#i have endless thoughts about this show now!

[thinkinginpen]

Stop Me Now Part 2

a/n: I had to write part two. I loved the first one so much pairing: dbf!logan x reader w/c: 4.1k warnings: age gap, arguing, angst, being kicked out summary: Your dad found out and it didn't end well. But you had a boyfriend now... you couldn't go back to Logan...

It had been three months. Three months since you last saw Logan. Three months since you walked out the door, leaving behind a trail of heartache and memories.

The absence of the one you loved left an emptiness in your heart like a cold, lonely vacuum. Three months passed like a slow, endless dream, and the memories you had with Logan still lingered like sweet, bittersweet ghosts in your mind.

That feeling of love was evident in every detail. The way he protected you, showing his deep care and concern, and the way he was so passionate and engaged in arguments, even when you disagreed. It was more than just lust or casual interest, it was a deeper connection born from a genuine love.

Despite what Logan had said, the love you shared still felt real and true. Perhaps your father wouldn't have approved, and maybe it seemed wrong on the surface. But none of that changed the authenticity of the love and connection you had with Logan.

At the sound of your dad's knock, your thoughts were suddenly interrupted, and your heart leaped in your chest. "Logan's here," your dad said softly through the door.

You froze for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. The thought of seeing him again after these three months filled you with...

Anger.

You felt a wave of anger and frustration wash over you as you heard your dad's casual announcement. Why was Logan here now, after all these months of silence? Did he think he could just show up unannounced, as if nothing had happened between you?

As you took a deep breath to calm yourself, your mind was racing with conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to see him, to hear his voice and feel his presence once again. But another part of you was still hurt and angry about the way things had ended.

"What does he want?" you asked your dad, trying to keep your tone even.

Your dad hesitated for a moment, sensing your confusion and frustration. "He is over for dinner honey," he responded. "What else? He missed his best friend's, AKA my, soup."

Logan was here for dinner? He was going to be sitting right across from you, just like old times? Of course, your dad never knew what happened between Logan and you so this didn't seem weird to him. To him nothing had changed. Logan was still supposedly "Uncle Wolvie" as far as he knew.

You felt a pang of guilt as you thought about your dad's ignorance. He had no idea how complex your relationship with Logan had been. And now, he was hosting him for a cozy dinner, completely oblivious to the truth.

"I don't know if I can do this," you muttered under your breath. Spending an evening with Logan, pretending everything was normal, was the last thing you wanted to do right now.

As you made your way into the dining room, you saw Logan sitting there, smiling at you, but you could see the thoughts running through his mind. He was thinking the same thing you were… This was going to be a long dinner.

Your dad, oblivious to the tension in the air, was happily setting the table and chatting away. "Ah, there she is," he exclaimed, as you entered the room. "Sit down honey, dinner's almost ready."

You forced a smile in response to your dad's cheerful greeting, trying to act like everything was fine. But as you took your seat across from Logan, you could feel the weight of the unspoken tension heavy in the room.

Logan's eyes met yours for a moment before he quickly looked away. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by your dad's cheerful chattering and the clinking of plates and silverware.

Your dad served the meal, and everyone dug in, but the conversation felt forced and stilted. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Logan, and he seemed equally uncomfortable, occasionally sneaking glances at you but mostly focusing on his plate.

As the meal progressed, your dad tried his best to keep the conversation light and cheerful, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness between you and Logan. The atmosphere at the table remained tense and strained, the elephant in the room impossible to ignore.

Logan looked up from his plate and tried to muster a smile. "Not much," he replied, avoiding your gaze. "Just keeping busy, you know."

Your dad nodded, taking another bite of his dinner. "You know, I was just thinking the other day," he continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. "It's been a while since you've come over for dinner."

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, I've been busy," he said. "But it's good to be here now."

"How about you," Logan nodded to you. "What's new, kid?"

"Not much," you replied, avoiding his gaze. The way he said "kid" felt like a dagger in your heart. It stung to hear him call you that, as if things were still the same between you.

"No exciting adventures?" Logan pressed on, trying to make conversation. But you could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it took him to keep his tone light and casual.

"Actually, I have been dating this one guy lately," you lied, forcing a casual tone. "He's been keeping things pretty interesting."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you saw Logan's expression change. A flicker of surprise and hurt passed over his face, and you took a twisted sense of satisfaction in knowing that you had gotten under his skin.

He tried to maintain his composure, but you could see the tension building in his shoulders. "Oh yeah?" he said, feigning indifference. "What's his name?"

You couldn't help but relish the chance to twist the knife further. "His name is Nate," you said, unable to keep the hint of mockery out of your voice. "He's very generous and sweet."

Logan's jaw clenched as he processed your words. The mention of another man, especially one who was supposedly generous and sweet, seemed to bother him. But he tried to hide his emotions, keeping his tone neutral.

