your mound tighter. You gasped, relaxing your thighs again but it was too late.

Pleasure built up quicker than before, the sight before you so alluring that you felt you could cum just from watching it. Jeonghan took Joshua’s cock into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth, his mouth creating a wet smacking noise as he pulled away.

“That’s it. You’re perfect,” Joshua praised, his voice waning. He tilted his head back, swallowing hard. “So good for me.”

You whined, and the sound reminded Joshua of your existence in the room, amping up the intensity of the toy still in your panties. A sharp gasp escaped you, but you made no other sound to retaliate.

Joshua tangled his fingers in Jeonghan’s long hair, following the movements of his head. Jeonghan took the veiny shaft further, stroking what he couldn’t take into his mouth, humming softly as he pulled back, picking up a pace.

“Show her how it’s done,” Joshua whispered, a smirk painting his face.

“Josh!” you squealed. “Not fair,” you said through a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as waves of pleasure barrelled down your spine, tearing an orgasm out of you. A whiny cry escaped you as you let the waves of pleasure take you, making you writhe desperately on the chair.

“Oh god,” Joshua drawled the words out, sounding gruff and languid as his head remained tilted back. You saw his throat bobbing, his breathing shift. “You can stop now, Hannie.” 

Jeonghan pulled back, and without hesitation, he looked your way. It was by sheer impulse, but his eyes locked with yours, filled with lust and expectation. You were coming down from your high, panting and shaking still.

“Get ready,” Joshua told Jeonghan meaningfully.

Jeonghan got to his feet, removing the last pieces of clothing with no hesitation while Joshua opened the drawers to get a condom and a bottle of lube. They both stood naked before you, acting as though you weren’t there at all while they shared a passionate kiss. Jeonghan placed his hands on Joshua’s waist while Joshua grabbed him by the face, deepening the kiss. You saw their tongues brushing as they both hummed into each other’s mouths.

A strangled noise slipped through your gritted teeth. You wanted their attention, you wanted them to turn to you and shower you with kisses instead. But you continued watching, still strapped to the chair, powerless.

“Get on the bed,” Joshua said, his tone raspy, denoting his need.

Jeonghan hesitated for the first time, looking at you swiftly through the corner of his eye.

“Come on,” Joshua said, patting on Jeonghan’s side twice. “Don’t make me handcuff you too.”

“Tsk,” Jeonghan laughed softly, but got on the bed, choosing an angle so that his head was resting on the foot of the bed. You noticed he chose this angle so his eyes could divert towards you.

“Mmm,” Joshua hummed, clearly noticing Jeonghan’s intentions. But he said nothing about this. Instead, he used the controller to bring down the intensity of the toy, letting you rest from its intense vibrations for a while.

“Thank you,” you sighed out unconsciously, feeling languid with pleasure.

Joshua made his first mistake. He lifted his gaze as he climbed on the bed, looking at you with a tender expression written on his face. But the look was fleeting, realizing that he was loosening his dominance with each subby act you made.

“See?” Jeonghan said, blinking at you. “She can be good.”

Joshua giggled softly, clearly caught by the moment. “She’s still not getting away with acting jealous at the party.”

Jeonghan moved his legs so that Joshua could slot himself between them, sitting on his knees as he reached to grab the condom while Jeonghan picked up the bottle of lube, squeezing a good amount of it onto his palm.

“I thought you liked that,” Jeonghan replied, his tone genuine and devoid of snark.

“Maybe I do,” Joshua said, rolling the condom down to his hilt and taking the bottle of lube out of Jeonghan’s hand. He squeezed some lube onto his fingers. “But then she thought it was a good idea of getting you to fuck her in that bathroom.”

“I think you like that too,” Jeonghan said, his tone becoming more strangled as Joshua started spreading the lube around his hole.

“Yeah?” Joshua breathed, tilting his head to one side as he pushed his hand, slipping the first finger inside Jeonghan’s tight hole. “You think so?”

Jeonghan was rendered speechless, but he nodded either way. Slowly, he rolled his hand up and down Joshua’s hard cock, lubing him up.

Joshua started thrusting his finger in and out of Jeonghan slowly, reaching for the forgotten controller to change up the speed on the toy. Your pulse quickened, heart frenzied to know that you weren’t completely invisible.

“I think you like knowing that she drives me as crazy as she drives you,” Jeonghan croaked, getting the sentence out as though he were completely unable to stop himself.

That made Joshua laugh, the sound airy and sweet. It made his abdomen contract slightly—Joshua was glorious, in all the extension of the word. Naked, hair messy and completely hard. And Jeonghan was too, except that his hair was messier and he was already dripping precum onto his own tummy. 

The sight of both of your boyfriends naked on your bed made you choke back a moan. Joshua stopped thrusting his fingers inside Jeonghan, taking his cock on one hand, and guiding it to Jeonghan’s hole. There was an exchange of looks between them, and Joshua proceeded right after Jeonghan gave him a quick nod. Joshua moved Jeonghan’s leg up to his chest, and then started pushing his cock inside Jeonghan, slowly. Very slowly.

You shuddered again, your bound hands balling into fists as you tried to fight off the vibrations against your clit, but it was impossible, you were cumming again on the chair, liquid came gushing out of you as you whined helplessly. “Josh,” you choked back a sob, panting and trying to stop it.

Jeonghan closed his eyes, mouth parting as his eyebrows knitted. You could hear the sound of the air catching on his throat, and Joshua’s moan in response.

“F-fuck,” Jeonghan sighed, shuddering hard but still not opening his eyes. “Joshua,” he moaned.

Joshua mimicked Jeonghan’s expression—brows drawn inward, mouth dropping softly. He moved his hips slowly, shallowly at first. Jeonghan brought a hand to Jeonghan’s tummy, parking it flatly as though to hold him in place.

You shuddered too, trying to hold out as much as possible, but as one orgasm subsided, another one started. “Joshua, please,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, but you couldn’t stop. The pleasure was too intense, too hot.

“Oh, god,” Jeonghan sighed, grabbing Joshua’s hand that was still resting on his lower abdomen. “Please, please, please.”

Joshua smiled softly. “You like that, Hannie?” he asked quietly.

In that moment, you knew how Jeonghan felt—the stretch of Joshua’s cock inside you, the feeling so good, so delicious it consumed you slowly. Unable to talk, you whined again, trying to get his attention.

But Joshua didn’t raise his gaze at you, instead, he pulled his hips back slightly, driving his cock back in with one thrust, letting out a strangled moan. “So tight,” he whispered, blinking slowly.

