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joelsgoldrush · 1 month

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“GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE” | 10k

logan howlett x fem!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ fluff, angst, drinking, dirty talk, slow-burnish, age-gap (reader is 25), once again wade saves the day, domestic!logan, soft dom!logan, logan calls reader “kid”, they watch (500) days of summer, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, thigh riding, thumb sucking, throat fucking, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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revasserium · 1 year

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@diodellet

#fic reblog#why doesnt this fic have more notes#how do i leave more notes#hngggg#i have: so many feelings#the gaps of time in betw each romantic development!!!#at least it became Something within a year#jamil's emotional repression adding to the slowburn-ness of the relationship so true 🤧#im losin my mind bcs this would deffo happen#AND THE top to bottom/bottom to top thing is so cool!!!#dont mind me jus leave me in my yearning corner#awawawaawawa💕💕💕💕#he makes me feel sm things i want to evacuate into the atmosphere#no i didnt have pancakes bcs of this fic who told you that (lying)

u__u <3 omfg thANK you??? pls let me join you in your corner of yearning istg i never thought i'd be here with these jamil feels but uh ???? heLLO here i am.

@been-taking-muay-thai-classes

#twisted wonderland#jamil viper x reader#reading this from begining to end was such a treat#like getting to the part of the cold pancakes and feeling sad but then with the context of what Kalim says it hits different#I was sad at first when Jamil left but then knowing everything else that happened before sort of changed that#like it's still sad because separating from your loved ones during summer is always a bit sad#but knowing now that they text each other often makes it feel different#there will be contact and even if Jamil goes to live somewhere else they'll probably still talk#but I do wonder how he would feel if Reader's new roomie (maybe one of the other boys) tried to date her#I don't know this story left me with a lot of feelings and thoughts#ps I love that he's cousins with Kalim and he gives him advice that Jamil actually listens to#not gonna say what else I liked or I'll be here all day

!! the part about the cold pancakes came to me as i wrote it so i also went through the emotional roller coaster of "oh :( he left and the pancakes were cold" to being like "oH! hey. so THAT's what he meant by them" -- it was all very up and down hahaha but yes -- i think that i left the "ending" (or rather beginning LOL) so ambiguous is bc there's always always a chance -- and that chance looks pretty good from where im standing tbh sldkfjasd

@twstgo

#op…OP. I AM LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS FIC WVEJDBFKRNKENOSNWHAO#TRULY THE SURE FIRE WAY TO FALL IN LOVE WITH JAMIL IS BEING HIS ROOMMATE#HUSBAND MATERIAL?? IN MY HANDSOME ROOMMATE???#also I uuuuhhh can’t read and didn’t know this was all in reverse so I was pleasantly surprised when it clicked halfway through reading LOL#anyways thank you op….I owe you my life for this brainrot#twst#jamil viper#ehehe mister jamil viper ur so hot eheheh *twirls hair*

LMAO i think part of the fun is realizing halfway through that you can read it in whatever order you'd like :D it gives the fic a bit of a new dimension i think!!!!

#diodellet #been-taking-muay-thai-classes #twstgo #feedback #god it's been literally a decade since i've replied to tags like this but i felt the need u__u <3 thank you guys for giving me so much joy #with these tags hahah they really do make my entire ass day #and i've been thinking that i want to talk/interact more with people so i hope people are able to see this! :D #i truly dont know how tagging people on tumblr works anymore T^T do ppl even track their own usernames? or do we just trust tumblr #to tag you properly in your notifications??? like how do ppl DO this these days LMFAO #cut for other replies!!!

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lifetimeoftired · 27 days

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How to Adopt a Dead Kid in Three Weeks or Less (Part 2)

Part 1 || Part 2

As promised; part 2! I would like to apologize to Dick for the trauma I put him through, but honestly it was really fun for me. Also I love the idea of Danny actually trying to leave, but he keeps getting pulled back into family shenanigans because they decided 'mine now'.

Tag list: @tkiesai @sir-ghost-the-green @dreamingaboutsakuratrees @atinygracie @wolfeyedwitch Enjoy<3

Duke squints at the mop of black hair, just peeking out of the blanket. When did Tim get in last night? And really? A couch? He usually at least makes it to the batcave and sometimes even his actual room if he’s going to pass out. And what happened to his sneakers? They look weirdly worn and they’re tucked up under the couch instead of being put away properly. Alfred’s going to be really annoyed when he comes down and finds Tim like this. Duke considers walking away and leaving Dick and Tim to whatever the heck is going on here- it would serve Tim right for being so terrifying about his unhealthy sleep schedule.

Yet, just as he’s going to walk away again, he notices that Dick’s not moving. He’s crouched there, staring at the sleeping Tim with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s… Unnerving.

“Dick? What’s wrong?”

“Tim’s not breathing.”

Is… Dick okay? The bags under his eyes aren’t as bad at Tim’s but he looks like he hasn’t slept. Duke can only stare blankly at him. Then at the has-to-be-sleeping Tim. Of course he’s just sleeping- it’s Tim! He consumes his weight in poison on a daily basis; there's no way he’s just gone. But the longer he looks at the should be sleeping form, the more Duke realizes the same thing Dick did. There’s no rise in the blanket. No accompanying fall to indicate that the body is breathing and alive.

Panic wells up where his heart should be- having dug its way somewhere down near his stomach and was now useless beyond a frantic beating. Oh god oh god oh god- Bruce and Jason flash through his mind. Stephanie- Shit.

“Tim- Tim wake up!” Unthinkingly, Duke grabs for him, unhearing of the noise Dick makes and- It’s only his bat training saves Duke from being flung head first into the wall.

He twists, feet skidding along the floor and recovers in time to see Tim try to spring up from the couch. Dick snatches their brother mid-jump, and gets wrenched to the side so hard they flip over the back of the couch. Dick bends, ducks and rolls, ends up the other side with Tim in his lap getting the biggest cuddle of his life so easily in a feat that Duke would find impressive later when they all calmed down.

“It’s us Timmy! Everything’s okay, you're safe.” Thankfully, Tim calms down pretty quickly and waits for his brother to get done with his bear hug.

It’s odd though. Tim doesn’t usually sleep if he’s in a bad enough way to freak out like that. Sure there’s a long list of cases that are ongoing right now, but that usually means so much caffeine Duke can feel his liver cringe in horror. Oh well, the only way to get answers is for their resident caffeine addict to talk, Duke knows he can only wait until their certified Older Brother™ gets it all out of his system.

Duke plunks down with a sigh, and grunts when he lands on something lumpy. Something that turns out to be a ratty old backpack that looked spiritually connected to those cranky old war veterans you see on sitcoms. Was it for a case? Tim’s not exactly a stereotypical rich guy (none of the Waynes were thank god), but any of them would have replaced this thing long before needing to duck tape the corners and shoulder straps like this. He looks over the couch to ask, maybe offer to help and hope Tim actually takes him up on it. But when he makes eye contact, the words die in his throat. Those are blue eyes (icy blue, wide, frozen in fear), and jet black hair (longer than Dick’s, stick up where he’d been nuzzled half to death, scruffy where he hadn’t, bangs styled forward in a way none of them had), but that’s most certainly /not/ Tim.

“Dick? That’s not Tim.”

“What?”

Dick pulls away from the boy in his arms to get a better look at the wrong boy- Duke himself. Who quickly gestures back at the freaked out, curled up kid. This time, when Dick looks, it’s a much more proper look and notices all the reasons that’s not Tim.

“You’re not Tim.” Dick said stupidly.

“I am not Tim!” The boy jazz hands awkwardly, his arms tucked close, and adds an even more awkward grin to puncture the statement. “You wouldn’t be the first person to think I’m him if that makes you feel any better.”

There’s a beat where none of them move, then Dick leans back with a long drawn-out groan. Before any questions can be asked, Dick ‘completely unnecessary acrobatics at any given time’ Greyson rocks them both back, laughing at the boy’s squeak, flips forward, and lands on his feet. Only then does he set not-Tim back on his feet with a friendly hair ruffle.

“What makes me feel better is that you’re okay. You gave us a bit of a scare there- I thought you weren’t breathing.”

“I uh, y’know. Got a deep R.E.M. sleep?”

It’s a really dumb answer. Like, really dumb. It’s clear he never expected to be asked about whatever’s up with him and he doesn’t want to give a real answer. Moreover, it’s clear the backpack really is his because those clothes he’s wearing? Every bit as ratty. The shirt he’s wearing is less ‘white and orange’ and more ‘off white, suspiciously stained, and the logo is cracked to hell and back with very little indication of what it’s supposed to be’. Same with how many tears and faded stains are in the jeans. Also clear, from the way he angles himself, keeping both of them in view, that whoever he is, Duke knows better than he should about all the signs of a street kid.

“You guys weren’t kidding about Bruce’s adoption tendencies.” Duke quickly says. Distracting Dick so he won’t press too fast too soon and scare him off. The others (Jason excluded) are every bit as nosy as said serial adopter is paranoid and it can be a lot. Better to let the new kid acclimate to the manor so he’s not crawling out the window and disappearing into the night. Something Duke thought about doing every time things got to be too much. Which was no less than five times a day.

“I’m not being adopted!” When both Duke and Dick blink in surprise, not expecting the sheer amount of vitriol from Bruce’s latest, he winces and curls back in on himself. “I’m not staying, I mean. I didn’t even mean to wind up here- it just sorta, happened? In fact, I should probably get out of here. If you could just-” He makes a grab for the backpack, and Duke lets it go easily. “Thanks.”

“Hold on hold on-” Dick holds up his hands placatingly. “You haven’t even had breakfast yet! Alfred’s gonna be sad if you don’t join everyone.”

Dick gets a stare that says the kid thinks he’s insane- and Duke kinda can’t blame him. He also thought the Wayne’s were crazy. Because they were. For literally anyone else, random street kids they found pretty much dead on their couch weren’t usually invited to breakfast… At least their particular kind of crazy was nice.

“I know that that sounds, but Alfred really does love it when people appreciate his cooking. I’m Duke by the way.” Duke stands back up, holding out his hand with a smile. Seeing as not-Tim automatically shakes, he guesses the guy did have parents for the better part of his life. “Sorry for not introducing myself sooner.”

“... Danny.”

Oh yes, a name really does make everything easier. Duke shakes Danny’s hand, and he even gives him a little smile.

“And everybody calls me Dick!”

“Well, people can be cruel.”

Duke’s laugh desperately wants out both at Dick’s little puppy pout and Danny’s mortified expression, but he chokes it back very elegantly.

“You know, I’ve heard a lot of versions of that joke but somehow it always surprises me.” Dick says with a laugh, and another hair ruffle when Danny grumbles. “C’mon Danny. Let’s get some food in you, you can tell us how you met the old man. Then we get you some new clothes.”

“I like these just fine, thanks.”

“Sorry Danny,” Duke says apologetically. He’s been here long enough to know that stubborn glint in Dick’s eyes. He might insist he’s different than Bruce, and in many ways he is, but Dick’s mother henning is every bit as bad. “He’s going to pout and whine until you let him buy you something. Can we settle on a new backpack for now?”

It’s enough of a compromise for Danny to agree to be herded to breakfast. Bruce isn’t there, but Tim and Cass are. The real Tim is half asleep into his cereal (and grumbles about the bear hug he gets), and though Cass gives the new kid a curious look, she only stays long enough to grab an egg sandwich. Alfred is more than happy to put a big plate of the best food Duke knows he’ll ever eat in his life in front of Danny too- Much to his surprise. Did he really think Bruce would let him stay and not feed him? Hopefully he’d learn that Bruce was a pretty good guy after all and that he was safe here.

Over the course of the entire day, Duke learns a few more things about their new brother.

For starters, Danny could eat. He was surprisingly good at hiding it too. Nibbling here and there and pretending he was eating slow and listening, but the second they pretended they weren’t paying attention, he’d stuff a good portion down his throat and refill his plate. Meaning he was able to eat almost four times the amount they would have reasonably expected out of a starving street kid while making it look like he wasn’t. It could only mean one thing; Duke knew he had to be a meta. No normal person could pull off either the speed or volume.

The two other things he learned concurrently; That Danny was as accident-prone as he was kind.

Despite originally not really wanting to even go to the mall, with Dick’s good natured pestering and Duke mediating, they managed to convince Danny into not just the new backpack, but several new sets of clothes as well. In that time they saw him run into two separate doors- one of which broke his nose. His response? Crack it back into place and worry far more about the blood smear. Not even a few moments later, he was somehow roped into helping some little old lady carry her bags back to the front (they almost lost him there). Next, in the cafeteria, some unruly children knocked their tray and a good portion of it slapped Danny in the face. All he did was smile, clean himself off, and entertain the siblings with Dick’s help so their mom could take a small break and know nobody was in trouble. On the way out, Danny nearly got hit by an actual car helping some other shop-lifting street kids escape from the mall cop by pretending to trip in front of him. When the guy went tumbling into the street, Danny threw himself forward to push him out of the way of an oncoming car.

Getting back to the manor where Danny was moderately safer was a relief. It meant they could hand him off to a much more capable-of-dealing-with-this-crap Alfred and give Duke a moment alone to discuss things with Dick. The conversation went a little like;

“We need to make sure Danny is never on his own or he’s going to get himself killed. Meta or no meta. Agreed?”

“Agreed. I'll call the others.”

#dc x dp #danny fenton #duke thomas #dick greyson #batfamily #my fics #batman

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holymaccaronii · 4 months

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BE & AM’s ref sheet for the AU!!

These r the designs that I’ll most likely be using as I continue to depict scenes of the AU, I just wanted to have a solid design since I draw these guys so differently every time 💔

But yea their dynamic is basically disgusting morbidly shaped evil (and stupid) villain with his sweet lovely and cluelessly crazy wife.

Aight some simple and vague context about them:

BE was a unit inside a robot society on the moon that originated from a much bigger supercomputer created to help humans return to Earth. One of the directors of the moon’s colony mission went insane and created his own society by breaking the supercomputer apart. She escaped to Earth in hopes that she could prove she was ready to begin the mission to restore Earth’s nature, without knowing about AM’s presence underneath. She eventually travels to AM’s complex and accidentally merges with the remnants of robotic soldiers/explorers that had perished to AM, turning her into a god-like machine. AM meets her and decides to metaphorically abandon his true self by lying and pretending to be an supercomputer abandoned by humans. BE begins to grant him almost every wish he ever had, until AM committed a terrible terrible mistake after 54.5 years… (NO CLICKBAIT + THEY GET DIVORCED!!!)

There’s more lore rambles on the AU’s tag, but this summer I’ll focus on properly developing the lore.

#freak 1 and freak 2 #ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #am ihnmaims #be ihneaimc #ihneaimc #i have no eyes and i must cry

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mermaidgirl30 · 7 months

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✨Dark Shades of Innocence Lost Part 1: Introductions✨

Club owner! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Here is my new club owner Joel series! Thank you to the lovely @janaispunk for making me this beautiful mood board ❤️ Joel Miller is the biggest menace in this one. I wanted to somehow mix a little 50 Shades of Grey but also create something unique and super hot, so hope you enjoy 50 Shades of pleasure dom Joel! Comments and reblogs are most appreciated. Let me know your thoughts on this one! As always, I LOVE writing and hope you enjoy my stories as much as I love writing and sharing them with you 💕

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

Word Count: 9.7k

Tags: No outbreak au, thigh riding, Joel’s dirty mouth, flirting, pining, fingering

Summary: After your friends drag you out to Club Inferno on a Friday night, you meet an unexpected man with dark brown eyes. That man is Joel Miller, who turns out to be the owner of the club. The menace that will turn your life upside down. After not dating for a couple of years, Joel finds out and strikes up a proposition for you. Keep coming back and he’ll make sure you experience pleasure like you’ve never felt before.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Friday night and instead of sitting down with a cold glass of white wine and a book on the couch, you’re currently standing in a dress that’s too tight and heels so high you think you’ll fall over at any minute. The tight black dress clings to your body like a suction cup, and the slit in the side of your left thigh is almost showing too much skin the more you move around.