"I see," he said, his voice betraying a hint of jealousy. "Sounds like quite the catch."

You couldn't help but smile at his obvious discomfort. Seeing him struggle with his emotions was a small victory, even if it was all based on a lie.

Your dad cleared the dishes and excused himself to do the dishes in the kitchen, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence between you was deafening as you both sat there, each waiting for the other to speak first.

"I should have seen it fuckin coming."

Logan's sudden remark cut through the silence, his frustration and irritation seeping through his words. He had finally broken the stalemate, and his tone was a mix of anger and resignation.

"Please tell me some of it was fuckin real."

Logan's voice was rough with emotion, desperation laced with hurt. Your heart ached at the pain in his words, but you refused to show weakness. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, searching for answers.

"You told me to leave!" You responded angrily.

"You knew I wanted you," he shot back, his voice filled with raw emotion. "You knew how I felt about you. But you still walked out that damned door, and you never looked back."

"I didn't want to," he hissed. "You think I wanted to push you away? I was trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?" You could feel your anger rising, the pain of his words cutting through you. "Don't bullshit me! You were just scared."

"Damn right I was scared," he admitted, his voice suddenly softer. "Every day we were together was a knife in my gut. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stay away from you. And if your dad finally found out… I knew I had to end it."

Your heart ached at his confession, but your anger and hurt still raged inside you. "And you expect me to believe that you actually cared? That it wasn't just some fling to you?"

"You know it wasn't," he replied, his voice low and fierce. "How can you even say that? I loved you, damn it. I still love you."

Your dad froze as he walked back into the dining room, realizing that he had walked in on a very charged conversation. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, and your dad's face was a mixture of shock and concern.

"Logan…" He said slowly, "Logan that is my daughter…"

Logan went pale, the weight of your dad's words hitting him like a ton of bricks. The guilt and embarrassment on his face were obvious, and he fidgeted in his seat, unable to look your dad in the eye.

"How long has this been going on?" your dad asked, his voice betraying a mix of anger and disappointment.

Logan interrupted you, his voice loud and furious. "It's not fucking over!"

Your dad's gaze flicked back and forth between you and Logan, his expression a mix of surprise and anger. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you knew that everything was about to blow up.

"You told me to leave! I fucking left!"

"Not out of choice!" Logan's voice was rising in volume, his frustration and anger reaching a boiling point.

"You walked out without a fight!" he yelled, his emotions getting the better of him. "You gave up on us… on me!"

Your dad held up his hand, trying to calm things down. "Whoa, whoa, let's all take a deep breath-"

"Don't you tell me to take a damn breath!" Logan snapped, his eyes still fixated on you. "You have no idea what you put me through!"

Your dad stepped closer, his voice firm. "Logan, you need to calm down. This is still my house, and I won't have you yelling at my daughter, or at me. Now take a breath and talk to me like a grown-ass man."

"What are you gonna do about it?" Logan shot back, his voice hard and challenging. "Kick my ass? Go ahead and try it."

Your dad clenched his fists, clearly struggling to control his own temper. He was seething with anger, his eyes fixed on Logan. "Logan, you better shut that damn mouth-"

But Logan was beyond rationality. "Or what?" he taunted, his voice full of bravado. "You'll do what? You gonna hit me? Go ahead. I dare you."

"Don't talk to my dad like that Logan! You caused this!"

"I caused this?" Logan exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and hurt. "You think this is all my fault? You're not innocent in this either!"

"I never said I was," you snapped. "But I'm not the one who started this whole mess in the first place."

"You wanted it just as much as I did!" Logan countered heatedly. "Don't sit there and act like you were some innocent victim! I didn't rape you!"

Your dad flinched at Logan's words, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. "Watch your language," he warned, his voice firm.

But Logan was too far gone to listen. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said mockingly. "Should I censor myself for your precious ears? You have no idea what we've been through!"

"Logan stop!"

He ignored you, his anger and hurt fueling his words. "No, I won't stop!" he shouted. "You don't get to act like I'm the bad guy here! You were just as responsible as I was, if not more! I didn't force you into anything! I remember everything! Every sound you made! Every laugh! Every smile!"

Your heart ached as he revealed the depth of his feelings, but you tried to push past the pain. "That doesn't change the fact that you ended it!" you retorted, your voice breaking.

"I had to!" he exclaimed, his voice ragged. "Don't you think I wanted you? I'm hundreds of years older than you! Your dad would have killed me if he found out!"

"I know now Logan. Get out."

Your dad's voice was firm, his tone leaving no room for argument. Logan's eyes flicked between the two of you, his anger and frustration warring with his conflicted feelings. He knew he was outnumbered and out of options. With a clenched jaw, he pushed back from the table and stood up.

For a moment, the room was eerily silent. All you could hear was the sound of your dad's heavy breathing. You could feel his disappointment and anger practically radiating off of him.

Finally, your dad spoke, his voice low and controlled. "We need to talk."