Jeonghan was reduced to a complete mess—only able to let out mere babbles and long, raunchy moans. His eyes remained closed, his hand placed on top of Joshua’s while the other gripped the covers tightly. 

Carefully and slowly, Joshua bent over Jeonghan, pressing a hot but fleeting kiss on his lips. He put a hand on the bed, pushing Jeonghan’s legs up to his chest as they kissed one more time. And then Joshua resumed his deep thrusting, pulling back to sit on his knees again. 

“God,” Jeonghan exhaled as Joshua started pushing his cock at a steadier pace. Your heart twisted with jealousy again because all you felt was a tingling sensation shooting right at your core, making you squeeze your thighs again. “Fuck, Joshua, don’t stop please… please.”

“Mmm, I might just stop right now,” Joshua taunted. “See what you’ll do without my cock.”

“No, no, please,” Jeonghan whispered, tightening his grip around Joshua’s hand.

“You think—” he uttered, pushing his hips deeply, “—you’re cute? Fucking our Bunny in the bathroom without me—?” he drove in deeper, getting a raunchier moan out of Jeonghan. “—where anyone could hear?”

“Fuck,” Jeonghan sighed, pushing the back of his head against the covers. Ropes of cum spilled from his cock, landing on his skin, on his lower abdomen, and chest and just continued leaking. “Fuck, god, fuck,” he gritted, taking his cock with one hand and started jerking himself off until the last drop of cum dripped out of him.

The sight was just too much for you. You nearly screamed, cumming so hard that you saw stars behind your eyelids. “Fuck-k, Joshua!” you whined, thighs trembling, wrestling against the shackles to no end. You bent over, trying to resist the urge to squirt on the chair again, but it was pointless.

Joshua threw his head back, moaning salaciously as he continued fucking Jeonghan rutting against him desperately—spilling himself into the condom. Jeonghan was rendered languid, panting and sighing as he finally looked at you.

Jeonghan watched you cum for the final time, shaking, sobbing and crying. You were completely overstimmed now.

“Please, Josh,” you whined pathetically.

“Shua,” Jeonghan said. He tapped on the back of Joshua’s hand, snapping him out of his trance.

Joshua grabbed the controller, bringing the toy to a full stop.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, completely out of breath. You were an absolute disaster, shaking, crying, and your thighs were dripping with your mess.

Joshua was panting too, his chest rising and falling dramatically. “You okay?” he asked Jeonghan first.

Jeonghan nodded slowly. “I’m good. Go take care of her,” he urged.

Joshua wasted no time, pulling out of Jeonghan slowly and heading to the bathroom immediately to discard the condom. He came back quicker than you thought, kneeling in front of you to take care of the shackles.

“You’re okay, baby?” Joshua asked, his tone gentle.

You nodded, still feeling trapped in the aftershocks of the never-ending orgasm you just had. “I’m okay, babe,” you said. “I just need a shower.” 

Joshua smiled softly. “Let’s take care of you now, okay?”

Then, without any more preamble, he scooped you up from the chair, taking you to the bathroom where he had already started the shower. He didn’t let you move a finger, removing your dress and panties for you, and guiding you to stand under the shower.

“Good?” he asked, testing the temperature.

You shuddered blissfully. “Perfect,” you told him, giving him a tired smile. “Thank you, babe.”

His gaze softened, but he nodded at you and then headed back to the bedroom.

Some minutes later, Jeonghan stepped into the shower with you, giving you a sheepish look.

“You betrayed me,” you told him, pouting at him.

Jeonghan started laughing, shame painting the tips of his ears red. “I’d say I’m sorry, but,” he shrugged, placing a hand on the back of your head to then press a kiss on your forehead. “I’m not sorry.”

“Mmph,” you smirked. “I know.”

Then Joshua came in, standing right behind you. The shower was big enough now to fit you three, and water rained down on all three of you from ahead. Joshua instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your hair.

“Baby, you trust me, don’t you?” Joshua asked, sweetly now.

You turned to look at him, his warm chest pressed to your back. “I do, babe,” you blinked. “But I can’t help getting a bit jealous when a girl is all over my man, you know?”

Joshua giggled softly, tilting his head back a bit. He reached for the bottle of shampoo. “I was just playing a role, baby. I couldn’t even pay attention to what she was saying.”

“I think she might’ve recognized me,” you told him, rubbing soap on your legs.

“She absolutely did,” Joshua emphasized with a labored sigh. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t do anything about it.”

“Why?” Jeonghan asked curiously. “I mean, she saw Bunny with me, wasn’t that the point?”

“And you were practically flirting with her all night,” you said through your teeth, pretending to be busy scrubbing your body.

A firm slap was delivered on your ass, the sound wet and loud. You yelped, laughing immediately despite the quick shot of pain. “Josh!”

Jeonghan laughed as well, grabbing you by the arm to keep you steady.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Joshua mumbled quietly, but he diverted his gaze almost shamefully.

“It doesn’t matter if you were flirting, Shua,” Jeonghan pointed out, rolling his eyes swiftly. “We have to keep up appearances,” he told you directly now.

At that, you rested your case. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said.

“But also getting jealous of it is also natural,” Jeonghan added, shrugging lightly. “So you can’t tell her anything about it either, Shua.”

“So you’re the only one winning tonight,” Joshua smirked.

Jeonghan mirrored the smirk. “Yes, indeed,” he said, lifting his chin proudly.

You curled up to Jeonghan on the bed, rubbing your feet together as he rolled on his side, facing you. He slipped a hand beneath your t-shirt, parking it right on the centre of your tummy. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly.

“I’m good,” you replied. “I’m ready to pass out,” you told him.

Jeonghan showed you a tender smile. “You don’t want anything else?” he raised his eyebrows. “Tea? Water?”

You shook your head. “I might be paying the consequences tomorrow morning,” you giggled shyly.

“You shouldn’t have drunk too much,” Joshua reprimanded, but his tone was devoid of seriousness. He climbed on the bed, flopping down next to you with a tired sigh.

“Let her have fun,” Jeonghan repeated, leaning over to press a kiss on your temple, his hand still parked on your tummy.

“Measured fun is also an option,” Joshua pointed out, smirking when you stared at him blankly. “I’m just kidding, baby.”

“I had fun tonight,” you mumbled, closing your eyes briefly.

“Yeah?” Joshua whispered, the weight on the bed shifting beside you as Joshua rolled to his side too. He pinched your chin, making you open your eyes. “I’m glad, baby.”