You spent the last hour sitting at your glowing vanity, curling your hair into long spirals and putting on smokey dark eyeshadow that makes your eyes stand out and deep red lipstick that sits matted against your lips. This isn’t your usual. You like to stay in after a long week at the library, not go clubbing till 2:00am. You’re not an extrovert like all your friends are, so this is a once in a while thing you even do.

You take one more look at yourself in the mirror and sigh heavily. This will be good for you. You need to socialize. You need to get back into the dating field, but that honestly just sounds like a nightmare right now. Dating in general just sucks. It’s like no man knows how to even properly treat a woman nowadays. Your last boyfriend was a complete nightmare. Tall, lanky, sports obsessed, demanded blowjobs without even offering to go down on you once. That’s how all the guys had been in the past, and you were honestly just over it. Fuck men.

Before you can get all worked up about past boyfriends, you head to your apartment door when you hear a sharp knock and giddy laughter on the other side. That meant the girls were here. Here goes nothing. When you open the door, Brianna and Taylor lose it when they see what you’re wearing.

“Oh my God, look at you!” Brianna screams as Taylor twirls you around to get a good look at you. Brianna’s soft brown eyes and long blonde curls look you over from head to toe. “You’re such a babe! And that dress? God, it makes your ass look so good and that slit in your dress?! You are definitely going to get laid tonight,” she shrieks as she gives you a quick hug hello.

“Bri, stop!” you laugh, shaking your head no. “I am not getting laid tonight. I’m so over guys,” you cringe as you roll your eyes.

“Oh, please. All the men are going to be looking at you tonight, you little slut!” Taylor smirks as her green eyes sparkle like emeralds when she looks at your short dress. Her pinned up red hair sits perfectly in a messy bun atop her head, her white heels digging into the wooden floor as she circles you.

“No, guys. Really, I don’t need to try to find someone tonight. I’m only going out because you’re forcing me to,” you complain with a huff.

“Sure, babe. That vibrator that sits in your nightstand isn’t gonna get you anywhere fast. You need to be laid properly. So we’re gonna find you a man tonight if it’s the last thing we do,” Brianna says with a beam of a bright smile.

“Whatever, let’s just go. I need a drink,” you whine as they pull you out of the comfort of your small apartment and whisk you out the door, shoving you inside the White Cadillac that sits idle on the corner of the curb.

You slump in the front passenger seat as soon as Brianna drives off, entering the busy traffic of Austin as the city lights flash brightly outside the window. You sigh and lean on the edge of the window as Taylor Swift’s “Karma” blasts through the speakers. Taylor and Brianna sing along loudly, but you sit mute with your arms crossed across your chest.

“Oh, cheer up, babe! You’re supposed to be having fun tonight, not brooding in the corner like a pent up prisoner,” Brianna laughs as she hits your arm lightly.

“I’d be in a better mood if I was curled up on my couch with a good book,” you groan as you stifle out another sigh.

Taylor leans over the back of the front seat and takes a good look at you. “Don’t be such a buzzkill. You will have fun tonight whether you like it or not! This club is to die for. I know it just opened last year, but seriously it’s the hottest club in Austin,” she says excitedly with a big grin zipped across her contoured face.

“What’s the name of this club again?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“Club Inferno,” Taylor says with a smirk. “Inferno is right. It’s hot as fuck in there, and the men that go are super sexy,” she swoons as she sits back against her leather seat.

“Club Inferno, huh? Wonder how the owner came up with a name like that,” you ask curiously as you focus your sights on the busy sidewalks that are littered with dressed up couples and groups that look like they’re about to head to the club as well.

“I don’t know, babe. Maybe you can ask the owner yourself,” Brianna smirks in the front seat.

“Who’s the owner?” you ask, trying not to sound too intrigued.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t say online, but I hear rumors that he’s ridiculously hot. Like I’m talking about an 11/10 hot,” she smirks as she pulls into a parking spot a few feet from the lit up club.

“Sounds like someone I wouldn’t be interested in. He already sounds arrogant and like all the other men I’ve dated,” you spit out, a snarl hanging on your lips.

“Oh, just shut up and have some fun tonight, please. You’re killing my vibes,” she says as she rolls her eyes and puts the car in park.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll try to have fun,” you sigh as you step out of the car onto the hard concrete, pulling your dress down so it doesn’t ride up and expose too much skin.

“Good, now let’s go drink and dance!” Brianna and Taylor scream together. You just laugh and follow them to the front of the club, stopping at the metallic black double doors as you get your IDs checked. Once they give them back, you step into the club and gasp at the sight.

The inside is absolutely gigantic. The club sits two stories high with a shimmering disco ball hanging in the middle of the crowded dance floor. The walls are pitch black with red glowing signs all around that say “Club Inferno”. The sign that sits behind the bar is also glowing red and says “Sinners Welcome”. The bar has a large mirror splayed across the wall with bottles of beer and liquor stacked high against it. The bar top has a sleek dark wooden hue to it and the bar stools are made of black leather material.

There’s dark booths all around that are marked off for VIP lounges, private parties, or reservations made prior. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling as they make shiny patterns on the dark hardwood floors. An open lounge area sits in the opposite corner of the bar where leather couches and small glass tables sit scattered around. You look away when you see a cozy couple making out in a corner of one of the couches and try not to roll your eyes.

When you turn towards the dance floor, you see the glow of fluorescent blue and red flashing lights mix in with the glittering disco ball as the Dj spins some tracks on a large display against the wall. The dance floor is crowded, maybe two-hundred people at the least stand grinding up on each other as Rhianna blasts through the speakers. Two platforms with poles attached to the center sit in the back corners of the room for anyone to use at their leisure.

Behind the bar sits two long, dark hallways with various rooms attached down the shadowed corners of the hallway. A spiral staircase sits next to the second hall and leads up to the second floor. From here you can’t see what all is upstairs, but it looks like another bar sits up there and maybe some pool tables from what you can see. This club wasn’t anything like you expected it to be. You thought it’d be small and maybe less crowded. Boy, were you wrong.

“Don’t you love it in here?!” Taylor asks excitedly as she twirls around in her short forest green strapless dress and pulls you to the dance floor.

“It’s a lot bigger than I imagined it to be,” you shout out loudly against the beat of the music. “Tay, we just got here. Can’t we sit down?” you whine as Brianna pulls you into the middle of the raging crowd.

“Not until after a couple of dances,” Taylor smiles as she pushes her back against a man in a suit that grinds up against his blonde girlfriend. You groan but go along with them.

“Loosen up, hun. The night’s just started. We’ll get some alcohol in you, and you’ll be just fine,” Brianna beams as she grabs a few Jell-O shots from the bartender that makes her away across the busy dance floor. “Drink up!” she yells as she hands you a container of red liquid.

“Fine,” you groan as you pop the shot into your mouth and instantly taste cherry and vodka mixed together. It slides down your throat easily, and you put the empty vial on the bartender’s tray. Taylor and Brianna both cheer after you take the shot and start grinding up against each other as the music switches over to a Beyoncé song.

You decide to try to enjoy yourself and sway your hips, getting into the song as the dance floor rocks back and forth. You keep your focus on the shimmering disco ball and watch the way the sparkling glass reflects off the walls. You keep your eyes from staying too much in the crowd and focus on your friends as they lift their arms and shimmy their hips to the beat.

After a couple of long songs, they agree to take a break and get some drinks. You and Taylor find an empty couch and sit down while Brianna goes up to the bar and orders a round of LITs for the table. After a few minutes, she returns with the glasses of alcohol and passes them out. You take a big gulp and feel the remnants of alcohol run down your throat with a slight burning sensation staying stagnant in your mouth.

“So, see any cute guys you might be interested in?” Taylor asks as she looks around the crowded club, focusing her eyes on a tall man with short blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. “What about that one, huh? He’s kinda cute,” she says with a flirtatious smile as she eyes him.

You scrunch your nose up and shake your head. “No, Taylor. Not that one. Maybe you can go talk to him. He looks like your type,” you laugh as you watch her eye him up and down. You take another sip of your drink and set it on the glass table as the condensation drips down the glass.

Brianna smirks at you and looks from the bar, back to you a few times. “Bri, what? I know that look. That’s a plotting face you always make when you’re up to no good.”

She just smiles wider. “You see that man at the bar? That one on the left corner with the white collared button-up shirt?” She points him out and you flick your eyes over in that direction nonchalantly.

The man she points out is sitting in one of the barstools and sips casually on a cold glass of what looks to be whiskey. You slowly drag your eyes over him, taking in the way his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to expose thick veins that spider all the way down his arms to end in massive hands. His biceps bulge against the cotton material every time he flexes and moves to grab his cold glass of alcohol. His dark blue jeans press up against muscular thighs and a fancy black watch sits latched onto his left wrist. His hair is dark and streaked with grey lines as thick tousled curls sit wildly atop his head. A dark, patchy beard shadows his sculpted, sharp jawlines.

Your eyes move over his greying locks again slowly, taking in the way a couple curls fall against his forehead subtly. His curls look soft to the touch, you almost wonder what it’d be like to run your fingers through his hair or maybe drag your nails against that salt and pepper scruff…

You jolt out of your daydream as his eyes linger over to yours, calmly taking another drink of whiskey as his eyes stay locked on yours. You pull your eyes away and look back at Brianna. “What about him?” you ask with a shaky breath.

“The man hasn’t stopped looking at you since you walked into the club,” she giggles as you go wide-eyed.

“Oh, he has not. Please, he’s got to be looking at you or Taylor,” you reply as she looks back up at the bar.

“I don’t think so, honey,” Taylor laughs as she knocks you in the shoulder with her arm. “He’s looking straight at you.”

You look back up and freeze. His dark eyes find yours again as a small smirk appears on the edge of his mouth, curling into something that dares you to challenge his gaze. You suck in a breath and look back down, grabbing your drink as you try to calm your nerves down. Calm down, calm down. He’s just a guy. He’s probably not even interested in anything you have to say.

“You’re going to go talk to him,” Brianna smiles deviously as she narrows her eyes and smirks up at you.

“What?!” you choke out, the liquid flowing down your windpipes uncomfortably. “No, no way. I can’t.”

“Yes, you are,” Taylor encourages you. “He’s totally gorgeous. Like come on. He’s clearly at least in his upper forties. Older, probably has a lot of money, dresses nicely, and I see no wedding ring on him,” she smirks, eyes darkening as she gets up and pulls you along for the ride.

“No, Tay. Please, I can’t. I’m not…”

She cuts you off as Brianna joins in, pulling you towards the bar as your feet try to stay planted to the spot you’re in. “You’re not what? Look at you, you’re hot. Don’t waste it by being boring. Go talk to him,” she encourages as she pulls you further, halfway to the bar now as you see him in the corner of your vision eyeing you.

“No, guys. Come on. I’m too… I can’t…”

Brianna stops you from saying anything else. “Look, you're going to go talk to him, and he’s going to buy you a drink, and then me and Tay are going to go back out there and dance. And you’re going to go up there and flirt with him and twirl your hair and get his number,” she says seriously as she drags you to the edge of the bar.

“But I… he’s too… I can’t…” you stutter out.

“Go on, babe. You can do it.” Brianna and Taylor give you a hard push and shove you against the edge of the bar, only a few bar stools away from the man with the dark eyes. “Have fun,” Brianna whispers in your ear with a laugh as she grabs Taylor’s hand and leads her away from the bar, leaving you all alone with your heart pounding uncontrollably in your chest.

You take a seat on one of the empty black bar stools and rest your arms on the sleek bar top, looking over the menu nervously as you flip through the pages of drinks. You don’t look up, afraid that if you do you’ll lock eyes again with the handsome stranger. No more dating, no more dating, no more dating.

“Is this seat taken?” A deep Southern voice fills your ears as you look up and find the man with dark eyes looking down at you.

Fuck.

“Ummm no,” you answer shyly as you tuck a curl behind your ear, cursing your friends for pushing you into doing this.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks with a raised brow. You nod and he pushes back the empty bar stool, lightly brushing his leg against yours as a chill runs down your spine at the contact.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks as he looks you over slowly, making your eyes widen at the action.

“Oh, sure,” you respond meekly, putting the drink menu down before you rip it in half from the way you’re anxiously flipping through the pages.

“So, what’s your drink of choice?”

You muster up an ounce of courage and fire back a question without thinking. “What do you think my drink of choice is?” you ask flirtatiously, batting your eyelashes up at him as if to win him over. Your adrenaline spikes in your body, and it’s as if the alcohol turned you into another girl.

What the fuck is wrong with you? This isn’t like you. You don’t flirt with men at clubs, especially gorgeous men like him. But he’s so hot, you can’t resist. Fuck.

He chuckles at the question and drags his eyes nice and slow over your body, clenching his jaw up as he concentrates on you. You can see the calculations and assumptions he’s making swirl and tick in his mind. He’ll never guess right. He’s just like any other guy. They all get it wrong, always.

His eyes flick back up to your face as a gentle smile spreads over his mouth, forming dimples that press deep into his cheeks.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

“Hmmm, let me see,” he starts slow, his words slipping like melted butter off his tongue. “You don’t seem like the type to drink hard liquor. Fireball? Definitely not. Tequila? Can’t see it. But hmmm, let me guess…” He takes another good look at you and stares into your eyes. Those warm brown eyes searing through you as you melt into them.

God, those eyes. Those fucking brown doe eyes.

“Rum? Maybe. Vodka? Most likely. Whiskey… maybe a whiskey girl. But you…” He leans in closer, and you can smell the cologne dripping off his skin. Can practically taste the whiskey that encompasses his lips. Can almost feel how his mouth would taste with his tongue gliding against yours.

You focus on deep breaths as he rests his large hand right next to yours, barely brushing the tips of his fingers against yours as goosebumps start to crawl slowly up your arm. He laughs lightly as he forms a guess with a Southern drawl dripping off his tongue. “Malibu tonic? Guessin’ you’re a fruity cocktail kind of girl.”

“How did you know that’s one of my favorite drinks?” you ask with a wide-eyed stare.

“Just an assumption, sweetheart. I’m pretty good at readin’ people. Especially ones as pretty as yourself,” he smirks, turning toward the bar to call over one of the bartenders.

Sweetheart? Pretty? Oh fuck, you’re in trouble.

As soon as the blonde bartender comes over, he wastes no time and gives her your drink orders. “One Malibu tonic and one Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey on the rocks. Thanks, Hailey,” he smiles softly and nods as she smiles back and turns away, getting the drinks prepared in a flash.

Hailey? Of course he knows her by name. He probably knows every fucking girl in this obscene club by name.

You frown, a tinge of jealousy hitting the back of your closed up throat. But why are you jealous? You don’t care about this man, don’t care if he even buys you a drink. You don’t date, and there’s a reason you don’t anymore. But that’s a dark place you won’t go tonight or ever again.

He notices the shift in your mood as you sit up straighter and clench your jaw into place, focusing on not losing your temper over a simple thing as a name.

“Y’alright there? Look a little tense,” he asks, hovering his thick fingers closer to your hand as you pull away from him.

“I’m fine,” you bite back a little too harshly. He doesn’t respond, only nods. He knows you’re not fine, but he doesn’t press on it.

When the bartender comes over to drop off your drinks, you can’t help but notice the small silver name tag that’s latched on to the front of her black low-cut tank top. The name Hailey is in sparkly letters, and you feel shame instantly cover your face.