“I’m happy,” you told them both.

Jeonghan’s gaze softened.

“We’re happy too, baby,” Joshua whispered.

“I know,” you sighed, showing them a light smile. But then your eyes shot open again. “Oh, that reminds me—”

“What?” Jeonghan asked.

You turned slightly to look at Joshua. “Babe, we need to start thinking about the future,” you said promptly, getting a surge of energy out of nowhere.

Joshua frowned. “Right now?” he dragged the question for a few seconds longer than needed.

“Yeah, I mean… we live together now. And in the future, what are we going to call this?” you asked, swiftly sending a look at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan squeezed his eyes shut in secondhand embarrassment. “Baby, this isn’t the best way to talk about it,” he gritted.

“I mean it already has a name, right?” Joshua said, still out of the loop. “It’s a relationship. That’s what it is.”

“She means further down the line,” Jeonghan aided, still looking ashamed because he knew where this conversation stemmed from.

Joshua blinked, then turned more serious. “You told him?” he asked you briefly.

“No, I heard you talking about it,” Jeonghan said.

Joshua sighed briefly, but wasn’t upset. “I only brought it because I’ve always wanted this. I was just making sure we were still on the same page,” he said, shrugging slightly.

“But you didn’t think that I would want that too?” Jeonghan frowned.

“No—I mean, I was going to talk to you about it. I just needed to know she still wanted it first,” Joshua explained, calmer now.

You traced your thumb over Jeonghan’s arm, listening to them while arranging your ideas. “I don’t think people like us fit into wedding registries, you know, babe?” you asked Joshua, your tone kind and low.

Joshua let out a breath. “I know. But there are other ways,” he said thoughtfully. “And I don’t want this with anyone else.”

Jeonghan gave a soft laugh. “Can you imagine that wedding? Would be long as hell,” he joked.

But his joking gave you hope. “Imagine the paperwork,” you added, laughing too.

“Imagine the headlines,” Joshua also jumped in. “Rockstar marries his best friend’s girlfriend… and his best friend,” he said with a mocking tone.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. “It’s not that impossible.”

Silence fell, but this time it felt like everyone was considering that future.

Joshua’s voice dropped. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“In the future,” Jeonghan emphasized.

“At least we know now that we all want it,” you said, your tone dropping halfway through your sentence.

“I agree with Hannie, baby,” Joshua spoke now after some seconds of silence. “We should take it slow.”

Jeonghan leaned in, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered to you.

You nodded at him, turning to kiss Jeonghan back on the lips, then you did the same thing with Joshua.

Then the quiet that followed didn’t feel tense, nor complicated like all the times you’ve had serious conversations in the past. This time, the moment was filled with tenderness, wrapped in trust.

It was the start of a promise. And you’ve never felt more optimistic. 

✮ author's note: hi there!

i took so long to post this chapter. i began drafting it around june 9 and i'm just finishing it.

this month has been such a roller coaster of emotions, really. i moved out of my parents' house, i started a new job, and then, i lost my fur baby. i'm trying to think positively and keep writing because it's the only thing that truly gives me joy. even if my heart is broken, writing makes me forget about it for a little while.

so if you read this note this far, i thank you with all my heart. and if you'd like to support my writing journey, whether that's through kind words, sharing my fics, or joining me on patreon, it would mean the world to me.

but truly, just being here and reading what i write is already a gift

here’s my patreon, in case you’d like to take a look 🩵 alternatively, here’s my ko-fi

thank you again, really. sending love to you all 🥺

✮ CHAPTER NINE COMING SOON ✮

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

© TO HANNIEWEEN — I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[thatonegrimm]

🌙 Saja Boys – Drabbles # 13

🧿 Jinu – “Grocery Store Logic”

You hadn’t expected grocery shopping with Jinu to feel like a joint PhD project.

He stood in the middle of the aisle, two types of soy sauce in hand, frowning like the fate of the world depended on this choice.

“This one is aged longer,” he muttered, comparing ingredients. “But this one has 30% less sodium.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do we care about sodium?”

“I don’t know. Should we? I feel like we should.”

“You literally eat spicy tteokbokki for breakfast.”

“…You make a compelling point.”

You reached for the original bottle. “Let’s just get the one you like.”

Jinu blinked at you.

Then smiled. “Thanks for being the common sense in this relationship.”

You laughed. “You’re welcome. Now let’s go before you start doing math about frozen dumplings.”

💪 Abby – “You Do His Hair”

“Sit still,” you said, tugging gently on the hairbrush.

Abby sat cross-legged on the floor between your knees, towel around his shoulders, freshly showered. His damp hair fell soft and heavy in your hands.

He let out a low hum of contentment. “I like this.”

“Having your hair yanked?”

“Having you touch me.”

You blinked, then smiled, trying not to melt.

He tilted his head slightly, relaxed, trusting.

“People don’t usually take care of me,” he murmured. “I’m usually the one doing that.”

You carded your fingers gently through his hair, slow and patient.

“I know,” you said. “So let me.”

He leaned into your thigh just a little. Didn’t speak again.

But when you kissed the crown of his head, he whispered:

“Thanks, angel.”

📚 Mystery – “A Late-Night Phone Call”

You weren’t expecting your phone to ring at 2:37 AM.

But when you answered, it wasn’t silence—it was Mystery’s voice, low and unsure.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

You sat up slowly. “Did something happen?”

A pause. Then: “I was thinking about the shadows again. The kind that follow you even when you’re not looking.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Do you want me to talk? Or just be here?”

“Just be here.”

So you stayed.

Told him about the weird dream you had. About the neighbor’s dog who wore sweaters. About nothing, really—but in a way that filled the air.

After a while, you heard his breathing even out.

Not asleep.

But safe.

And you whispered, “I’m still here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

💋 Romance – “Your Lip Balm Smells Like Home”

Romance was mid-sentence when he suddenly leaned in, nose almost brushing yours.

“Hold still,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

He sniffed once. Then again. “You smell like strawberries and vanilla. Is that new?”

You flushed. “It’s just lip balm.”

He gave you a look like you’d just confessed something intimate.

“Oh, no,” he whispered dramatically. “Now I’m going to think of you every time I see fruit.”

You snorted. “You already do.”

“Okay, but now it’s worse.”

He leaned in again, brushing the tip of his nose along your cheek. “That scent? That’s gonna haunt me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you want some?”

“Sweetheart,” he said seriously, “I want all of it.”

And then he kissed you—soft and quick.

Later, he pulled away and smiled lazily. “Tastes like you.”

🔥 Baby – “You Let Him Win”

The Mario Kart deathmatch had lasted nearly two hours.

You were tied 4-4. Final race. Baby’s tongue was poking out in pure concentration. You knew you could beat him.

And you didn’t.

He crossed the finish line and whooped, jumping up from the couch. “HA! In your face. Bow to the king.”

You smirked behind your controller. “Yeah, yeah.”

He did a little victory lap around the room, arms raised.

But later, when you were curled up on the couch and he handed you a popsicle as a peace offering, he paused.

“You… let me win, didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “Because you looked like you needed a win today.”

He stared at you for a long second. Then handed you his popsicle.

“…I love you, idiot.”

M-List

Taglist: @honey-and-sweetdreams @lyunsafebubble @moonlit-koraline @reixtsu @ghostiiess 

[blondechariot]

Can I request headcanons for Saja Boys reacting to his female s/o accidentally saw him shirtless and immediately covered her eyes while apologising please?

pairing: Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: none

disclaimer: not my pic!

I would probably just stare like an idiot

Jinu

You were just looking for your charger.

That’s all. Just a stupid charger.

You tiptoed through the hallway, knowing most of the Saja Boys were scattered throughout the house in various states of post-practice exhaustion. You assumed Jinu would be passed out like the others—maybe even still in his coat.

But when you knocked and cracked the door open to ask if he’d seen your charger… oh.

Oh no.

“J-Jinu, have you seen my—” Your voice died in your throat.

There he was. Standing in front of the mirror. Shirtless. His sculpted back muscles flexed slightly as he ruffled a towel through his hair, droplets of water still sliding down his neck and shoulder blades. His jeans hung low on his hips, and you could just make out the deep lines of his V-line before you immediately squeaked and spun around.

“Oh my—! I—I’m sorry!” you stammered, covering your face with both hands even though you had already turned your back. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—charger! I was just looking for my charger!”

Behind you, there was a pause. Then a low chuckle.

“So you broke into my room to perv on me?” Jinu’s voice was lazy and teasing, laced with amusement.

“I wasn’t perving!” you nearly shrieked, peeking between your fingers. “You—You’re the one walking around like that!”

He padded toward you, slow footsteps against the floor. You felt the air shift as he came closer.

“I live here,” he said, voice close to your ear. “It’s not my fault you came in without knocking properly. You sure you weren’t hoping to catch a glimpse?”

You turned around sharply—still covering your eyes—and blindly pushed him back. “I did knock! I didn’t know you’d be… you know! All abs and everything!”

Jinu laughed again, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Well, now that you’ve seen them… want a closer look?”

Your jaw dropped. “W-What?!”

“Joking,” he said with a wink, stepping past you to pick up a shirt. “Unless… you weren’t joking about being curious.”

You let out a strangled sound and bolted from the room, still covering your eyes, your face hotter than the sun. Behind you, Jinu’s laughter followed you all the way down the hall.

Abby

It was late—past midnight, in fact—and you knew you probably should’ve waited until morning to ask. But you couldn’t sleep, and Abby always seemed to have a calm presence that helped settle your nerves. So, like an idiot, you wandered down the hall to his room with a blanket over your shoulders, intending to ask if he had any extra sleep tea.

You knocked softly. “Abby? Are you awake?”

There was no response.

You hesitated, then pushed the door open an inch. The lights were off, but the lamp on his nightstand was on, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

And then you saw him.

Standing by the window, shirtless, back turned to you, only wearing black sweats slung low on his hips. His arms were crossed as he stared out at the moonlit sky, muscles taut, patterns faintly visible on his upper back. The light hit his skin just right—like something out of a movie.

You didn’t even breathe. You just stared for one stupid second too long.

And then—he turned.

“Y/N?” His deep voice was quiet, but startled. His brows drew together when he saw your frozen form by the door. “Is everything okay?”

“OH—uh! I—!” You clapped both hands over your face, stumbling backward like you’d been burned. “S-Sorry! I—I didn’t see anything! I mean—I did but not in a creepy way! I just—I thought you were asleep!”

You heard soft footsteps approaching. You stayed glued in place, trying to disappear into the doorway.

“Why are you covering your eyes?” he asked softly, voice closer now. “I’m not naked.”

You whimpered. “You might as well be! You’re—You’re like a statue!”

Abby let out a quiet breath—something between a sigh and a chuckle. “I didn’t know my body would scare you so much.”

“I’m not scared!” you protested, peeking at him for half a second—only to catch sight of those firm abs and immediately slap your hand back over your eyes. “Just… surprised. Very… sculpturally surprised.”

There was a pause. Then, softly, “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Your breath caught.

And then he stepped aside, his voice calm and warm again. “You can open your eyes. I’m putting on a shirt.”

You blinked, peeking between your fingers as he slipped a black hoodie over his head. Once it was safely on, you slowly lowered your hands.

“I just wanted to ask if you had any sleep tea,” you muttered. “But I’ll go. Sorry for barging in—again.”

Abby tilted his head slightly, giving you the ghost of a smile. “You can stay.”

Your eyes widened. “Huh?”

He nodded toward the bed. “If you can’t sleep, I’ll sit with you a while. You don’t have to talk. Just breathe.”

You stared at him for a second, heart still pounding from the unexpected show—and from the way his voice was so soft now.

“…Only if you’re fully clothed,” you said, still flustered.

“Deal,” he said with a soft smirk, and patted the space beside him.

Mystery

You didn’t usually enter Mystery’s room.

He was… intimidating, to put it mildly. Always calm, always unreadable, always wrapped in that eerie, beautiful aura that made your stomach flutter and your skin feel too tight. But tonight, you had something important—he’d left his phone on the kitchen counter, and you were pretty sure he’d need it.

So, you gathered every ounce of courage you had, knocked once—lightly—and when there was no response, you opened the door slowly.

“Mystery? You forgot your—oh my God!”

You nearly screamed.

He was there—half turned, standing near the bed. No shirt. Just dark pants that clung to his hips. His lean, chiseled torso caught the light just enough to highlight every sharp muscle, every dip and shadow. His purple hair was damp, pushed back from his face. And his eyes—those strange, pale eyes—locked onto you with unreadable stillness.

You froze. Then panic bloomed in your chest like wildfire.