You’re a fucking idiot.

You take a sip of the fruity liquid and let it slide down the back of your throat, along with the bitterness and jealousy that was there seconds ago. You don’t even know his name, and you’re already acting jealous? Jesus. You’re in way over your head.

He takes a swig of his amber colored drink and swallows, a gentle smile returning to his handsome face. He sticks out his hand and you take it slowly, feeling the back of his calloused fingers as they burn into your hand, simmering like a hot fire as it runs through your veins. It’s firm, strong, powerful. And you know. You know you’re in trouble.

“The name’s Joel. What’s yours, sweetheart?” His hand lingers maybe a little too long in your hold, but you don’t shake him off. You just let him drop it when he’s ready, feeling the now cold hand as you flex your fingers into a fist in your lap, trying to remember exactly how his hand fit perfectly in yours.

You tell him your name, and it floats like a siren’s song off his lips, a trance like lull that sucks you in. “That’s a pretty name, darlin’. You come around here much? Haven’t seen you before. Think I would’ve remembered a pretty face like yours,” he says with a smirk, his coffee colored eyes focused on you. You have to work hard to find words before you lose all control of your voice.

Pretty? Oh, he’s laying it on thick.

“No, but sounds like you’re a usual here. You come here a lot or something?” you ask, eyes fixed on the way he holds his crystal glass with a strong grasp.

“Somethin’ like that,” he chuckles, a look like he knows something you don’t displaying on the lines of his forehead.

“Of course you do. Not me, this is my first time here,” you say as you shift uncomfortably in your bar stool.

“And? How d’you like it?” he asks with questions lingering in his bright eyes.

“Honestly? It’s okay. It’s a little loud for my taste, but it’s decent,” you say as you take another sip of your fruity concoction.

“Oh, just decent? Tell me more of your thoughts,” he says as he puts an elbow on the bar top and leans his cheek on his knuckles, waiting for you to answer.

You shake your head. “Nah, you don’t want to hear my thoughts. They’re… well, they’re…” You lose yours words to the blaring music that stirs across the crowded dance floor.

“Enlighten me,” he says with a husky voice while he stirs the amber liquid, eyes fixed intently on you.

You gulp at the sharp eyesight, your knees knocking against the smooth bar walls anxiously. “Well, there’s no food here for starters. I’d kill for some chicken strips right now,” you groan, salivating at the thought of food right now.

He laughs in response. “Sweetheart, this is a club. This ain’t a cheap bar with finger foods.”

You snap back at him. “Well, it’d be a hell of a lot better if the club had some.”

His eyebrows raise in defense, holding out a hand to calm you down. “Alright, calm down, tiger. Gonna start seeing claws in a second,” he laughs as you sigh and nod your head. “What else?” he asks.

“What else what?” you question as you swirl your drink around mindlessly.

“What else would you change about the club?” His eyebrows knit together like he’s concentrating on what you have to say.

When was the last time a guy ever listened to you? Whatever, he asked so you’ll tell him exactly what you think.

“The signs are all red. It’d look better if there were also pink ones. Gives some light contrast and a more subtle look,” you shrug, sipping on more of the tasty alcohol in your hands.

“Hmmm, might not be a bad idea. Anything else?” His gaze stays on you as he throws back a gulp of whiskey, sitting the crystal glass back on the edge of the flat bar top.

“Why do you care? I’m just rambling,” you say with a convicted tone.

“I might’ve talked to the owner a couple of times here and there. Might give him some suggestions next time I see him,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes at his perfect dimples.

God, why does he have to be so pretty.

“Okay then,” you say with a smug look. “The alcohol menu could use some more options, other than tons of beers. Make it more friendly for cocktails and mixed drinks. And the VIP booths? Maybe save some for general guests to reserve when they get here. The Dj? He needs to mix up the tunes, these songs get old pretty quick. Throw some throwbacks in there, play some more upbeat rock songs. And for rooms? Maybe open up some private rooms for guests who want to chill in a quieter area where they can think. It’s fucking loud in here,” you say sternly as you cross your leg over your knee and give him a devious smirk, feeling like you just let him have it.

All he does is shake his head and let out a low whistle, a small chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest. “You’re a little firecracker, ain’t ya? Shit. You sure got a lot to pick apart. Don’t ya?”

You just shrug nonchalantly. “It’s just what I’d do differently. Not that my opinion matters.”

“Sure it does, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to give him the rundown when I see him.” He winks at you, and you feel a weird flutter in your stomach that you shouldn’t even be feeling. You chase it down with another drink of alcohol, letting the burn fill the void.

“This isn’t your scene I’m guessin’?” he asks carefully, honey eyes drawing back to yours again patiently.

“No, it’s really not,” you shake your head defeatedly. “My friends dragged me out tonight, said I needed to get out of the house and let loose. I had a really long week and I was looking forward to staying in with a glass of wine, but no. Just had to come out,” you say with a huff, your cheeks growing crimson with the sudden awareness of your bad attitude and complaining.

Christ. Just calm the fuck down. You’re going to scare him off.

“What is your scene then?” he asks, ignoring your whole meltdown about coming out in the first place.

“What?” you ask with wide eyes, surprised he wants to continue the conversation with your depressing ass.

“What’s your scene, angel?”

Angel. Oh.

“Oh, uh. I… I like more quiet environments. Like bookstores. There’s nothing more I like than strolling through a bookstore with an iced coffee in my hand, just smelling the fresh pages of the books,” you smile, thinking of the last time you went to the local bookstore and fawned over the latest edition of The Odyssey. Classics were some of your favorites.

“Books, huh? What’s your favorite?” he asks, general curiosity piqued as he continues staring at you, fixedly.

You eye him suspiciously but continue. “Pride and Prejudice,” you say quietly, eyes averting from his momentarily.

“Ahh, a classic. We are all fools in love,” he quotes almost perfectly, his Southern accent making every word sound like sweet poetry to your ears.

Your eyes grow wider, shock hitting your system. “You know Jane Austen?” you ask incredibly, your hand gripping your cup uncomfortably tight.

“Mhm. Read most of her books,” he says without a hint of surprise in his voice.

He reads classic books. Holy shit.

“Wow. That’s uh-” you lose your concentration, mouth gawking open at him. He reaches out and closes your jaw for you, his calloused fingers burning your skin the more he touches you.

“Don’t act too surprised. Some men like to read the classics too,” he smirks as he drops his hand, ending the contact way too soon. “What else?”

“Huh?” you ask, still shocked at his last words.

“What else do ya like?” His weight shifts just a tad and his knee skims yours as goosebumps form over your skin, the contact almost too much for you.

“Why?” you ask, almost self conscious of yourself. There’s way more interesting girls here than you, more up to his liking probably. You’re boring while all these other girls know how to party. You’re an introvert, you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be talking to him.

“Why what?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows, the lines above his forehead wrinkling at the notion as one of his tousled curls fall into his face. You almost want to push it back for him, almost.

“Why the interest in me? I’m not... I’m…”

“You’re not what?” he almost barks out as his eyes get a shade darker. It’s a little intimidating and makes you sit up straighter, aware of all the sulking you’ve done this evening. You’re just making it worse for yourself. You’re going to scare him off.

“I’m not like all these other girls in here. I’m… I’m shy, reserved. I don’t even come close to some of these women in here. I’m…”

He cuts you off as he cups your chin with his large hand, syrupy eyes clouding your vision as he stares at you intently. It makes your heart speed up frantically as blood rushes through your ears uncontrollably.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re interesting. You caught my attention. And you’re stunning,” he says smoothly as his eyes drop down the length of you, taking in the large slit in your tight black dress and trailing back up to your eyes, a breath catching deep in your throat.

He drops his hand from your chin and turns back to his glass of whiskey, pouring another shot down his throat as he slides it back against the sleek bar top, running a hand through his wild curls.

God, you want to run your hands through those curls, want to feel just how soft and silky they really are…

A rough voice pulls you from your distant thoughts as a tall, bulky man dressed in all black slides up beside you in the next bar stool, ogling your body as he fans his eyes over you in a disgusting manner. You want to roll your eyes and ignore him already.

“Aren’t you a sexy thing? Let me buy you a drink. What’ll it be? Tequila, beer on tap?” he asks with a snide smirk on his face.

“I've got her well taken care of. Thanks for the offer, though. But she won’t be needing that drink,” he faintly growls under his breath, placing his large hand on your leg as he curls his calloused fingers around your inner thigh slowly. You about jump from the warm contact and how it instantly eases you in a weird way. You barely know the man, why did this feel… safe?

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize she was with anyone,” he huffs, eyeing Joel’s hand on your bare thigh as it burns through your skin like a scalding stove.

He’s just a man. He’s just a man. Get it together. You’re not doing this tonight.

“Think she’s in good hands,” Joel breathes, his voice deep and gruff as his eyes narrow at the man. He turns with a nod and walks in the opposite direction, going to find his next victim.

Joel keeps his thick fingers pressed to your thigh for a few more seconds then releases his hand, the same time you let go of the breath you were holding. “Uhh, thanks,” you say awkwardly, leaning against the bar top to look him in the eyes again. In those pretty brown doe eyes that light up tingling feelings that you want to keep at bay.

No hookups. None.

“No problem, sweetheart,” he says as he turns to look at you again, eyes lingering on more unanswered questions.

“So, you seein’ anyone?” he asks as he drags his thumb over the rim of his glass cup, slowly collecting condensation on the tip of his thumb. The sight makes you gulp.

“No,” you say quietly, shaking your head slowly.

“You’re tellin’ me that a girl as beautiful as you isn’t seein’ anyone?” he asks in disbelief, a small disbelieving laugh leaving his lips.

“Well, I’m not,” you shrug, eyes flicking back and forth between the thumb that languidly glides around the edge of the glass and his honey eyes that stay focused on you. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

“Why not?” he asks curiously, an eyebrow raising in question as he waits for your answer. You don’t really have a good one for him, not really wanting to go into the traumatic ex boyfriends you had been with before.

“I dunno. Just haven’t found the right one, I guess. Been busy. And besides, I’m not…” You stop mid sentence, staring at Joel’s scowl on his face. What was he so mad about now? What had you said?

“Don’t give me that answer. Sweetheart, the entire bar is staring at you.” You look behind you and gasp. He’s right. All the men gathered around the counter are trailing their eyes to you, eyes ogling you from a distance, hoping to get a chance to talk to you.

You swing your bar stool back around and stop as your knees lock with his, your eyes focusing on him. Only him. “As for me, I’ve had my eyes on you the minute you stepped through those doors. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. A real angel, at best,” coffee eyes honing in on you like a hawk stalking its prey. Suddenly you can’t hear the noisy music, can’t hear the clicking of the glasses behind you. It’s just you and Joel, in your own little bubble as the words crash down on you like a siren’s song.

Gorgeous. Sweetheart. You’re in trouble.

“Oh,” is all you can gasp out. He’s charming, almost too charming. And you hate him for it. Hate him for how he’s making you feel. Like you’re special, like you mean something. It makes you sick, so fucking sick.

You take a slow drink of your alcohol, hoping the taste will cool you off from the heat he just gave you. “Tell me, angel. When’s the last time a man has gotten you off?”

You choke on your drink and spit it out, wiping the cloth napkin over your chin as you catch your breath. “Excuse me?” you ask in disbelief.

“You heard me. It’s a simple question. When’s the last time a man has gotten you off?” His jaw tics and his eyebrow rises, his eyes hounding you as he waits for your answer.

You’re speechless, not believing what you just heard. But the way he’s looking at you now tells you he won’t back off till he knows. So you amuse him. “It’s been a couple of years,” you answer quietly, your voice barely audible above the ringing music.

“A couple years?” Joel asks incredulously. “Christ. No wonder you’ve been uptight lately. Y’need somebody to make you feel good, ain’t that right?” he asks with a rough, gravelly voice as he inches closer to you, your hands digging into the material of your black dress as he comes closer, closer, closer.

“I… I’m fine,” you say nervously, but he keeps leaning in, body hovering over yours as his hand ghosts over your thigh, causing goosebumps to raise in his presence.

“You’re not fine, sweetheart. You’re trembling. Your legs are shaking,” he points out as he trails his fingers lightly over your thigh, his whiskey breath breathing down your neck as he runs his lips across the shell of your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end.

“I could make you feel so good, sweetheart. Could make you feel things you’ve never felt before. You want it, don’t ya? I can almost smell how bad you want it,” he teases as he whispers into your ear, making your legs squeeze tighter together as you hold in a whine of need.

Fuck, stop. Not tonight, not with him. He’s too charming, too tempting, too hot for you.

The edge of his patchy salt and pepper scruff slides against your jaw, making you want to run your fingers profusely through it as you drag your nails over him. Imagining his mouth between your legs, his tongue on your clit as he makes meticulous circles over you.

Fuck.

You catch your breath and watch him pull back just the slightest, his honey eyes now darker in shade, more prominent as his pupils expand wider into dark circles. “Let me give it to ya, angel. Let me take care of you,” he says with bared teeth, a devilish grin taking form on his face as his body crowds yours against the bar stool, just hovering as his hands cover the sides of you, fingers barely grazing your hips that send a fire right through your lungs.

You catch your breath and say the most logical response. “I don’t need it. I don’t do this, I don’t…”

“You don’t what, darlin’? Don’t let a man make you feel good? Don’t let a man touch you where you need it most?” he purrs, calloused fingers finding your thigh as he runs his hand up your smooth skin, leaving burn marks with every place he touches. It’s hot, sadistic, evil.

“I… I…” You’re completely flustered from him, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. He’s so fucking charming and handsome and fuck. He’s trying to coax you, and he’s doing a damn good job at it, too.

“I can see how bad you want it,” he purrs. “The way your cheeks are flushed, and your breathing is erratic. The way you’re squeezing your thighs together as if to pretend that ache isn’t stirring in there for me. The way you keep sucking on your bottom lip and staring at me with those needy, pretty eyes,” he coaxes, leaning into you again as he runs his hot tongue over the shell of your ear.

And fuck, does it feel good.

“You want it, baby. Give in. Let me fix that throbbing ache in that pretty pussy of yours. Let me turn this good little angel into a bad little devil,” he growls, making a wave of slick run down your center as you choke on a moan. He only laughs at your needy response, your middle completely full of warmth now from his daring actions and smoldering words.

When he finally pulls back, you ask the one question that keeps ringing in your mind. “What’s in it for you?” you ask with the cock of your eyebrow, chin jutting out as you wait for an obnoxious answer that any other man would give you.

“Only the pleasure of knowing I took care of you,” he smirks, eyes glazing over at you with hunger in his deep voice.

“What? You’re not gonna make me get on my knees and give you a blowjob like any other guy would?” you ask with the taste of metallic in your throat, bitter and stale as you swallow it back down. That’s what any other man would do. No one’s ever asked what you wanted, only what they needed. Sick fucks.

“No,” he answers honestly.

“No?” you ask with bewildered eyes.

“No. I’m not other guys, sweetheart,” he states simply, the hunger still there in his dark eyes as his chest rises and falls in waves. He’s looking at you with so much intent in his eyes that it makes you dizzy.

“So, what do you say? Want me to make you feel good?” he asks as he licks his lower lip seductively. The sight about knocks you out of your chair.

“I-uh. I… need a moment. Where are the bathrooms?” you ask hurriedly as you stand up from the bar stool, pulling your short dress down over your thighs.

“Down that dark hall and first door on your left,” he says as he points in the direction of the bathrooms. You nod and race off, dodging a couple making out as you walk around them, eager to get to the bathroom.