“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t—I should’ve knocked harder! I didn’t mean to see anything!” you stammered, practically tossing the phone in his direction before spinning around and clapping your hands over your eyes. “I swear I didn’t look! Or—well, I did, but I didn’t mean to—”

“Y/N.”

His voice was low. Smooth. Dangerous in how quietly it cut through your rambling.

You froze. “Y-Yes?”

“You’re still standing in the doorway. With your hands over your eyes.”

“I know!”

There was a pause. You could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t dare move.

And then, to your complete disbelief—he chuckled.

Just once. Soft. Like the sound escaped before he could stop it.

Your jaw dropped.

“…Are you laughing at me?” you whispered, daring to peek through your fingers.

Mystery was now tugging on a black shirt, eyes still fixed on you with that cool gaze. But the corner of his mouth was twitching upward—barely.

“I didn’t think you were the type to get flustered,” he said. “You usually act like you’re immune to me.”

You blushed furiously. “I am! I mean—I try to be!”

His smile grew—small, sly, knowing.

“You failed.”

“I noticed,” you muttered, spinning toward the hallway again. “I’ll just… go die of embarrassment now.”

Before you could bolt, his voice stopped you again.

“You should be more careful,” he said, tone quieter now. “You might walk in on something less innocent next time.”

You turned to look at him, heart hammering. “Was this innocent?”

Mystery’s eyes glittered.

“I’ll let you decide.”

And just like that, he turned away, leaving you red-faced, confused, and very much not okay.

Romance

You knew better.

You knew better than to enter his room without a full warning, a text, a contract, and probably a priest.

Romance had never made it a secret that he enjoyed pushing your buttons—especially when it came to flustering you. But tonight? Tonight you genuinely needed help fixing the strap on your bag, and he was the only one who knew how to adjust the damn clasp.

So, you knocked.

Once. Twice.

“Romance? Are you decent?”

No answer.

You sighed and cracked the door open. “I’m coming in, okay? I swear I’m not trying to—OH MY GOD.”

You froze in the doorway like someone hit you with a spell.

He was lying on his bed—shirtless, of course—propped on one elbow like a damn centerfold. His toned chest and abs on full display, a small towel draped across his hips like it was strategically placed. His long pink hair was slightly tousled, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he looked right at you.

“Y/N,” he drawled, voice like warm silk. “If you wanted a show, you only had to ask.”

Your soul left your body.

“I-I—No! I—Oh my god—I knocked! I swear I knocked!” You spun around so fast you nearly tripped over yourself, clutching your hands to your face like they might physically hold in your shame. “I thought you were asleep or—clothed!”

He chuckled. Full-on chuckled. “That was your first mistake.”

“I’m so sorry,” you stammered. “I didn’t see anything—Well, I mean I did see—but not on purpose! You’re just—why are you always like this?!”

You heard the bed creak behind you. Your heart stopped.

“I like being comfortable in my own skin,” he said smoothly, footsteps approaching. “But you… You’re so easy to fluster. It’s adorable.”

“Don’t come closer,” you warned, still not turning around. “You better be clothed now. Or at least… mostly.”

He stopped behind you. You could feel the heat of his body—definitely too close.

“I put on sweatpants,” he whispered beside your ear. “Do you want to check?”

Your hands shot up. “No! No checking! Keep your hotness to yourself, thank you!”

Romance burst into laughter then, genuinely amused.

“I just wanted to borrow your help for a bag clasp, not walk in on an entire romance novel cover.”

“You do seem to walk into those a lot,” he mused.

“Because you live in one,” you huffed, finally daring to look back—relieved to see he was, in fact, dressed. Shirtless still, but… at least the towel was gone.

He smirked.

“You sure you don’t want to touch the abs? Just a little poke?”

You bolted. “GOODNIGHT!”

“Sweet dreams, angel,” he called after you, laughing as you fled down the hall like your life depended on it.

Baby

You weren’t even planning to knock. You were just going to drop off the snacks you bought for him outside his door and flee like a stealthy little delivery gremlin.

Baby had been sulking earlier—something about his favorite energy drink being sold out and someone (probably Abby) finishing his last bag of gummies. So you figured he could use a pick-me-up.

You tiptoed down the hall, quietly balancing the plastic bag of snacks, and reached for the doorknob to set it down.

But the door wasn’t closed all the way.

And when you pushed it open just a little—

“BA—”

You immediately choked.

Baby was mid-change.

Shirt half off.

No, scratch that—he was completely shirtless. Just stepping out of his jeans too, boxers low on his hips, headphones still in as he bopped his head to whatever song was playing. He hadn’t even noticed you yet.

But you? You saw everything.

The lean lines of his waist. His surprisingly toned stomach. The way his messy turquoise hair clung slightly to his temple. His back muscles shifting as he reached for a hoodie—

And then you gasped.

Audibly.

Loudly.

He whipped around in shock, yanking out an earbud.

“Y/N?!”

You shrieked and covered your eyes. “I-I-I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to—I thought the door was closed!”

“Why are you covering your face?!”

“Because you’re naked!!”

“I’m wearing boxers!”

“Same thing!”

He scrambled for the hoodie, tugging it on over his head with comical urgency. You peeked just enough to confirm it was on before letting your hands fall, still completely red in the face.

“You really saw everything, huh?” he asked, face pink now too. “Damn.”

“I didn’t mean to! I was just bringing you snacks because you were grumpy!”

“You traumatized us both for snacks?!”

“You traumatized me! Who just stands around changing with the door wide open?!”

He stared at you. Then… snorted.

Then laughed. Full-on belly laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he wheezed. “This is… actually kinda hilarious.”

You looked like you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

“Oh no,” he grinned. “This is going into my Hall of Fame. Top ten embarrassing Y/N moments. Number four, easy.”

You groaned.

But then he nudged the bag you were still clutching. “Are those sour gummies?”

“…Yes.”

“Okay. You’re forgiven.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to go—still flustered beyond belief.

“Wait,” Baby called after you.

You paused.

“…Thanks,” he said more softly, hoodie now fully on. “For thinking of me.”

You blinked, surprised by the sincerity. Your face went red all over again—this time for a different reason.

“…Anytime. Just… please be clothed next time.”

“No promises!” he shouted cheerfully as you ran away, hiding your face.

[jinx-xxed]

I have a remmick x gender neutral!reader request (I hope you do those, if not it’s okay!). Reader is a lone, fledgling vampire - perhaps they became a vampire through being cursed, or whatever strikes your fancy. I’m dying for more Sinners vampire lore.

Anyways, reader is on their own, not knowing how to vampire, barely surviving, throat on fire with thirst because they don’t understand their new afterlife until they meet Remmick. The two can be companions, which they so obviously need.

Rotten Blood

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Thank you for the request!! I absolutely love this idea and can 100% do a gender-neutral reader :) Of course Remmick still calls them the usual pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.) since I believe those can be for anybody so interpret as you will!

Summary; As a new vampire, you have no idea what to do but don’t worry, Remmick will help you.

Content; GN reader, fledgling vampire reader, getting turned, vampirism, suicidal ideation, hive minds, starvation, death, Remmick is weird and a smartass (what else is new), blood and injury, fighting Remmick, Remmick gives you your first meal, vampire bonding, very dependent relationship

Wc; 4.2k

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You’ve never before known a hunger like this.

You feel it within every cell of your immortalized body as you stumble through the moonlit forest in a daze. Roots catch the toes of your boots, intent on dragging you down and keeping you there with them as they consume your flesh that’s so inherently wrong. You know it wouldn’t be difficult, you know that if you fell you wouldn’t be able to get back up. Starvation is like a beast stuck in the confines of your form, growling within your stomach and creating a tightness like a clenched fist in your chest. Your lips are dry and cracked, your face sunken, skin sallow, throat burning like you swallowed acid.

The teeth in your mouth feel unfamiliar, sharpened at the ends and crafted with the purpose of tearing into flesh. They create an ache in your gums, full of a desire to rip and devour and drink the warm life of God’s creations, the same ones you’d been taught to cherish. They’ve refused to retract since that night, your own body ignoring your commands in favor of the hunger steadily consuming you.

It was two weeks ago now, the time that passed feeling like an unbearable blur tracked through the moon’s cycle. She was full when your family was killed in front of you, and now she’s merely a crescent sitting amongst the stars.

You hadn’t known the man, neither did your parents. All they’d seen was a person in need of help and god bless their hearts, they’d welcomed him in so he could have a place to rest. You’d merely been visiting, something you did every month now that your parents were getting older, having no idea it’d be the last time you ever did such a thing. You were in your room finishing your work, oblivious to the monster that had just stepped foot inside your childhood home. It was three minutes after when the screaming started and you ran out to find your momma and papa laying in pools of their own blood with that man standing over them.

His beady eyes locked on to you and you’d tried to run but oh, do those things love a chase. You’d been shoved to the ground so hard your chin busted and you’d punched and kicked with all your might, but it wasn’t enough against a creature with snapping teeth and claws digging into your shoulders. In an act of desperate frenzy, you felt those fangs sink in and rip your life right from your neck.

You don’t understand why you were the only one who woke up again.

When you came to on the kitchen floor, you found you were alone and covered in your blood. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes based on the warmth of it, but the man was nowhere to be seen and your back door was left swinging open. It made you sick how alien your body felt, like you’d been picked up out of your original one and plopped right into a new one. There was something unusual that crawled under your skin, your limbs felt foreign, and every sense was heightened to an inhuman level. You could hear the critters far off in the woods, could smell the iron of your parent’s blood, could see perfectly in the darkness of the house.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to scream, to cry, to puke, to chase down that vile man and kill him—with the claws that protruded from your fingers now, you probably could. But you didn’t do any of that. You merely stood on unsteady feet and walked out the door, something within you telling you that you couldn’t stick around any longer.

From there you continued to wander in a state of shock, unable to muster a single thought, your gleaming eyes wide and lips parted in disbelief. You kept going until the moon began to fall, until some secondary, old voice inside of you hissed that you needed to seek shelter. You’d gone deeper into the woods, managing to find an old hut that was falling apart inside and out. It was completely abandoned, meaning you got to just walk inside and curl up in the furthest corner from the door, making yourself as small as possible on the wooden floor that gave you splinters.

You laid there for hours as the world seemed to pass you by, only noticing when the room lightened with the sun, rays breaking in through a hole in the roof or gaps between the boards. You were far enough from them that you didn’t burn but you still felt the kiss of their heat on your sweat soaked skin. You were more than content to just remain there, to listen to the sounds of the outside as your body rotted away in some unknown hut. Then the voices started.

Screams and terrified voices of those long dead, of people who suffered your same fate, creating a cacophony within your mind. You’d groaned like you were in pain, clutching your head as they continued to wail. It was your connection to the man that did this, the souls of those he’d damned come to torment his newest victim. You could feel him so faintly within you, his frayed emotions and frantic thoughts, and if you branched yourself out, you knew you’d be able to rifle through a couple of his loose memories. It was clear he had no care for anyone but himself, he was barely a century old, and he lived in a state of constant panic. It spread to you, anxiety kicking in your chest, making you feel as though you were being hunted by something unseen.

“Please… just stop…” You’d muttered, your first words since your parents were killed. Your voice was cracked and weak, a mere whisper to whatever cursed god reigned over damned things like yourself. The screams quieted, but they were still there in the back of your mind, a constant echo while you drifted through fitful bouts of sleep.

Those voices became your companion while you walked through the forest like a ghost. Your hunger reared its ugly head after two days, your vampiric mind running in circles around the idea of fresh blood. The human part of you that still remained refused, the thought of taking a human life all for your own needs making you ill. You’d tried to eat the normal food you were able to scrounge up, had tried to drink water from a stream, but it just ended with you throwing it back up in violent heaves until there was nothing left but bile. You’d cried then, sobs wracking your body in frustration and horror, your tears tinted red.

Your days and nights continued to drag on much the same. You pulled yourself back into your hut as the moon set, you withered away on the floor, and then you’d spend the night roaming in search of some kind of purpose while desperate pleas and screams bounced around your skull. There were some days where you’d simply stare at the sunlight coming in through your hut, the specks of dust dancing in the rays acting like a taunt. You wanted nothing more than to walk into them, the human part of you begging for freedom, rattling the bars of the cage you’d been forced into. However, just as you’d reach forward, just as the sun would make your skin bubble and blister, you’d yank yourself back. That twisted sense of self-preservation continued to keep you from ending it all, kept you trapped in your prison of flesh and bone.

Sometimes the voices even urged you to do it. Some of them went out the same way, they just walked straight out into the sun and burned with nobody to stop them. They murmured that you should join them in their torture of the man who turned you, their spirits locked to him in an act of defiance, restlessness, and anger. You could never escape them until the one night they just… went silent.