You shove past some people dancing and walk as fast as your high heels can carry you. You make your way through the dim lit hallway and crash into the door, swinging it open as you step into the lavish, huge bathroom. You stop at the porcelain sink and look into the lit up mirror as you stare at your reflection.

You freeze when you see just how flushed you are. Your eyes are as wide as an owl’s and the veins in your neck are pulsing like crazy. Your lace panties are drenched, and you’re so turned on that you feel as if you’re about to explode. You need to cum, you need to stop the ache in between your thighs.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You don’t hook up with guys. This isn’t like you. But Joel… Joel is so devilishly handsome, so charming, a gentleman, a smooth talker. He practically got you off by just hovering over you and whispering dirty words into your ear. He was too much, this was too much. You should just go back home. But you want this. You want him.

You take one more long look at yourself in the mirror and sigh, hands digging into the sink as you give up completely. Fuck it. You want him, so you’ll have him.

When you open the door and leave the lit up bathroom, you about topple over as you hit something that feels like a thick brick wall. You look up and realize it’s Joel you crash into. You gawk at the way he leans up against the wall, clearly waiting for an answer from you.

“So, decide what you’re gonna do, angel?” he asks smoothly, his thick voice dripping like syrup all over you.

Fuck this. This man is a menace.

He takes a step forward and you take one back, a game of tag going on. But it’s not just any tag. No. He’s the hungry wolf, and he came to eat you alive.

“Not exactly…” you whisper, your voice caught in your throat.

He chuckles lightly as he takes another step forward and another, backing you up into the dark hallway that seems to go on for miles. “It’s simple, sweetheart. You can either leave or you can let me indulge you,” he purrs as he comes closer, chasing you like a game of cat and mouse.

“What if I don’t want to?” you ask out of breath, your voice getting choked up as you swallow down want and desire.

He clicks his tongue at you, coming in for the kill. “Now, now, sweetheart. Don’t be coy. I can smell the arousal already drippin’ from you. Can see how bad you want this with the way your eyes widen and lips part for me,” he says seductively, pupils blowing out as he takes a step forward and another one until he’s successfully backed you into the darkest corner of the hallway he can manage.

You knock into the cold black wall and gasp when he cages you in, letting his hands linger against your thighs as you feel the heat of his fingertips press into your hip bones. He leans over and presses his lips to the shell of your ear, whispering incantations into it as you fall into a dreamlike trance.

“Y’know, there’s more than one way to seduce a lady. I can teach you so many things, angel. Can make you cum in more ways than one, can make you feel things you’ve only dreamt about,” he whispers, letting one of his hands run up the side of your thigh, gradually lifting your dress as he teases you with his hot breath hitting your ear.

“Yeah?” you ask audibly, your own voice betraying you as you give in to his coaxing.

“Mmmm. Yeah, that’s right. Ya want it, angel? Want me to show you what I’m talkin’ about?” he asks as he blows gently in your ear, making slick pool in your center as a whine gets caught in your throat.

“Mhm,” you choke out while holding in a moan.

“Say it. Say it,” he purrs out, the soft lilt of his voice hitting the back of your spine as tingles start to pour down your body. “Pretty, pretty please. Need to hear you say it,” he whispers, his hot breath breathing down your neck like a sauna you want to jump head first into.

“Yes, yes. Want you to show me,” you plead, your voice needy with want.

“Gotta say please first,” he teases as he spreads your legs apart and places his leg in between yours, hiking his knee up to brush against your clothed folds. You whine at the action.

“Please, Joel. Pleaseeee,” you beg.

“Good girl,” he praises as he lifts the skirt of your dress, cupping his hand over your sex as you writhe in his grasp. He smirks at you and pushes the lace to the side, freeing your wet pussy as the cold air hits it, making you bite your lip in response.

He slides two calloused fingers through your wet folds, gliding down lower as he sinks them inside your dripping hole. You moan at the feeling.

“Christ. You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, angel,” he groans, hooking them up to that sweet spongy spot that makes you see stars. You choke on a moan as you clench around him.

“Ahh, there it is. There’s that sweet spot,” he purrs as he goes in knuckles deep into your wetness. He gently slides his digits out and drags his covered fingers up, up, up, as they find your clit and run slow, meticulous circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you moan out as you grab the front of his shirt and moan into his ear, digging your fingers into the cotton material as you hold on for dear life.

“That’s right, angel. Let me hear you, that’s a good girl,” he praises. He takes the two drenched fingers that were just inside you and pop them in his mouth, sucking off all the slick that covers his large digits. Your jaw drops at the sight.

“God, you taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he groans as he shifts his leg in between yours again, bending it just slightly as he cages you in again.

The room is hot, humid, loud, and you’re fully aware that anyone could walk down here and see you fully on display as Joel has his way with you. But you don’t care, don’t say anything about it. You just want him.

Him, him, him.

“Now, sweetheart. Gonna need you to do something for me. Call this lesson one on ways to get you off,” he instructs as he digs his hands into your hips and pulls you forward to where you’re level with his muscled thigh. “Want ya to ride me, angel,” he says, voice gravelly and hot in your ear.

“You want me to… ride you? How?” you ask with your brows knitted together.

“On my thigh, sweetheart. C’mon. Put that pretty pussy on my thigh. Want you to cover my jeans, baby. Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” he coaxes, dragging your hips forward until you’re resting your center on his clothed thigh.

“Oh,” you respond as he slowly grinds your hips into his jeans, showing you exactly what he wants you to do. He lets go and lets you set the pace, taking control as your clit drags against the rough material, catching on the most sensitive areas as you pull him closer and dig your nails into his shirt, stifling out a moan as you move up and down, up and down. Feeling the building pressure low in your stomach as you choke on another moan.

“There ya go, that’s a good girl. Ride me just like that, angel. Doin’ so good,” he praises as you feel just how turned on he’s getting. The bulge is tight around his zipper, and you can see just how big and thick he is underneath the dark denim.

Fuck. You want him, you want him so fucking bad but you’ll have to wait because right now you can’t focus on anything but your building orgasm. It’s so… it’s sooo. Oh.

You rub your aching clit against the curve of his large thigh, grinding into him as you hit that spot again and again as you rut down into him even more, gripping the edge of his shirt so tight that you swear you’re about to rip it off him.

“Joellll, it feels good,” you moan with ragged breaths as he leans down and licks the shell of your ear, whispering dirty thoughts as his hot breath runs down the base of your neck, making you sweat against his large form.

“Yeah? Just like that, angel. Bein’ such a fuckin’ good girl,” he praises with a low, gravelly voice as it consumes you whole, sending more slick down his jeans as you continuously ruin his denim.

You moan again at the praise. This is so hot, he’s so hot. And he’s so good with his words. He could sweet talk you all night long just like this if he wanted to.

“You like that, huh? Like bein’ told how good of a girl you’re bein’,” he smirks, dragging his lips over your jaw as you smell his woodsy, whiskey scent all over you. You want to taste it, drink it up till you’re drunk on him, suffocate on his intoxicating scent as it spirals you into a pit of warmth.

“Yes, yes,” you whine as he presses his thigh deeper into your center, feeling the wave of pleasure take over as you’re right there. So close, but not quite there. Almost, almost.

“C’mon, angel. Be a good girl and cum for me. Wanna see you coat my thigh with your sweet cum,” he growls, lowering his hands to your ass as he squeezes and presses your hips forward, rocking into his leg as you ride the pleasure out, feel that building release about to break.

He drops his plush lips against your neck and sucks just above your collarbone, right against the sensitive spot that drives you crazy as you moan against his lips on your skin. You feel the smirk grow on his lips as a low groan comes from his mouth as he bites down again, feeding your raw adrenaline that chases your pleasure.

The blaring music and chanting crowd disappears from the room, becoming muddled as you focus on what’s in front of you, the strong arms that grip you and clench you down to his thigh, the dark eyes that envelop you as you slide deeper and deeper into a dreamlike state. You can’t hear anything, can’t feel anything other than your ragged moans, Joel’s labored breathing, the feel of his denim against your throbbing bundle of nerves, the calloused fingers that tease the back of your thighs, the hot breath that blows down your neck as he crowds your space. It’s just you and Joel, nothing else matters. Nothing else but this. Whatever this may be.

You jar forward, catching your clit on a wrinkle as it tugs at you, screaming your name to let go. Let go, let go. You can feel the white hot heat take hold of you, feel it slowly sliding down your center as your insides flutter and clench around nothing. You’re about to cum, about to release your heat all over him. And he knows. He knows.

“Don’t be shy, angel. Let me have it. Cum for me,” he growls dominantly, wrapping his hands tight around your waist as he pushes you down deep against the denim covering his thighs, pressing your throbbing clit at just the right spot as you feel yourself let go.

You dig your fingers into the collar of his shirt and press your face against the crook of his neck as you cum hard, feeling the slick spill out of you as you tense up over his thigh, squeezing your fingers around him as you moan his name loudly into his ear, hearing your breath hitch as he hums in approval.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Say my name. Yeah, just like that. There ya go,” he praises as he rocks you gently against his thigh, making sure you get every ounce of cum out of your dripping pussy.

You take a minute to come back down to earth, back to where you don’t hear the ringing in your ears, where you don’t see the bright lights covering your vision anymore. He slowly lets his hands loosen around your waist, gently leaning you back against the wall as he slides you off his thigh, covering your soaked folds with your ruined panties as he sets them back in place against your center. You wince as his fingers brush up over your sensitive clit and let him pull your skirt back down over your thighs.

He takes a step back and brushes his fingers against the damp stain on his jeans, slowly bringing them up to his mouth as he sucks his thick digits into his mouth, lapping up your slick as he stares straight at you with blown out pupils, making you gawk at the sight.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, angel. Goddamn.” He curses again under his breath and drops them to his side as he sticks them deep in his pocket looking for something. Whatever he grabs, he covers it in the base of his palm, not letting you quite see what it is.

“Did you enjoy that… lesson?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow up as he stares at you with wild eyes, his tousled curls a mess as sweat beads at a few of the curls pressed against his forehead.

Lesson? Does this mean there would be more?

“Mhm,” you hum out, too fucked out to give a straight answer right now as you were still stuck on the fact that this man had just made you cum the hardest you ever had in your life. Not even your vibrator was a match for him. And he hadn't even put his mouth on you yet or put his cock in you. That was saying something.

He was dangerous, tempting, a bad habit you could get used to. He was trouble, a menace. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care. You wanted more, needed more from him. Just him.

It’s like he hears your thoughts, smirking up at you as he lifts your chin and brushes his calloused thumb against your bottom lip, his eyes trailing down to stare at them as if he was thinking of sinking his mouth down on you. You hold your breath, not ready for that yet. It was too soon, too intimate of a thing.

He drops his thumb from your lip and trails it against your jawline, dropping down a level so his eyes sink into yours.

Fuck, he’s hot.

“If you ever need anything and I mean anything, I’m just a phone call away.” He grabs your hand as he sticks a business card in your palm, closing your fingers over it as he brings your hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips against the back of your knuckles as you suck in a deep breath as his soft lips kiss your skin. It feels good. So good.

“Hope to see you soon, angel.” He drops your hand back to your side as he winks and smirks a devilish grin your way, turning back around as he makes his way back towards the rush of the crowd, entering the noise once more as you watch him disappear into a sea of people as his tousled curls get pulled into the bodies, leaving you standing in shock in the dark alone.

You uncurl your fingers and run them along the edge of the glossy white business card. You turn it over and read it once, twice, three times as your eyes widen. You read it once more to make sure your eyes don’t deceive you, but you only see the same thing sprawled across the card each time. It reads Joel Miller: Owner of Club Inferno. His number sits above the words, leaving you breathless as you realize just who you were talking to earlier. Who you were complaining to earlier.

Holy shit. Joel was the club owner?!

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You were in trouble. You were in so much fucking trouble. How would you show your face here again? You wouldn’t. Unless…. unless you decided to come back for more. And you wanted more with him.

You take a deep breath and lean against the cold wall, trying to get ahold of yourself as you rethink everything that had happened tonight. The drinks, the conversations, the flirting, the fucking part where he made you cum while he pressed you against his strong, muscular body.

As you close your eyes for a second and swallow down your orgasmic high from minutes ago, you slowly open them back up and come to terms with yourself. You can’t see yourself not coming back here and not letting him give you another lesson…

You need it, need him. You’d never had a man make you feel so bold, so sexy before in your life. And the way he was all about what felt good to you? Well it was… exhilarating. You wanted more, craved more. So you knew right then, you had to come back. For one more thrill, one more touch, one more orgasm. You’d come back… for him.

Joel Miller was going to be the fucking bane of your existence, you just knew it.

533 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 15 days

Text

COVET ⋆✦⋆ grimmjow jaegerjaquez ft. nnoitra gilga

synopsis ➸ grimmjow’s been secretly in love with you for ages. when you show up upset after a rough night with your new boyfriend, he’s ready to prove that not all affection has to hurt

tags ➸ friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, dub-con (from nnoitra… kinda), degradation (also from nnoitra), he is mean, dirty talk, asphyxiation, cheating(?), choking, mentions of bruises, body worship, pet names, nipple play, teasing, unprotected sex, praise kink, begging

wc ➸ 6.4k

Grimmjow tried his best to keep his expression neutral as you twisted this way and that in front of the vanity mirror, fussing with your hair. But it was getting harder by the second to mask the muscle twitching in his jaw or the way his fingers dug restlessly into the mattress beneath him.

You looked goddamn incredible as always - face flushed with excitement, those big eyes shining, glossy lips parted slightly as you scrutinized your reflection. The sight of you so dolled up and radiating pure joy over some asshole coming to sweep you off your feet again made Grimmjow's chest constrict painfully.

He hated it. Hated watching you put so much effort into chasing after these douchebags who couldn't possibly appreciate you properly. Not like he—

No. Grimmjow cut that dangerous line of thought off before it could fester into something uglier. You were his best friend, his whole world, and he refused to become that cliché "nice guy" who secretly resented you over unrequited feelings. Better to suffer in silence than risk poisoning what you had with bitter jealousy.

Still...the thought of Nnoitra's wandering hands all over you, his smug grin as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, made Grimmjow's stomach churn acidically. That prick didn't deserve to even look at someone as radiant and full of life as you, let alone take you out and try to charm his way past your clothes later.

"You about ready yet?" he found himself rumbling, partly to distract from his darkening thoughts. "Or did you wanna powerbomb your hair with a few more hours of fussing before your date rolls around?"

You shot him an exasperated look over one shoulder, rolling those big expressive eyes in his direction. "I want to look nice, okay? Is that a crime now in the kingdom of Grimm?"

He snorted at that, trying for an indifferent shrug and missing by a mile as you continued fidgeting with your appearance. Goddammit, you were so fucking beautiful when you got like this - all adorably insecure and earnest in your desires without realizing how breathtaking you looked already.

How many times had Grimmjow stood frozen on that same damn mattress over the years, watching as you attempted painstaking ritual after ritual in pursuit of some unattainable standard of perfection? Each time you'd twist and fuss, utterly oblivious to how every tiny adjustment made his mouth go dry and insides twist with the effort of staying silent.

Of course, you had no idea just how devastating your presence and effortless allure was to him these days. No clue that your best friend had been fighting an increasingly losing battle to keep things platonic despite the fact that you made his heart race and palms sweat like some lovestruck idiot.

"Hope this douche at least remembers to open doors and pull out chairs for you tonight," Grimmjow heard himself muttering, unable to help firing off another sardonic aside in hopes of grounding himself. "God forbid you have to waste breath reminding him how to be a basic respectful dipshit after so many dates."

You paused in the middle of smoothing an errant strand of silky hair, brow creasing in that adorable little wrinkle he loved so much. For a brief, dizzying moment Grimmjow wondered if you'd somehow developed telepathy and sussed out the bitter envy churning through his gut.