It was like a radio being abruptly shut off, pure silence following. It felt like you could breathe again, could think again, at last left with just your own thoughts and emotions. You knew what it meant—the man that did this had finally been killed. You weren’t surprised of course, based on his old memories it seemed he was a fucking idiot anyway. With quiet finally in your mind, that was the first day you were able to sleep properly.

The cycle continued, hunger eating away at you with each sunrise and sunset. It’s why you’re still walking the woods now, like you’re hoping some solution will present itself to you and relieve you of this problem. You haven’t even been able to catch an animal, your heavy limbs too clumsy and your mind too distracted to get your claws on a mere rabbit. It’s led you to wander farther than you ever have before, starvation leading you on an invisible leash to what’s undoubtedly your own demise. Your mouth hangs open, your fangs peeking out from behind your lips, desperate for something, anything, to ease the pain twisting your stomach.

Your shoulder bumps into a tree and you find yourself sticking there like a bug would get stuck to sap, leaning your weight against the trunk with panting breaths. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, unable to keep holding up your shrinking weight. You would’ve sunk to the ground right there and made that your resting place if something strange didn’t break you out of your stupor. The forest had gone quiet. It’s not the kind of quiet of night time when all the birds have laid to rest, it’s the kind that’s followed by something dangerous, every creature and insect too scared to utter a single peep.

Your ears perk, your abnormal eyes widening in an attempt to get a better view of your surroundings. You can feel it. The hairs along your arms raise with goosebumps, a shiver runs down your spine, your teeth ache in response, something new is hissing in your mind to be ready, like it knows something you don’t. You think you hear whispers in the branches above, passing things that you can’t make out but proceed something that has you shoving yourself off that tree with newfound strength, your claws extending even further.

“Thought I smelled somethin’ good.”

You whip around at that southern drawl of a voice, finding the source of it in a man leaning against a tree not even ten feet away. You can see the way his eyes gleam red in the darkness like rubies, lazily looking you over. His scent comes to you on the breeze—ancient earth, rusted metal, and old leather, with an undertone of something that doesn’t belong in this world. In other words, something like you. His posture is relaxed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, sleeves rolled up, but it does nothing to shut off the alarms blaring in your mind. It’s a constant loop of things like danger, threat, new vampire, too strong, run-

He shifts, taking slow steps towards you. “Ain’t never seen you ‘round here before.” He says curiously, hands falling from his pockets to reveal long claws stained with blood. His fangs show when he speaks, glinting under the moon and undoubtedly sharper than yours. His head tilts. “What’s yer name, sweet thing?”

You can’t find it in yourself to answer as you stumble away from him. You want nothing to do with another vampire, not after witnessing the one who turned you. Though this one seems vastly different, more experienced and sure of himself, like he’s been around long enough to figure it out. He hums. “No need to be scared, darlin’. Here, I’ll go first. Name’s Remmick.” The name itself sounds old and foreign, a piece from a time long ago, from lands far away. His eyes narrow when he looks at you, assessing. “Ya look like skin and bones. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Stay away from me.” You finally manage to bite out, the first thing you’ve spoken in days. The words burn your throat, thick and clunky on your tongue. Your fingers twitch, your muscles tense, and Remmick notices. He smiles knowingly.

“It’s okay, darlin’, I can help ya. Ya feel that hunger eatin’ you from the inside out, don’t ‘cha?” He says, seeing it plain as day on your face. He’s seen it plenty of times in other fledglings, even in himself. That original denial to feed, the unbearable wrongness of your desire, the desperation to cling to your humanity, even if it kills you. He forced himself to overcome it with defiance, to give in to the new monster raging within his body. He can tell there’s nothing like that in you though, instead filled with misery and depression and skittish instinct. Hell, if he had to guess you’re probably a day away from dropping dead.

Before you can even blink, he’s on you; your hunger-induced sluggishness is no match for his speed. Your breath whooshes out of you in a gasp when he grabs your face, those claws of his just lightly pressing into your skin like a reminder. His hold on you is tight as he tilts your head from side to side, his brows scrunching. “Yeah, ya ain’t one of mine. You get left all alone then, darlin’? Abandoned by yer maker?” His tuts in disdain. “Y’know, I killed one of them a few days back. Real young, spazzy fella, got too in my space.“

Your eyes widen with recognition. So he’s the one that did the other guy in. You’d honestly thank him for it if you weren’t terrified. With mere inches separating you, you’re able to more clearly see his strong features, the curls of black sitting on his forehead, the lines of a human life gone by just barely etching his face. There’s something eerily charming about him, something that makes you want to give in to his promises.

Still, there’s a part of you that refuses, that won’t fall prey to another one of these beasts, that has you raising your claws and slashing them across his arm. He yanks back with a hiss, red irises flashing dangerously like sparking embers. He holds his wound, four gashes along his forearm, the blood beginning to seep through his fingers. You nearly choke on the scent of it, staggering back a step as it wraps around you, thick and cloying. For the first time, you feel the drool pooling in your mouth, made from moisture you didn’t even know you had left in you. It seeps from the corners of your lips, it coats your fangs as if in preparation.

Remmick grins. “Ohhh yeah, that smells good, don’t it?” He lifts his hand, covered in his own blood, taunting. “Poor thing like you ain’t have anyone to show ya the way. All alone out here, no idea what to do… let me help ya, darlin’.”

“Leave me alone.” You practically beg, trying to distance yourself from that god damn smell, clenching your teeth so hard they could shatter. Hunger claws at your insides, begging to come out, to get a taste of the meal in front of you, tainted as it may be. His blood smells rich with history, full of stories and different lives lived, laced with earth older than you could imagine. There’s something in your mind howling for just a drop of it, begging to know what something that ancient would feel like on your tongue.

For every step you take back, Remmick takes another forward, never letting you get far enough from that scent. “Aw c’mon now, I can’t let a sweet thing like you go to waste. It’ll be okay, baby, I promise.” He coos at you like a frightened animal, getting closer still. “You don’t have to be all by yourself no more. Don’t have to keep bein’ in pain.” There’s something about you that draws him in, that makes him want to know more, to tame that frenzied panic within you. He’s already decided he won’t let you waste away for a second longer, no matter how much you fight him on it.

Oh, you sure do fight him on it. As soon as he gets too close for your liking, you’re growling again, lunging at him. Your claws want nothing more than to dig into him, especially as he laughs lightheartedly. He stumbles back as your weight slams into him, as your hands reach for his face and neck. He moves with an inhuman speed and strength that you lack, easily gripping your wrists and keeping you at a safe distance. “Easy now,” he says, almost teasing, “don’t wanna hurt ya.”

His tone serves to piss you off more, and you use that anger and your final pump of adrenaline to struggle, to try and kick and hit, to burn off the rage that’s been simmering within you for two weeks. Remmick sidesteps you with a lazy confidence, watching you wear yourself out. There’s a point when his own claws just barely nick your arm like an accident, a thin strip of blood beading at the surface. It makes him pull back, his nose scrunching. “Whew baby, yer blood is potent.” He whistles, nearly wincing at the scent that makes his mouth water. It smells so human, not yet flushed out by feeding on other’s blood, by the wrongness of being a vampire. His eyes gleam. “Still got all that mortality in ya.”

With the grace of a cat, Remmick sweeps your legs out from under you when you try going at it again, leaving you to fall to the forest floor with an oof. You groan, your head pounding, your limbs feeling unbearably heavy, chest heaving. You go limp against the cool grass, your remaining energy at last spent, more than content to lay there until the sun comes up and burns you away. You hear a click of the tongue above you, Remmick looking down at you. “You done, sweet thing?” You don’t respond, making him huff. “Alright, c’mon,” he says, scooping you up by under your arms and forcing you back on your feet, “don’t die on me just yet.”

He nods towards the trees beyond. “Let’s go. Got somethin’ for ya.”

He starts walking without even looking back, like he fully expects you to follow him, like he knows you will. He’s right of course, and you find yourself stumbling after him without a second thought; it’s not like you have much else better to do than follow this weird, ancient vampire.

His steps are steady and light, traversing the forest with the experience of someone who’s done it hundreds of times. He barely rustles the bushes he passes, as if he doesn’t exist to the world around him, or he doesn’t want to disturb it lest it turn the wrong eye on him. You, on the other hand, make enough noise for the both of you. You can barely stay upright, your legs shaking, every tree root feeling like a death sentence.

The further you go, the stronger a certain smell gets. At first you think perhaps it’s Remmick’s wounds from you bleeding again, but they closed up a while ago. No, this scent is fresh and full of life and human. Hunger slams into you tenfold, sent into a frenzy at the idea of a true meal. You begin to hear noises too, garbled cries and pleas and sobs.

The undergrowth parts around you, leading you into a small clearing where blood has smeared across the grass, eerily illuminated by the moon above. Lying amidst it all is a young man, his clothes dirty and bloodied, his face bruised, and tears running freely. He’s on his stomach like he’d attempted to crawl away, drawing attention to the fact that both his Achilles tendons have been brutally sliced. When he spots you both, he goes into a full blown panic, begging and pleading for mercy. “No, no, no- please- I don’t know what I did just spare me please-“

“Oh hush up.” Remmick says roughly to him, grabbing him by the collar and dropping him against a tree, then keeping him there with a boot pressed into his leg. Remmick looks to you, nodding towards the guy. “Now I left this poor feller waitin’ all cuz of ya so ya best be nice and put him outta his misery”

You stand there confused for a moment, in disbelief at the fact that you’re being offered someone else’s meal just like that. Drool coats your chin, your fangs fully extended and sharp as razors, the hunger inside you howls. You know better than to reject a gift when it’s given to you so Remmick watches you with both intensity and fascination as you stumble forward, your lips already dropped open. The scent of blood coats the roof of your mouth, your eyes gleaming while the man struggles and sobs.

You fall to your knees in front of him, clawed hands coming up to shove his head aside to bare his untouched neck to you. You can feel the way his blood pumps beneath the skin, his heartbeat so loud in your ears you could mistake it for your own if you had one. There’s still something human in you that struggles against this, that screams at the horror of it all, but it’s ultimately drowned out by the desire and temptation. You can’t find it in yourself to apologize before you’re leaning in, before your teeth are sinking deep, deep into his flesh.

The man’s scream gets cut off, his body going still beneath you. When those first drops of blood hit your tongue you moan, the sound coming from you without control. It feels like a puzzle piece has finally been snapped into place, everything suddenly feeling so unbelievably right, despite your actions being so wrong in every way under the eye of God. That burn in your throat at last goes away, strength already returning to your limbs, your mind clearing with each gulp. Remmick grins, satisfaction and pleasure blooming within him just from watching you. He crouches down, his hand coming to pet through your hair, brushing it back from your face. “That’s it, good, good. Drink it all, baby.” He says in whispered awe.

You do just that. You take and take and take, sucking every drop of blood from the man’s veins until there’s nothing left to be given, until the flavor starts to lose its vibrancy. When you finally feel satisfied, you pull back with a loud pop and a tear, your fangs leaving one last mark by ripping some of his skin. Your breath comes in heavy, iron-tainted pants, your eyes bright and you feeling like you can think for once. The blood has made a mess of your front, smeared across the lower half of your face and down your neck to your chest, ruining your shirt. Your hands haven’t been spared either, the red running from the tips of your claws to your knuckles.

You look up at Remmick, at the creature who finally fed you, who gave you just what you needed without hesitation, who saved you. Where there was once alarms ringing, there’s now just whispers of devotion. Whispers of Remmick being safety, a provider, a savior. He sees that shift in you clear as day, something he’s seen countless times before—it’s just that this time he didn’t have to turn you himself for it to happen. It makes his smile widen, his red gaze lidded.

He takes your face in one hand, and this time you don’t flinch away from his touch. “Gorgeous.” He murmurs before his tongue is on you, dragging across your chin, collecting the combination of blood and spit in rough licks. You whimper under his ministrations and he swallows down that sound with his lips on yours, his kiss starved and desperate. He groans at the taste of blood, taking every bit he can from you, the weight of his body pressing hot and heavy against your own. He licks across your neck, teeth grazing purposefully along your skin as a tease for you and him both. There’s small nips when he can’t control himself, when there’s a spot properly drenched with blood.

The combination of the man’s human blood mixed with the scent of your own is intoxicating, and if Remmick didn’t force himself to pull back, to exercise some form of self restraint, he believes he would’ve found himself with his fangs in your neck.

He sighs, running his thumb along the corner of his lip to clean off the drool that began to form. “Now let’s find another one ‘fore I eat your sweet self whole.” He says, voice low and scratchy at the edges.

You’re eager to follow him, to have him show you the way of this new life. You both leave behind the mangled body of the man, his blood now flowing through your veins and giving you the energy you’d been so sorely lacking. You feel reborn, fresh and rejuvenated, excited to see what else may lay on the moonlit path with Remmick as your eternal guide, neither of you ever being alone again.