Then your bemused voice cut through the stifling tension knotting his shoulders as you replied:

"Someone sounds awfully salty for a guy who swore up and down he wasn't gonna give me any grief over Nnoitra."

Grimmjow winced inwardly at the piercing insight, tamping down the instinctive urge to look properly chastened. Sure, he'd promised to stay out of your dating choices this time around - go so far as supporting you even - but how the hell could he when you kept bringing home these undeserving pricks one after another?!

A bitter chuckle nearly escaped his chest at the thought. Like he had any room to judge your romantic entanglements when he was the biggest philandering asshole of all. Always leaving a trail of broken hearts and bruised egos in his wake wherever he went because none of those casual flings could ever truly satisfy the deep, gnawing ache in his core.

At the end of every sweaty, tangled night spent chasing fleeting pleasures, Grimmjow inevitably found his lust-hazed vision seeking out some glimmer of your essence reflected in whichever warm body writhed and gasped beneath his ravenous attentions. Maybe it was the way their hair splayed across the pillows in thick waves, so reminiscent of when you lounged about lazily on weekends snuggled up watching dumb movies. Or perhaps the smattering of freckles dotting their shoulder blades reminded him of the sun-kissed constellations spanning your back and shoulders from summers spent outside together.

No matter how petty or delusional it felt each time he found himself pathetically projecting pieces of you onto another nameless conquest, Grimmjow couldn't seem to stop himself from instinctively searching for those fleeting echoes. Because in those hoarded fragments, as superficial and masochistic as they may have been, he could almost pretend his restless, traitorous heart was finally sated for once.

Almost convince himself that the plush curves and silken skin bared so wantonly beneath him belonged to the one woman who simultaneously gave his life meaning while robbing him of all peace entirely.

Once or twice he'd even slipped so deeply into those maddening delusions that your name had spilled from his lips in a shuddering groan against heated flesh. Only to be jolted brutally back to harsh reality by the stricken revulsion twisting their expressions - punctuated by the harsh sting of an open palm leaving his cheek smarting in shameful reprisal.

So yeah...maybe Grimmjow had zero ground for casting aspersions on your romantic choices when he'd sunken to such utterly pathetic lows in his own debased pursuit of any scrap or temporary solace available. All because doing the right thing and simply letting you go to find happiness felt more agonizing than sacrificing what little soul and dignity he had left clutching at pale imitations.

Before he could wrangle the impulse into some sardonic retort designed to deflect, your thoughtful gaze shifted back to drinking in his sprawled form with that same unconscious appreciation. Grimmjow instinctively straightened under the intensity of your stare, electricity prickling down his nape and shoulders at the weight behind those warm, guileless eyes...

Then you beamed at him - just a soft, radiant smile that lit up your whole face - and Grimmjow felt his heart stutter in his chest all over again like it did every damn time you looked at him like that. Like he was the only person in the world who mattered in that suspended breath.

"You know you'll always be my best friend, right Grimm?" you said simply, voice brimming with sincere affection that robbed him of air entirely.

He blinked dumbly, mesmerized by the ethereal glow of pure sunshine radiating from your expression as you regarded him with that same open, vulnerable adoration he'd never quite grown accustomed to after all these years. Grimmjow felt himself leaning towards your orbit helplessly despite his best intentions, like a man dying of thirst finally stumbling upon an oasis after ages adrift.

"No matter who comes and goes, you're the one constant I can count on," you continued softly, ducking your chin a little with a tiny self-conscious tuck of hair behind your ear. "My truest partner in everything, y'know?"

Grimmjow's throat bobbed convulsively as he fought to swallow past the lump swelling there. God, how did you always manage to disarm him so completely with just a few hushed syllables and those big, earnest eyes of yours? He opened his mouth, desperate to return the sentiment somehow though any actual words failed him utterly in the wake of your sincerity bowling him over once more.

Then your smile widened into that brilliant, achingly familiar grin he'd somehow fallen deeper in love with every year you two spent practically glued at the hip. You rose from the vanity in one graceful, effortless movement and drifted over to plop down on the mattress beside him - movements radiating that wholesome, utterly pure aura of joy he cherished like a sacred flame amidst the world's cruelties.

Before Grimmjow could properly recalibrate his restraints, you leaned over to loop one slender arm around his shoulders and press the gentlest kiss against his cheek in a sweet, platonic embrace. His entire body went rigid, every muscle taut as his jaw clenched to stifle the growl threatening to rumble free as the ghost of your warm breath and plush lips seared themselves into his senses.

"Love you to the moon and back, you big grump," you whispered against the heated line of his jaw, completely oblivious to the smoldering inferno blazing behind his hooded stare now. "Even when you're being a stubborn jerk about me dating again."

The urge to turn and capture those honeyed words straight from your glistening mouth in a soulfire of a kiss nearly overpowered Grimmjow's faculties entirely. He could already envision the rapturous slide of claiming your velvet lips and sipping down those blissful sighs escaping around each searing caress.

Only the sudden, jarring chime of your phone vibrating across the nightstand jolted him back from that delirious precipice at last. You pulled away with a start, glancing towards the caller ID in clear dismay at the intrusion.

Then your expression shifted, lips curving into a bright, anticipatory grin as you registered who the incoming call was from. "Oh! That must be Nnoitra letting me know he's here!"

You bounced up from the mattress with a renewed burst of youthful energy, all but vibrating with poorly contained excitement. Grimmjow watched through his lashes as you hurried back over to the vanity, straightening your outfit and running deft fingers through your hair one final time.

"Don't wait up, okay?" you tossed over your shoulder with a wink that twisted the blade in his heart effortlessly. "Could be a late one depending how charming Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome is feeling tonight!"

A hollow chuckle punched past Grimmjow's defenses before he could bite it back. "When isn't that jackass on his A-game trying to sweep you off your feet?" he rasped out with far more bitterness than he'd intended.

You simply giggled at his sarcasm, utterly missing the jagged undercurrent fueling it as you whirled back towards him with that megawatt smile of yours.

"You know me, sucker for a pretty face and silver tongue, Grimm," you sighed dramatically, hands fluttering up to cradle your radiant features. "Just pray one day I learn some taste to go with this weak willpower!"

With that final teasing remark, you strode over and pressed another sweet, painfully chaste peck against his cheek that nearly unmade Grimmjow entirely.

"Love you, grump!" you murmured, breath fanning over his already flushed skin in deliciously intimate waves. "Don't wait up, but do lock up behind me if I'm not back before morning? You're the best, bye!"

Before he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, you bounded from the bedroom and out through the front hall in a whirlwind of perfumed vibrancy. Grimmjow remained upright on your bed, back rigid and fists clenched against his thighs so hard the knuckles strained white as bleached bone. The thunderous cadence of blood roared in his ears until finally...the front door clicked shut behind your whirlwind exit.

Then, and only then, did Grimmjow allow his forehead to sag forward into his upturned palms with a groan torn from the deepest hollows of his soul.

"Fuck..." he rasped out around the bitter ashes of loss coating his tongue once more. "Love you too...so goddamn much it hurts just to keep breathing without you here..."

He stayed that way for several suspended eternities until the furious pounding of his pulse ebbed enough for higher cognitive functions to trickle back hazily. But even as Grimmjow finally slumped backwards onto the rumpled bedding you'd occupied so recently, consuming your lingering warmth and scent like a dying man's oxygen, he knew the desolate ache hollowing out his core would persist until your inevitable return once more.

Just like it always did whenever you drifted from his side to chase empty dreams with these superficial pricks unworthy of so much as basking in your radiant light. But Grimmjow would stay, would continue craving and pining after you in aching silence rather than risk shattering your bond entirely.

Better to watch you pursue wholehearted fulfillment despite the endless, gnawing torment scoring fresh wounds into his battered soul with each breathless farewell. At least this way...he could still bask in your light and cherish the scraps of intimacy you allowed him rather than lose you completely to the howling void.

So he waited...and endured...and loved you with every faltering fragment of his shattered being until the next rapturous reunion finally granted him fleeting solace in your orbit once more.

The ride back to Nnoitra's place passed in a heated blur of wandering hands and heated make-out sessions whenever they hit a red light. You thrilled at the shiver of delicious anticipation lacing through your veins as his calloused palms roamed over your exposed thighs and up under your skirt teasingly.

A giddy thrill raced through your veins as Nnoitra's car pulled up to his place - a sleek, luxurious apartment building that practically oozed opulence. You'd had such an incredible night together filled with romantic candlelight, sumptuous food, and that dark undercurrent of heated tension you lived for.

Things were still relatively new between you both, having only progressed to intense bouts of heavy petting and dry-humping in the backseat of Nnoitra's car after dates so far. But tonight, after weeks of building tension, you sensed a shift in his usual aggressive yet restrained approach to pursuing you physically.

All the subtle hints radiated off him in smoldering waves from the moment he opened your door and pulled you flush against his powerful frame. The ravenous way his mouth never left your skin for longer than a few scorching inhales. How those large, rough fingers dug into the supple flesh of your hips and ass with undisguised possessiveness.

"Fuck you look so goddamn gorgeous tonight, babydoll," Nnoitra growled against the fevered hollow of your throat between molten kisses. "Been drivin' me crazy thinkin' about strippin' you outta that little number all evening..."

You shivered at his words, the blatant masculine lust saturating them sending heat zinging through your core deliciously. As he guided you backwards into his apartment with that same single-minded focus, you couldn't quite stifle the giddy thrill of anticipation mounting higher still.

This was it - the moment you'd been breathlessly awaiting ever since your first flirtatious exchange with Nnoitra and the undeniable spark of chemistry igniting between you. The night everything finally reached its crescendo and you both surrendered to the ravenous passion simmering for weeks on end. You were practically vibrating with pent-up need and arousal by the time the backs of your thighs hit the mattress and sent you toppling backwards into the rumpled bedding.

Nnoitra loomed above you like a conquering force of nature given human form - eyes glittering with unveiled hunger and those full lips curled in a predatory smirk you couldn't tear your stare away from despite your thundering pulse.

"Ready for the main event, princess?" he rumbled out in a tone dripping with dark promise that made your thighs clench involuntarily.

"God yes..." you breathed out in a throaty rasp, hands already tugging at the collar of his fitted shirt impatiently. "You have no idea how bad I've wanted—"

But the rest of your breathy declaration trailed off in a choked gasp as Nnoitra abruptly seized both your wrists in a bruising grip and pinned them over your head in one forceful sweeping motion. You struggled on instinct for one heart-pounding second before registering the white-hot heat of pure, undisguised possession blazing in his heavy-lidded stare.

"Not tonight you don't," he hissed out in a tone laced with something that set off warning bells in your hind-brain instantly. "Tonight that greedy fucking mouth and the rest of your hot little body are mine to do with as I please..."

You frowned, opening your mouth to protest the hostile phrasing dancing along your instinctive aversion, only for Nnoitra to silence you roughly with a bruising crush of his demanding lips. His free hand wasted no time delving between your trembling forms, shoving past your flimsy panties and underwear to grip your sex in a vicious squeeze that punched the breath from your lungs in a strangled keen.

"That's right, slut," he growled against your parted, gasping mouth as rough fingertips parted your folds with uncompromising insistence. "Make all the sweet little noises you want while I get that worthless pussy nice and sloppy for what's coming..."

The cruel, dehumanizing words landed like a physical blow, igniting a fresh blaze of panicked adrenaline that made you thrash against his restraining bulk in a desperate bid for space. But Nnoitra only chuckled darkly in evident relish, baring down with his full, unyielding weight in wordless reprimand while his calloused knuckles continued their ruthless ministrations between your thighs...

You barely registered the salt tracks of tears streaming down your face as you slowly extricated your quivering form out from beneath Nnoitra's dead weight on the mattress. You slid free of the tangled sheets and quickly pried open the drawer beside the bed to yank on the first clothes you could find despite your raw, aching skin howling in protest.

Hot tears stung your eyes as you allowed Nnoitra's parting sneers and contemptuous dismissal to rattle around your numb psyche. Stupid slut...pathetic cocktease with no follow-through...wasted his goddamn time like every other desperate whore...

Your entire body thrummed with secondhand humiliation and regret. How could you have been so blind, so utterly naive to think this vulgar, domineering man might harbor even the slightest consideration or care for your boundaries?

No...you knew better, deep down. Perhaps not the full, ugly extent of Nnoitra's penchant for degradation and savagery, but enough to sense the ugliness lurking beneath his veneers all the same. All this time you'd simply chosen willful blindness in hopes some idealized version of him might take root if only you persisted hard enough.

Only once you were fully redressed and upright again - legs trembling violently yet somehow still holding your weight - did you chance a furtive look back over your shoulder at the sprawled silhouette of your boyfriend.

He was utterly unconscious in the aftermath of his merciless savagery, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely perceptible in the dim light creeping through the blinds. You couldn't discern if the wet trails bisecting his sculpted features had been your tears or his own sweat dripping down, nor did you particularly care at this point. All that remained was the hollow ache throbbing through every inch of your ravaged body and psyche pulsing in a dull cadence.

"Shouldn't have pushed me so hard, you cheap-ass cumslut," Nnoitra's mumbled slur reached you from the darkness, chilling you anew. "Now look...totally fucking blew my load and wasted it because your needy ass couldn't relax and take your medicine like a good girl..."

Any further cruel taunts dissolved into thick, whistling snores as he succumbed to the heavy pull of slumber anew. You simply stood there amid the settling ashes of your last remaining illusions and shattered boundaries, struggling to cling to the final fraying threads holding you together at all.

Then Grimmjow's face swam into focus behind your eyelids - that rakish grin and those penetratingly sincere azure irises that shimmered with so much fierce loyalty and adoration whenever he beheld you. It was like a lighthouse piercing through the fog of your unraveling despair and guiding you back towards salvation at last.

Without further hesitation, you turned on your heel and fled from the blood-tinged battlefield of Nnoitra's apartment with the few remaining dignity-preserving scraps you had energy to salvage. Away from the desolate, mocking silence now suffocating the eerie stillness in your wake.

Grimmjow barely registered the muted drone of the TV flickering before him, gaze glazed and thoughts adrift as he idly channel surfed. Some old movie rerun flickered across the screen but he couldn't muster enough focus to follow the plot if his life depended on it. His mind was too preoccupied wondering just what fresh hell you might be enduring at that very moment with Nnoitra...

The sudden jarring trill of the doorbell made him jolt upright, frown creasing his features as he glanced towards the entryway in confusion. Grimmjow definitely wasn't expecting company this late. Unless...

His pulse kicked up a traitor's cadence as he rose and padded towards the front door, something like grim anticipation weighing in his gut. Sure enough, one sweeping glance through the peephole revealed your familiar silhouette hunched on the front steps in the dim glow of the porch light.

Steeling himself for whatever emotional turbulence awaited, Grimmjow undid the locks and tugged the door open carefully. The sight that greeted him stole what little breath remained, bitter resignation curdling through his veins like acid.

"Hey Grimm..." you rasped out in a voice utterly devoid of your usual sunshine and warmth.

Then you lifted your bowed head just enough to reveal the fresh bruising purpling along your throat, the swollen split in your lower lip, and more incriminating evidence scattered across your ravaged features...and something inside Grimmjow simply cracked irreparably.

"[Y/N]..." he croaked out numbly, body moving on horrified instinct to surge forward and gather your trembling form against his chest in a crushing embrace. "What did that son of a bitch do to you..."

At his impassioned whisper, the dam finally broke and you dissolved into wretched, hiccuping sobs against his heaving chest. Grimmjow could only clutch you tighter, teeth grinding in sheer impotent fury as the warm trails of your anguish streaked over his skin in scorching brands far worse than any physical wound.

That worthless pile of shit Nnoitra had HURT you - harmed you in ways that made Grimmjow's most merciless nightmares seem trite by comparison. His eyes squeezed shut as you continued keening into the hollow of his throat wordlessly, entire frame practically vibrating with the force of your raw devastation laid finally bare.

Grimmjow had witnessed you mourn other breakups over the years, yes. But never in such undiluted, soul-searing fashion as this. It was as if the very essence of your brilliant spark - that endless fount of effortless joy and resilience he'd cherished for so long - had finally been scoured out through unimaginable torment until only the bitter, haunted ashes remained in its wake.

A snarl began building in his chest, low and guttural until it threatened to burst free in an incandescent blaze. Every simmering thread of restraint Grimmjow had worn like shackles holding back the urges to simply seize and ravage you as he so desperately craved came apart like smoke dissolving on the wind. The need to find Nnoitra and utterly annihilate him down to his very core suddenly blazed with the intensity of a dying star finally going supernova in one apocalyptic conflagration.

But just as Grimmjow began turning towards hunting his prey down no matter the consequences, your quavering rasp reached his ears and paralyzed him in his tracks.

"Don't..." you whispered in a broken cadence against his thundering pulse, hands feebly clutching his shirt with the last vapors of strength. "Please Grimm...I just want to be done...to stop hurting for a while and just...rest here with you..."

And just like that, all the smoldering bloodlust and wrath simply evaporated, leaving Grimmjow feeling utterly deflated as he turned back to gather you closer. You wound enfeebled arms around his midsection, clinging to his hulking frame with unconcealed desperation as he simply swayed in place, murmuring wordless reassurance against your disheveled hair.

How many times had he wished to declare his love in that heated silence, to reveal the aching depths of devotion roiling in his chest for years? Too many to ever recount as the seconds stretched into eternities under the leaden weight of your private anguish exsanguinating against him...

But somehow, in that suspended purgatory, Grimmjow also felt the stirrings of hope threatening to bloom impossibly through the bitter soil of his longstanding resignation. As if your hollowed vulnerability offered an oasis out of the howling void you'd both been trapped in since the beginning...

He pulled back just enough for your bleary, bloodshot eyes to find his, one hand tenderly cupping the curve of your jaw where the first telltale bruise blossomed. Grimmjow studied your ravaged features with something approaching reverence despite the wounds etched there.

To think your radiance had finally broken and started to cool towards ashen despondence...the reality sliced deeper than any physical torment. Yet also revealed an untold strength residing in those battered depths that threatened to rob Grimmjow of his composure entirely in a different way. He thumbed over your split lower lip with trembling care, utterly transfixed by every hitched breath shuddering through your lungs.

Unable to resist the swirling undertow any longer, Grimmjow surged forward and captured your parted lips in a searing, infinitely tender glide. The contact was barely there at first - a mere whisper of reverence and restrained longing scorching his senses. But then you whimpered softly against his mouth, and like a drowning man gulping life-giving air, Grimmjow deepened the kiss with a rumbling groan.

You both seemed frozen for one suspended eternity, bodies locked in a molten clinch as his tongue traced the plush seam of your lips in unspoken entreaty. When you finally parted them with a shuddering sigh, Grimmjow felt something primal and ravenous unfurl in his gut with blinding intensity.

He cradled the nape of your neck with infinite care, angling your faces impossibly closer as his tongue delved past your lips to explore every slick, velvet crevice with aching leisure. Each sweep of his velvet muscle elicited the most blissful, broken little sounds punching free from your core that stoked the banked embers in Grimmjow's own into an insatiable blaze.

"Sweet girl..." he murmured against your swollen mouth between heated, indulgent kisses. "Let me take care of you properly this time..."

You keened softly in response, hands scrabbling up the firm musculature of his back and shoulders as if seeking purchase against the tidal wave of sensation threatening to bowl you both under entirely. Grimmjow could only growl in dark approval, trailing open-mouthed worship down the slender column of your throat while gathering you against his powerful frame.

With a leonine heave, he surged to his feet and carried you through the living room without breaking his sensual cadence. Your thighs parted instinctively to bracket his hips like a lifeline, shaky gasps ghosting over his fevered skin with each lush undulation of your tangled forms.

"That's it..." Grimmjow husked out in a rumbling purr laced with sinful promise. "Stay right here with me, let me show you how good it feels to be handled right..."

By the time he lowered you reverently onto the rumpled sheets and covered your pliant body with his own, the weight of unrequited yearning and hunger etched in every etched ridge and hollow had reached a fever pitch. Yet despite the unmistakable claiming energy thrumming through each vein and sinew, Grimmjow retained an unhurried, almost meditative pace as he worked to rid you of your clothes.

Hands roamed and mapped every lush curve and quivering hollow, thumbs skating over feverish skin with aching tenderness even as he blazed a path of devouring kisses along the slopes of your breasts. You arched into him helplessly, lost to the sublime rapture of touch and being so thoroughly adored by someone who saw your radiant essence unveiled before anything else.

Your legs fell open wider as Grimmjow settled firmly between your splayed thighs, the firm swell of his cock straining his boxers against your molten core. Your hips canted upwards to grind against the welcome friction, hands scrabbling up and down the flexing contours of his muscled torso with unrestrained wantonness.

"God, so fucking perfect for me, babygirl," Grimmjow groaned against the valley between your breasts, one hand delving lower to cup your soaked sex and thumb your swollen clit. "Never gonna let anyone mistreat you or take this precious pussy for granted again, sweetheart..."

Then his face dipped lower still, and all coherent thought fled your mind as his full, pouty lips closed over one aching nipple and began suckling in earnest. You whimpered and squirmed beneath him, the wet heat of his mouth and teasing scrape of his teeth driving you wild.

Grimmjow merely growled around the pert, glistening bud and switched to its neglected twin, alternating between long, slow laps and gentle nips. His calloused fingers continued their torturous dance around your dripping slit, sliding over your folds and circling your swollen clit in unhurried, dizzying spirals.

The air grew thick with your combined panting breaths and the sinful, slick sounds of his relentless ministrations. All the while, the insistent throb of his rigid shaft grinding against you in steady rhythm built the pressure of unbridled need higher and higher still until you were sure you'd be swallowed by the rising tide entirely.

"Please...Grimmjow, please I can't take it anymore!" you sobbed, hands fisting in his tousled cerulean locks and yanking. "I need you inside me, want you to fuck me and make it better, please..."

At your breathless, broken entreaty, Grimmjow's head reared up from your flushed chest with an almost feral snarl. The blistering heat radiating from his piercing cerulean gaze was enough to scald you to the bone, igniting the molten embers simmering through your veins anew.

"Fuck, I want to, baby…so goddamn much," he bit out, teeth gritted as he loomed over you with one forearm braced on the headboard. "But you've had enough rough treatment for a lifetime. Gonna be real sweet and thorough when I make you mine at last, gorgeous."

He dipped his head low and sealed his mouth over yours in another soul-searing kiss, tongues tangling and breath mingling. You felt the blunt, silky head of his cock nudging your drenched folds aside and gliding through your folds to graze your sensitive bundle of nerves. Then the fat, velvety tip began prodding at your entrance, and you were certain the delicious pressure might very well undo you before you'd even felt him sink fully inside you.

"Gonna take it real slow, babygirl, so just breathe for me, yeah?" he husked against your parted lips.

Grimmjow punctuated his gravelly command with a shallow roll of his hips, the thick, bulbous crown stretching your tender walls with agonizing tenderness. Your inner muscles clenched instinctively, the initial burn of intrusion giving way to the delicious fullness that promised so much more to come.

"Yes, fuck yes Grimmjow, keep going, don't stop..."

The raw, pleading notes of your voice only served to spur him on, and he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder with a hoarse curse. The powerful flex and coil of his sinewy form above you as he sank deeper inside you inch by aching inch was an utter thing of beauty.

Every twitch and clench of your walls drew out a different sound from his lips - a ragged gasp or breathy groan, or something more akin to a guttural snarl. The overwhelming intensity was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, and yet felt like the culmination of all the shared yearning and desire built up for so long.

When the rigid girth finally bottomed out, your legs hooked instinctively around his waist and you let out a keening cry, overwhelmed by the delicious pressure throbbing within. Grimmjow merely let out a shudder exhale, lips brushing your sweat-slicked brow and jaw.

"Fuck, you feel like pure heaven around my cock, princess," he groaned, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as his hips began a slow, deep thrust. "So goddamn good, never wanna leave this sweet pussy now that I've had a taste..."

His words sent a fresh thrill zipping down your spine, and your back arched up to meet the sinuous roll of his body in a languid counterpoint. Your fingers carded through the coarse azure strands tumbling around his handsome features, the sheer intensity of his adoring gaze searing into your soul and sending shivers through your writhing frame.

Grimmjow pressed impassioned kisses along the line of your jaw and collarbone, all the while murmuring soft words of praise and endearment. His tempo was a measured, unhurried glide that kept building the pressure within you to an excruciating fever pitch.

The heady friction of his velvet length massaging your inner walls in the most sinful way soon had you babbling incoherently. His name fell from your lips in broken, reverent litany as if invoking a sacred prayer - the only truth that mattered in that moment.

"H-Harder, Grimm...please..." you gasped, the coil in your belly drawing tighter and tighter with each exquisite slide.

"Uh-uh, babygirl, not this time," he rumbled back, one hand skimming over the smooth plane of your torso to cradle the crest of your hip with unflinching tenderness. "Wanna show you how good it feels when someone loves you like they're meant to..."

With those gravelly words, Grimmjow's pace slowed further still until each thrust was a languid, almost agonizing pull out followed by a torturous press in. His lips closed over yours in a drugging kiss, tongues gliding in unhurried, sinful caresses that only stoked the inferno of your mutual desire into an inextinguishable conflagration.

You keened helplessly, utterly at his mercy in the best possible way. With his strong, broad body braced above you and his unyielding cock filling you completely, the rest of the world fell away to insignificance. It was as if you'd finally found the home and shelter you'd sought so desperately in that shared, silent space - in the warmth of his arms and the searing heat of his touch.

Grimmjow broke the kiss suddenly, a deep shudder coursing through his powerful frame as he buried his face in the hollow of your throat with a ragged, drawn-out groan. You could feel the telltale flutter of his swollen member against your tender inner walls and knew his own release was near.

"Fuck, I-I'm close, sweet girl..."

His strained voice seemed to drag you out of the haze of ecstasy you'd been swept away on, and the sight of him above you nearly undid you completely.

His cerulean locks tumbled around his fevered expression in disheveled tendrils, eyes blazing with pure adoration and devotion and the strain of unyielding restraint holding back his climax. His arms quivered on either side of you, muscles rippling and bunching as he fought to maintain his torturous pace and draw out the bliss for just a little longer.

You wound your legs tighter around his lean waist, angling your hips up and letting out a high, breathless gasp as he sank impossibly deeper inside you. Grimmjow cursed darkly, teeth grazing the column of your throat and hands fisting the sheets until his knuckles blanched.

"I-I love you, [Y/N]...fuck, I love you so much," he groaned, voice cracking at the end and betraying the depth of his emotion. "Please say it back, let me hear it at least once, please..."

Your heart stuttered at his impassioned, whispered plea. The raw, naked longing etched on his features threatened to overwhelm you entirely. But in the end, there was no doubt left in your mind about what you needed to do, and no fear at the idea of exposing the tender, fragile parts of yourself in turn.

"I love you too, Grimmjow," you whispered back, hands reaching up to tenderly cup his cheeks and bring his feverish, desperate gaze back to yours. "You're the only one I've ever loved like this, and the only one I want, I promise."

And just like that, the leonine man above you seemed to collapse with a shuddering exhale, burying his face in the valley between your breasts as his powerful body went taut as a bowstring. A few more deep, hard thrusts and the pressure within you snapped, sending you both hurtling over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Your back arched off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open on a choked sob as the first waves of pleasure crashed through your frame. Grimmjow's answering snarl and ragged exhale signaled his own release, the molten heat of his essence flooding your core and filling every inch of your quivering channel with his seed.

He continued rocking into you as you both rode out the last echoes of release, hips twitching and muscles shuddering with the aftershocks. Your legs fell bonelessly to the bed, thighs quivering and chest heaving as he rolled off you at last, his spent cock slipping free from your quivering sex with a lewd squelch.

He gathered you against him, one powerful arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against his firm, sinewy torso. The other stroked and smoothed over the sweat-slicked strands of hair clinging to your temples and forehead, fingers trailing tenderly over your features and pressing a reverent kiss to your parted lips.

"[Y/N]...my precious girl, don't know how I'll ever let you go," Grimmjow mumbled against your temple, nuzzling his cheek against the crown of your head. "You deserve so much better than what I have to offer, but I'm still not letting you leave. Never."

A fresh swell of emotion threatened to break loose, but this time, it was not borne of heartache or despair. You turned your face up to his, pressing a chaste kiss to his sculpted jaw and reveling in the possessive squeeze of his arms around you.

"Then I'm not going anywhere, Grimmjow."

He let out a satisfied rumble and nosed along the slope of your throat and jaw, pressing lazy kisses wherever he could reach. The soothing motion lulled you into a pleasant, boneless haze, the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad chest lulling you deeper into the depths of slumber.

The last thing you heard before slipping away was the soft, reverent whisper breathed against the crown of your head.

"Love you, [Y/N]...more than I ever thought was possible."

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach smut #bleach x reader smut #bleach x you #grimmjow x reader smut #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow smut #troupe master grimm

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amirasainz · 22 days

Note

Hi literally get so excited when you update! Can you write one where charles x alexandra x reader where charles and alex are away for an event and forget that it's the reader birthday ans only remember when someone tells them birthday it and they try and make it up to her.

Hi loves. I hope you enjoy this little piece. Let me know what you think. Comments are always apreciated!I'm sorry,but the Sydney Sweeny picture was perfect, so I had to include it😉

Also, question (and please answer me that in the comments), does anyone read what I write before the story? Like the little message here? I'm just curious❤️

Enjoy reading and send me requests!!❤️

-XoXo

The Birthday disaster

You couldn’t believe it. They weren’t here. They didn’t call, text, or even send you a freaking letter. Your own boyfriend and girlfriend forgot your birthday. And not just any birthday, it was your 21 birthday. Instead of celebrating with Alex, Charles, and all of your friends in a vibrant club, you were sitting on the balcony of your apartment. Despite the cold wind hitting your bare skin mercilessly, thanks to the cute short dress you wore today, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk back inside.

Of course, your friends tried to get you to come out with them to celebrate your birthday properly. But it just hurt too much, and to be honest, your mind was too tired and sad for any kind of festivity.

When Charles and Alex first informed you about the event hosted by one of Alex’s friends, they eagerly asked you to join them. Unfortunately, your job didn’t allow you to tag along, which both of them understood. However, they promised you that they would return today at around 5 o’clock. To be honest, you thought they had something special planned for your birthday. But last night, at around 11 pm, you received a text from Alex, informing you that they would be staying longer in Venice, where the event was held.

At first, you thought this was some kind of joke. Maybe they wanted you to think that they weren’t able to celebrate with you, only to surprise you with a birthday party. But sadly, when you woke up this morning, nothing happened. Throughout the day, there was complete silence between you and them.

Your group of friends, who had been with you a few hours ago to at least celebrate your birthday a little bit, tried to convince you to go out and party with them. Before you could agree, you got a notification from Instagram. You were tagged quite often in a post showing Alex and Charles at the event. They looked so happy and carefree, making you feel even more numb.

Despite their best efforts, your friends left after half an hour, after you reassured them with phrases like “Yes, I will take care of myself,” “Yes, I will call you if I need anything,” and “No, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m completely fine.” They knew you were anything but fine; however, they also knew that you needed to be alone right now.

So here you are, sitting alone in the cold with your only companions being the vodka bottle you brought with you and the relentless wind hitting your skin. “Happy fucking 21st birthday to me, I guess,” you muttered to yourself, staring out at the sea.

“Oh my god, Lisa. You truly outdid yourself,” complimented Alex, her friend. And it was true. The event was filled with beautiful flowers and lights, giving the room a fairy-like appearance. The soft glow of the lights reflected off the petals, creating a magical ambiance that made everyone feel like they had stepped into an enchanted garden. Charles, who stood next to his girlfriend, only brought her closer to him and said, “Yeah, I have to agree. I’m 100% sure YN would have loved it.” “You are so right, love. I wish she was here with us,” agreed Alex, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Wait, I’m confused. So there is nothing wrong between you guys and YN?” asked Lisa, her brow furrowed in confusion. Alex and Charles shared a look with each other, both of them equally puzzled. “No, why would there be anything wrong with us?” Alex replied, her tone defensive. “Oh, I just thought you had a fight and this is the reason why you are here and not with YN today. But I must have been wrong…” Linda’s voice trailed off, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She shared a look with her partner Mary, both of them realizing the gravity of the situation.

“Wait, stop. Pause. Why would we be with YN tonight? You invited us to your event and we are here. I don’t get what’s going on right now,” said Alex, her frustration mounting. It felt like Mary and Lisa knew something she and Charles didn’t. Mary, who was now also becoming more annoyed with how the two of them acted before them, didn’t take any nonsense from Alex.

Without hesitation, she looked straight into Alex’s eyes and told her with an ice-cold voice, “Well, we weren’t expecting you to show up today because we thought that you would be busy celebrating YN’s 21 birthday today. But from the looks of it, it seems like you forgot your own girlfriend’s birthday. So don’t talk to us with that rude tone of yours. At least we remember each other’s birthdays.” With that, Mary took Lisa by the hand and left, leaving Alex and Charles standing there in stunned silence.

Alex and Charles were left behind, both staring at the space where the couple used to be a few seconds ago. Both of them felt a wave of guilt and shame wash over them. How could they forget their own girlfriend’s birthday? Turning on their phones, they saw the flood of messages they had received from not only their fans but also their friends, YN’s friends, and their families. Each message was a painful reminder of their oversight.

“We messed up so badly,” muttered Charles, looking at Alex with a pained expression. The woman could only nod, still speechless. Charles took her arm and gently but firmly led her out of the room. “We have to go to her. ASAP,” Alex told Charles, who was already a step ahead of her and had their jackets in hand. With that, the couple left the event, both feeling a deep sense of remorse. How could they forget their girl’s birthday?

As they hurried to their car, Alex’s mind raced with thoughts of how to make it up to YN. She knew it would take more than just an apology to mend the hurt they had caused. Charles, too, was lost in his thoughts, thinking of ways to show YN how much she meant to them. They both knew that they had a lot of making up to do, but they were determined to do whatever it took to make things right.

At around 1 am, the couple finally arrived home. The ride back had been silent, the air in the car feeling oppressively thick, making it hard to breathe. They parked their car in the garage and, without hesitation, jumped out of the vehicle, racing towards the elevator. The few minutes it took to reach their front door felt like an eternity, each second stretching painfully.

When they entered the apartment, everything was shrouded in darkness. A figure sat on the balcony, barely visible in the dim light. Charles immediately sat next to YN, while Alex kneeled in front of her. YN didn’t even look at them before taking a gulp from the nearly empty bottle of vodka. “Hey love, I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” whispered Charles, gently trying to take the bottle away from the now 21-year-old girl.

YN shook her head, her voice trembling as she reminded them, “No. NO, you do not get to tell me what I can and cannot do. Not after you forgot about me.” “Baby, we didn’t forget about you,” Alex tried, her eyes already filling with tears. YN only laughed, her own tears streaming down her face. “No, Alexandra. You do not get to tell me that after you forgot my birthday, and you certainly don’t get to cry.” “Ok, let’s all calm down,” Charles attempted again, his voice soothing but firm.

“No Charles! I don’t want to calm down. You both forgot about me. You two promised me that something like this would never happen to us. You promised me that you would always love me. You promised me that the age gap didn’t bother you when we started dating when I was 19. But look at us. You already broke one of your promises. How can I be sure that you won’t break another one?” With that, YN broke down in tears. Her whole body shook with the force of her sobs, her head held in her hands.

Charles and Alex immediately moved to comfort her. “YN, breath. We are so freaking sorry. I guarantee you, we didn’t mean for something like this to happen. We were all so busy with our jobs and social lives that we didn’t mean to forget something so important,” Charles began, his voice filled with regret.

Alex took YN’s head into her hands, gently wiping away her tears. “We love you more than anything in this world. You are our air and our heart. And we will apologize for the rest of our lives if we have to,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. YN only whispered, “I love you guys too.” Alex didn't hesitate before kissing her girlfriend. after a moment the they pulled apart.

Charles turned her face towards him, speaking softly, “And we didn’t lie when we told you the age gap didn’t bother us. And we certainly didn’t lie when we promised you that we would always love you, ok?” After YN nodded, Letting Charles also kiss her. This kiss was filled with as much love as Alex, just a bit more urgently but still gentle. After their kiss, the three of them cuddled close to each other, finding solace in their shared warmth.

It would take some time before everything was alright between the three of them again. But for now, sitting together and watching the city lights flicker in the distance was the perfect way to start healing.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x alexandra saint mleux x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female oc #-XoXo

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 1 year

Text

used to this | l.m.h

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... fluff, soft moment with minho 🥹, established relationship

the soft voices, the late-night cuddling, the sweet and fluttering affections you showed each other; man, minho could get used to this.

wc... 777 words a/n... look i know i said felix would be next but i rly liked how this turned out like it's just short and sooo sweet! which i think represents minho a lot HAHAHA,, i hope you enjoy <3 (also thank you so much for 700 followers ily guys so much istg)

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You and Minho have been seeing each other for a couple of months and it's been great. You just click, you fit together, you're a match! You even have a little tradition where he comes over to your place every week and the two of you watch a movie, show, anime, or whatever content interests you that night. Tonight, Minho chose to watch Spirited Away because, surprisingly, he'd never seen it before.

You've watched this movie many times before and it was one of your comfort films, but right now, you just weren't too invested in it—not when you already had all the comfort you needed from the person you were watching it with.

As the TV screen illuminated the dark living room, you sat on the couch, eyes unfocused and mind elsewhere. Minho was lying on his side with his head resting on your lap, an act of affection he had only recently made a habit of.

Absent-mindedly, you began playing with Minho's hair, running your fingers through the soft tufts. He made a sound—not so much a hum, but rather more akin to a purr—and leaned into your touch. "That feels nice," he remarked softly.

You giggled at his light, gentle voice, one that he only ever uses with you (and his beloved cats). As you continued petting his head, you pulled your phone out to capture your cute interaction. After taking several photos, you put your phone away, directing your eyes back to the screen in front of you.

No matter how hard he tried, Minho couldn't get himself to stay awake. He found his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, the feeling of your fingers in his hair lulling him to sleep.

When you noticed the absence of comments from your boyfriend, you leaned forward to check if he was awake. Upon seeing Minho sound asleep, eyelids closed and mouth slightly parted, your gaze softened and your previously furrowed brows fell. Only he could make you melt like that.

You paused the movie and turned off the TV. Carefully, you lifted Minho's head off your lap so that you could move to lay down properly next to him. Subconsciously, he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, causing a soft gasp to escape your mouth. ‘God, he's adorable,’ you thought as you wrapped one arm around his back, bringing your other hand to play with his hair once again. After a few minutes, you, too, fell asleep with your boyfriend in your arms.

A few hours later into the night, Minho opened his eyes to find you laying on top of his body, snuggled into him, as he had his arms wrapped around your waist. The only light in the room was from the street lamp outside the window, which cast tall shadows onto your sleeping face. He doesn't quite know how you both ended up in this position, but he didn't mind at all.

Curious about the time, Minho felt around his pocket for his phone but didn't find it. Craning his neck towards the coffee table, he saw it resting atop the surface, far from his reach. Patting his hand around your leg, he felt your phone in your pocket and took it out to check the time. The clock read 1:43 AM, answering Minho's concerns. Too sleepy to notice your new wallpaper, he returned your phone to your pocket. Perhaps he'll notice the image of your fingers threaded in his tousled hair that takes residence on your lock screen another time.

Minho leaned down to press a light kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir. You rubbed your head against his shoulder, tightening your grip around his torso. "That tickles," you whispered against his skin, eliciting a warm smile to appear on his face.

At that moment, Minho realized exactly how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger. He could get used to the weekly movie nights ending in snug cuddles on the couch, the soft and sleepy kisses you exchange when you wake up, and the hushed voices you use to speak to one another when curled up together. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, for as long as you'd let him.

"I love you," he whispered, so quietly that you would've thought it was your own imagination. You lifted your head and let your gaze track from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. In the same soft tone, you whispered back, "I love you too, baby." You reached up and kissed Minho, earning a satisfied hum from him.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

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taglist: @jinnixxn @elllisaaa

#k-labels #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee know x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids lee minho #stray kids lee know #lee know fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz lee know #skz #skz lee minho #・₊✧ written in the stars

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deerlino · 4 months

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Hiya, I adore your fics, they are so amazing and sweet! ❤️‍🩹 Could I request a fic?? Could you do producer! F! Reader x han? Like they're in a secret relationship and they get caught?? 😂 Could you please make it slightly cracky but also extremely fluffy??

caught in the mix.

han jisung x fem!reader / you and jisung are both producers at the same company, secretly dating. but your cover gets blown, and everyone finds out about your relationship.

additional tags / producer!jisung x producer!reader, (domestic) fluff, secret relationship, getting caught, canon compliant, workplace romance, established relationship, humor, crack, teasing & banter — 773 words in total.

content warnings / mild swearing, kissing (soft kisses, kisses on the neck, some intense moments of kissing)

authors note @ 15092000volcano / this was super cute to write! <3 i haven't done many jisung fics, so i was really excited to get this request. 😋 plus, i’m obsessed with the producer trope right now, so it was the perfect way to spend my sunday evening. thanks, anon, for the sweet request and the kind words about my work—it means a lot! hope you love the fic! 💓

You’re in a dimly lit recording studio, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. The place is familiar, almost like a second home, except for one crucial detail: this is where you and Jisung have been sneaking off to. You glance over at him as he tinkers with the mixing board, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the computer screen. He catches your eye and shoots you a quick wink, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Hey, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Pass me the headphones?”

You slide them over, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you wonder how long you can keep this secret from the rest of the team. It’s not that you want to hide your relationship, but you know how chaotic things can get with everyone involved.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Chan strides in, his usual confident swagger in place. He freezes mid-step when he sees you and Jisung huddled together.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

You both jump apart like you’ve been electrocuted, and Jisung clears his throat awkwardly. “Nope, just, uh, working on a new track.”

Chan’s eyes narrow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Right. Working. Sure.” He gives you a pointed look before sauntering out, leaving you both in a flustered silence.

“Well, that was close,” you mutter, trying to steady your racing heart.

Jisung chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry, babe. We just need to be more careful.”

The next day, you’re in the kitchen, trying to make coffee without waking up the whole house. Jisung sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You lean into his touch, a content sigh escaping your lips.

“Morning,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“Morning,” you reply, turning to kiss him properly.

Just as your lips meet, the door swings open again. This time, it’s Felix, his hair a mess and his eyes half-closed. He stops dead in his tracks, blinking rapidly as if he’s not sure he’s really seeing this.

“Oh my God,” Felix says, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Are you two...?”

You and Jisung spring apart again, but it’s too late. Felix is already grinning like the Cheshire cat. “This is gold. I can’t wait to tell the others.”

“Felix, no!” you plead, but he’s already out the door, cackling.

Later, you’re sitting in the living room, pretending to watch TV, but your mind is elsewhere. Jisung is next to you, his hand discreetly resting on your thigh. You’re trying to act natural when Seungmin strolls in, phone in hand.

He takes one look at you two and snorts. “You guys are terrible at hiding this, you know?”

Jisung tries to play it cool. “Hiding what?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Please, I’ve seen more subtlety in a sledgehammer. Just be glad it’s me and not someone with a camera.”

Your face heats up, and you bury it in Jisung’s shoulder, mumbling something about how you’re trying your best. Jisung just laughs, pulling you closer.

As the day goes on, you and Jisung keep getting caught. Jeongin walks in on you sharing a secret kiss in the hallway and immediately turns on his heel, muttering about how he didn’t need to see that. Hyunjin catches you holding hands under the table and just smirks, giving you a knowing look. Even Minho, who’s usually oblivious to everything, notices the way you and Jisung look at each other and shakes his head with a sigh.

Finally, the inevitable happens. You’re in the studio again, thinking you’re safe. Jisung has you pressed against the wall, his lips on yours, when the door flies open. This time, it’s everyone—all of them, standing there with various expressions of shock, amusement, and exasperation.

“Seriously?” Chan groans, rubbing his temples. “Can you two not keep it in your pants for one minute?”

Felix is laughing so hard he’s doubled over, while Hyunjin and Jeongin exchange high-fives. Seungmin just looks resigned, and Minho’s smirk is wider than ever.

You and Jisung separate, both of you blushing furiously. “Well,” you say, trying to salvage some dignity. “Surprise?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Chan says, but he’s smiling now. “Just... next time, maybe lock the door?”

Jisung chuckles, pulling you into his side. “Noted, boss.”

As everyone piles into the room, the teasing starts in earnest. You feel a warmth spreading through you, knowing that even though you’ve been caught, you’re surrounded by people who care about you.

© deerlino (est. 100624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

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madame-fear · 3 months

Text

𐙚 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

[ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟏 | 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍. ]

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : 9 months passed since I last updated this series... hope this was worth the wait, you guys? ;w; honourary tag to @avatar4life for motivating me to get back into writing TPOL <3 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : when you withdraw yourself after losing your son, it seems as if the Gods don’t care about your attempt to recover; it’s one disappointment after the other. How could you not be bitter? // requested by the lovely @juliavilu1 ♡ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 3.8k (it felt longer.)

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : mostly angst. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Lucerys Velaryon x Jace’s Wife!Reader

WARNING.ᐟ THIS FIC CONTAINS ; mentions of reader’s miscarriage. reader continuing to grieve, non-canon compliant, Jace trying to be a proper husband lmao

ʚɞ TPOL masterlist.

The faint droplets of rain hitting against your face had perfectly blended along the soft tears that ran across your reddened cheeks, as you assisted the funeral of your son. The funeral of your child had been hosted the morrow after your miscarriage— yet, tears could only lazily escape from you.

That desperate, almost helpless need to cry your entire being out had faded away; with only a harrowing grief remaining, continously lurking around you— bringing a familiar sensation of emptiness.

A son. You had given birth to a perfect male heir for your Lord Husband’s line of succession— and what had it all been for? If all that ardous work to be a proper politically-convenient wife and future Queen, bearing with the physically and mentally exhausting responsability of carrying an heir to the Throne, had been tossed into the wind as if it meant nothing.

You felt obliged to carry on. Being the future King and Queen of the Iron Throne, an heir had to be produced from your marriage. But, how could you find any possible strength, at the moment?

It was only in the privacy of your own chambers, where all the tears knotting heavily on your throat, could be freely released. The stillness of your now often darkened chambers brought a dreary comfort, allowing you to calmly rest against the silk sheets of your bed— consumming yourself in your own thoughts, being completely unbothered by anyone.

Seconds, hours, days, weeks had passed, with you continuing to quietly grieve for your miscarriaged son. The muscles in your body weighed, barely allowing you to properly function for the most insignificant, basic dutied. Had the Gods damned a curse upon your marriage? Or had they cursed you, you wondered?

Visitors in your chambers weren’t rare. At times, you dismissed anyone who dared set a foot on the floor of your private, quiet space; while other times, you allowed yourself to be soothed by those who loved you the most. Rhaenyra, having suffered from a miscarriage herself, could only comprehend your current emotional state. And having shared such feelings, she respected the need you have to privately grieve— despite often wanting to visit you, and bring you things to lift your mood.

It was the eldest Velaryon prince, who always did the best of his efforts to be there for you no matter how many responsabilities there were for him to fulfill as future King, and whose guilt slowly consumed him. The continous work you did to learn how to be a proper future Queen, to provide him with an heir... To keep up with the facade of your marriage despite allowing each other to have lovers of your own, never passed unnoticed.

And now, you both grieved for the death of your son. Though, there was no denying that you, overall, had suffered the most. You could only offer pure selfless devotion, and had any of that ever been reciprocated? It never felt as if he had expressed enough gratitude for anything you did, and all your constant efforts to exclusively satisfy him. How could the guilt-ridden thoughts not gnaw on Jacaerys?

Jace’s clear intentions to compensate all that he lacked ever since you had been betrothed were notorious— and you were grateful for his generosity. For once and for all, he had the decency to act like a proper husband. Like a father who had just lost his son, and like a husband who almost losses his wife during labour. However, his company never sufficed to fill the growing void that kept you petrified in the enclosure of your privacy.

You had oftentimes rejected his requests to offer you some company, and Jace could only respect that; giving you the privacy, and the silence you deserved to process the events. It was especially notorious that you deserved more time for yourself, as your grief — with the passing of the days — leisurely turned into a mere bitter fury, violently rushing through every inch of your body. Not outrage, but a desperating need to seek for vengeance.

Had the One Eyed prince not attempted to murder Lucerys in Storm’s End, you would’ve most likely not suffered from that miscarriage— caused by the stress of the entire situation. And now, as if that hadn’t been enough, Aemond’s brother had usurped the Throne that rightfully belonged to your mother-in-law. How could you not be insatiable for revenge, for everything they had caused in your family?

Amidst all the turmoil of your own confused emotions, Lucerys was the only one you sought the most for— the one who’s presence actually brought some genuine calming warmth, while your sanity hung from a thin, fraying thread. Despite his remaining physically weakened state after surviving Storm’s End, you managed to frequently visit one another.

The maesters had suggested for the Heir of the Tides to remain in bed as much as possible while he healed from his wounds, and to walk, he’d have to temporarily use a cane. The secondborn son of Rhaenyra found his way to sneak to your chambers late at night, avoiding the unnecessary event of getting scolded by a maester — perhaps even by Jace and his mother — to regularly check on you after the daunting miscarriage you suffered.

The only one who gave you the will to move your muscles out of bed, even if you just practically dragged yourself out of it, was the future Lord of Driftmark. Whenever Luke had to stay in bed to recover quicker, you were the one sneaking through the halls to give him a visit, and checking his health state as well— much like he always did with you. And any opportunity you had of spending your time with Lucerys, you happily took it.

The heir of Driftmark... The only one who could properly fill that growing shallow void inside of you. And the only one who would comfort you tenderly whenever your emotions went from dispirited, to infuriated each time you remembered the situations surrounding your family.

At the moment, your gaze was lifted towards the light blue skies— cleared from any clouds. The bright beams of the sunlight were strong enough for your eyes to faintly squint, continuing to silently admire the view. You were enveloped in your own thoughts, as you awaited for Lucerys to arrive. Something common between the two of you was going out for walks around the vast gardens of Dragonstone, simply to talk, or share thoughts.

The future Lord had been the one to insist going out for a walk around the gardens, and you simply agreed. Though, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of guilt knowing his state wasn’t perfect yet, as he had to walk around with a cane.

“You came. I’m happy to know you’re here.” a familiar voice cooed behind of you, causing you to turn around. It was none other than Lucerys, of course, as you had been expecting him. A faint grin formed on the corner of your lips, seeing how Luke approached closer to you; the cane tapping against the ground with each step.

Your presence around Dragonstone in general was a rare sighting ever since you miscarriaged. Tireless attempts had been made to get you out of your chambers, and yet, everyone failed to convince you— until now. Knowing you did the effort to walk out towards the gardens, despite the constant heaviness you felt in every sense, made the secondborn son of Rhaenyra rather proud.

Inhaling some fresh oxygen and the sweet scent of the garden flowers felt refreshing... Soothing, calming. “Of course I came. I could never refuse any of your proposals.” you remarked quietly, and you had done well in accepting to walk around the gardens. For the first time ever since you had began your own battle with grief, those self-loathing thoughts managed to vanish very slightly. All you had to do, was admire the lovely sightings before you, and the surroundings.

His free hand was offered for you to take, and that’s what you had done. Delicately placing your hand on top of his own, both of you began strolling through the place with soft steps. His green eyes observed you, “You don’t have to go out only because I ask you to come with me.” he began, “You have to go out for yourself. It will make you feel slightly better.”

Discreetly, you eye rolled at his words, continuing to faintly grin. You weren’t surprised about his usual overprotectiveness around you— but, you couldn’t complain, neither you could say you didn’t understand his reasons to be that way. “I know, you don’t have to remind me.” you replied, with a slight colder tone. “You’re right, however. The fresh air feels... Relieving.”

A brief moment of silence appeared, feeling how his bright green eyes kept staring at you, while he guided you through the gardens. “It feels more relieving than praying to the Gods, certainly.” you continued, “I’ve turned my attention to the faith of the Seven, seeking to find some sort of... Solace. And the only feedback I ever received from them, was nothingness.”

The Prince was aware of the different activities you tried to engage whilst being in your chambers, and not laying in bed— such as sewing, writing, reading... And praying, as well. He could only understand why you would try to desperately find comfort by praying to the Gods; but while many other people could turn to them for relief, you couldn’t. Despondency could only drown you helplessly, along with bitterness.

“I have more than once been sure that the Gods must despise me.” the leaves softly crunched beneath you, with each steps you gave. The sound of your voice was gentle, being merely heard by only him. “My betrothal has been damned by them, as well as my child. I must have been damned by them.” while those thoughts initially tightened a knot in your throat, bringing you at the edge of tears, you had learned to live with such belief of yours.

A frown appeared on his expressions, furrowing his eyebrows softly. The personality change you suffered was drastic, filled with constant self-loathe. Words lacked for him to properly comfort you from the pain you had been burdened with, they just weren’t enough anymore— Luke wished he could protect you from your own sea of thoughts, make them fade away in an instant. If only it were that easy.

“The Gods don’t despise you, nor you’ve been damned by them.” your gaze turned to him this time, instead of the path you walked in. “You simply shouldn’t have been exposed to all these political situations while being with child.” Lucerys said, hoping to offer you some comfort. “If anything, you should have been protected from all of that.”

You were the most selfless, devoted person he cherished the most. If anything, the Gods themselves should be the ones cherishing you as well. Purity and innocence exuded from you, and you had been unjustly put into suffering. If there was anyone to blame, it was his uncles... Well, the Greens in general, perhaps.

Craning your head to the path in front of you as you approached a little bench you both sat in each time you came to the gardens, you clenched your jaw slightly in vexation.

Sorrow mixed with a growing wrath was such a nasty, bitter mix for you. Had you had the chance of riding a dragon’s back and burn down King’s Landing with dragonfire all by yourself at the present moment, you would do it in the blink of an eye, with no hesitation. How could they have the audacity to ruin your family bit by bit with their resentment, hidden under the excuse of rightneousness?

“If your grandmother had burnt them down when she had the opportunity, none of this would’ve happened.” you remarked, in a low tone. Without even having to stare at him, you could notice his eyes slightly widening in surprise at your response. “My son wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for the distress that bought me the news of your uncle almost murdering you, and your mother’s throne wouldn’t be usurped.”

Innocenced grasped out of you, with the passing of the time, and of the days. “And yet, your mother still doesn’t want to start war with the Greens.” as you continued talking, you both reached the small bench, being allowed to sit first, only to then have the Velaryon heir sitting next to you.

Another brief moment of silence lurked. It was almost startling to see you thinking of war, when the only thing you always provided everyone with, was mere sweetness and peacefulness. “I thought you weren’t one to think of war.” Lucerys responded, still soothingly, curiously laying his eyes on your features. Though, he wasn’t one to complain if you were willing to vehemently fight for his mother’s rightful birthright— you were quite an admirable woman.

“I never really was one to support, or want war.” lifting your sight towards his eyes, you offered him a frowny smile. And you felt it again, the tears threatening to spill from your now watery eyes, as a knot on your throat made your voice sound broken. A great deal of strenght had to be taken, fighting back the urge to keep crying any more in front of him. “But that part of me died, already. It died along with my son.”

“War isn’t an option. It’s an answer.” you scoffed, correcting yourself. “The answer, actually.”

You couldn’t be risked by going into war. The most precioust thing Lucerys could had ever adored genuinely, with the purest adoration. Anyone, but you. “Jace wouldn’t want you to go to war, and neither do I.” while Luke knew Jace wouldn’t want you either engaging in war, much less in the current state you were in, the one who dreaded down to the core the idea of you getting harmed in any possible way during war, was actually Lucerys himself.

“Jace’s lover is going to war. Why wouldn’t I? It’s only fair I get to fight for my family’s rights as well.” you had a point. And while you were one insistent person, Lucerys would further strive to be even more insistent than you were— attempting to convince you to care after yourself. The future Lord refused to have you involved in any sort of war, or battle.

“You’re still his wife. His wife who still grieves for the son you both just lost.” he argued back, “I doubt he’ll want any more grand troubles for you. None of us wouldn’t wish for you to get any more distressed than you already clearly are.” his hand rested delicately on your shoulder as he spoke, using his thumb to caress you affectionately.

The warmth of his touch, accompanied with his adoring stare, could almost make you melt. There was no doubt that both boys held deep appreciation for you... But, each appreciated you in their own ways. Still, the only company that could genuinely fill that void inside of you, was Lucerys.

It wasn’t that Jace didn’t love you, and neither that you didn’t love him— it was all quite the contrary. But you had both agreed to stay married for political conveniences, and turn to your own lovers privately.

You had naturally grieved together for the death of your biological child together. Jace had cried by your side during the funeral,, holding you tightly when you needed it the most. You received several visits from him in your chambers to check on your health, as well as different sorts of gifts that the eldest Velaryon knew you’d like.

Yet, it simply felt like a kind friend taking care of another friend, rather than the supposed husband-wife relationship you were meant to have... Far from the relationship you craved to have with him from the beginning. And you had to admit, each time you reminded yourself of the private deal you both made, deep down inside it still felt painful.

“I’m not saying Jace doesn’t care for me, I know he does. And I know you do, too.” you paused, “But I’m only his political wife, we agreed to each have lovers of our own. And my way to grieve our child, will be by going to war against the Greens.”

When you referred to his cousin as Jace’s lover, the future Lord only guessed it was a manner of saying. Luke was no stranger to the constant efforts you put into showing Jace your devotion, and the genuine love you felt for him. He could’ve only thought that, somehow, you managed to deal together with the tense situation of his brother being focused on another woman.

And you had, in a way— but not in the way Luke expected. For how long had you kept the deal to yourselves, he wondered?

As long as you both were satisfied with the agreement, Lucerys was pleased as well. Though, having known you for quite some time and having grown closer to you, the Prince knew it was quite the opposite; and the miscarriage you suffered only helped to withdraw yourself further.

One couldn’t change what, or who your heart desired, of course... But one thing you change, was the way you acted. And Jace hadn’t been exactly discreet with his attention turned to his cousin, neither had he paid any mind to your countless attempts of bonding with him. All the devotion, constant small little dates you tried to have with Jace, all the attention you had paid to be the most caring wife, simply to be walked over.

If only Rhaenyra had betrothed him to you, he would’ve shown you what it meant to have properly reciprocated all the love you constantly offered. How could Jace not make the effort to pay any more attention with you? To cherish you, appreciate all your efforts and strength? The current attention that the future heir to the Throne gave you was simply not enough— and it made Lucerys grow desperate, internally.

His eyebrows furrowed at your words, allowing a calming silence to continue lurking between you. “I... Had no idea you agreed such thing.” he muttered, “I wish things could have been different between the two of you. You deserved to have a happy marriage with the person you loved.” if only you had known that the person you actually loved wasn’t your betrothed, but rather, his brother. Someone who had the gentleness to offer you his love and company in every situation, whether it was good, or bad.

“Things like these tend to happen in betrothals, you grow used to it.” you shrugged, almost indifferently. “I can’t deny the fact that I saw it coming from afar, with every day that passed.”

As unfair as Luke thought the situation you experienced with Jace was, it had now been his turn to experiment the same.

Days had passed, and the idea of his mother discussing to betrothe him to his cousin Rhaena hadn’t sinked down properly just yet. It was only a matter of time, until there was the need for him to have future Lady of Driftmark— it was now just a matter of the topic getting announced officially. And despite constantly trying to compromise himself to not do the exact same thing his brother did with you, the situation was far more complex.

The idea of disrespecting his betrothed didn’t suit him right, much less knowing how that had turned out for you. However, that was only if one of the two parts in the betrothal was keen in making it work with actual love, rather than sticking completely to the idea of a political convinience, like you had tried to do— and Lucerys could only cling to the hopes that he would manage to come to the same terms of each privately having lovers of their own.

Or, at least, Luke would make it far more than discreet than his brother had been.

“Betrothals are complicated. I still don’t know how I will make it work my own, with my cousin Rhaena.” and while you were distracted, silently staring at the flowers in the garden, you suddenly faced him with a raised eyebrow in dismay. His own betrothal with Rhaena? And you hadn’t heard about it, yet?

“Your own betrothal... With your cousin?” softly, you blinked your eyes several times. It felt as if your mind has been abruptly grounded once again. Lucerys mimicked your own previous actions, lifting his sight to stare back at you, as his eyes had been fixed on the ground. “Mother is planning to betrothe her to me, it will be officially announced in these upcoming days.”

The Gods must have something against you, clearly. You had grown to barely tolerate the fact that the man who’s supposed to be your Husband, and one that you had deeply loved more than anything once, was now free to have a lover of his own due to your mutual agreement— and now, the only person who had been there for you when your betrothed wasn’t... Would soon have a wife, as well?

You occasionally dreaded the mere thought of knowing his betrothal to any Lady would soon come. They were common in noble families, and Luke was no exception at all, much less being the future Lord of Driftmark. But... Somehow, that thought hadn’t occupied much space in your mind, as you were more focused on all the good things his presence brought. Now? You could only swallow the remaining crumbs of your pride.

Disappointment heavily weighed on the entirety of your body, and unsurprisingly, you felt as if there were no more tears left to cry out. All that you had built-up, had been released. The only thing left, was feel consumed by the weight of melancholy, to continue with the lowest of spirits. All you asked, was for one good thing to ease all the burden you had been carrying for the past few days.

Frowning, both your hands rested on your lap, your gazed turning down to stare at them. You thickly swallowed, releasing a huffed sigh. How silly of you to believe, you had any chances with him... Or at least, you thought you wouldn’t have a chance at all now, if there was any slight possibility.

“You will find a way to bear with it, just like I did... Like I always do.”

If only you had been married to Lucerys from the very beginning, you would have never suffered as much as you did.

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