Your heart sank at his words. You knew this conversation was not going to be easy. "Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Your dad led you to the couch and sat down heavily. He took a deep breath before speaking. "What the hell are the two of you thinking?" he started, his voice carefully measured.

"I can't even begin to wrap my head around this," he continued, shaking his head in disbelief. "How long has this been going on?"

You couldn't meet his gaze as you answered. "A few months," you mumbled, feeling shame burn in your gut. "But we stopped."

Your dad's eyes widened in shock, his anger and disappointment clear. "A few months?" he repeated, his voice tight. "And you didn't think to tell me? How could you keep something like this a secret?"

You fidgeted under his scrutiny, feeling like a child being scolded. "I… I don't know," you mumbled, your voice small. "I was scared. I knew you would be mad."

"Damn right I'm mad!" your dad exclaimed, his voice rising. "I have every right to be. You've been lying to me, hiding something huge, and with a man old enough to be your father!"

"It's not just that," he continued, his anger still palpable. "Logan. Of all people, Logan. He's like a brother to me, and he was my closest friend… And you two…. How could you?"

You flinched under the weight of his disappointment. You knew you had messed up, and there was no way to make it right. "We… We can't help who we fall in love with," you mumbled, the words feeling hollow.

Your dad let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Love? This isn't love," he spat, his voice filled with anger and disbelief. "This is a mess. A huge, messy, wrong-on-so-many-levels mess. And you two dragged me right into it. It's lust."

Your eyes stung with tears as his words sunk in. "It's not just that," you protested, your voice shaky. "We care about each other-"

"Care about each other?" Your dad's voice was dripping with disbelief. "You don't know the meaning of care. Not at your age. This is just lust, plain and simple. Logan knows better. He should have had the sense to pull away before it went too far."

Your heart ached at his words. You knew he was right that Logan should have known better, but you couldn't help how you felt. "I can't just stop feeling the way I do," you muttered, your voice cracking. "I love him."

"You don't even know what love is," your dad retorted, his voice hard. "You're just caught up in the excitement of sneaking around, of doing something forbidden. It's all a game to you, a thrill. How did it start?"

You winced at his words, knowing deep down that he was partially right. You didn't know what love was. Not really. "It just… happened," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "When he was over… and you left for work… and you told him to take care of me… We…"

"You what?" your dad pressed fiercely, his voice filled with disbelief. "When I left you alone with Logan?"

"You what?" your dad pressed fiercely, his voice filled with disbelief. "When I left you alone with Logan?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "We… we ended up on the couch," you admitted, the words coming out in a rush. "And one thing led to another… and we just… kept meeting up… when we could."

Your dad let out a weary sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. "So you've been sneaking around right under my nose," he said, his voice weary now. "While I trusted you. While I trusted him."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, feeling the shame and guilt well up inside you. "I know I messed up, but I can't help how I feel. I love him. I have for a long time-"

Your dad's eyes narrowed at your words. "You have a boyfriend dammit!"

"I know!" you exclaimed, tears welling up in your eyes. "But it doesn't change how I feel about Logan. It doesn't change the fact that I love him!"

"You don't even know what love is," your dad repeated, his voice firm. "You're just a kid. You're hormonal. You're impressionable. You're not thinking straight."

"I am!" you protested, tears streaming down your face now. "I do know what love is. I know what I feel for Logan. You can't tell me that my feelings aren't real just because I'm young-"

"I can and I will," your dad shot back. "You don't know the first thing about love. You're just infatuated. It's a crush. It will pass. And when it does, you'll realize how foolish this all was. But in the meantime get out!"

Your heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces. "What?" you whimpered, your voice trembling. "You're kicking me out?"

"Damn right I am!" your dad retorted, his voice hard. "You broke my trust. You went behind my back. You thought you could deceive me and sneak around without any consequences. Well, now you're going to face the music. Pack a bag."

Fresh tears streamed down your face as you realized he was serious. You stumbled to your feet and rushed to your room, grabbing a bag and throwing clothes into it, your mind racing. This couldn't be happening.

Your mind was a whirlwind of confused and conflicting emotions as you packed. Anguish, guilt, hurt, anger, and fear all vied for dominance. You could hear your dad’s voice drifting in from the living room, a mixture of anger and disappointment. As you shoved the last of your belongings into your bag, you tried to collect yourself, wiping your tears on your sleeve.

With a final glance around your room, you took a deep breath and walked back into the living room, your heart in your throat. Your dad looked up as you entered. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set and his eyes were like steel.

"Are you packed?" he asked gruffly, his voice betraying none of the emotion that must have been swirling within him too.

You nodded, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears again. Your dad’s eyes flicked over your bag, then back to your face. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, your dad let out a heavy sigh. "Well, get going then," he said, his voice as neutral as he could manage.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, causing fresh tears to spill down your cheeks. "But… But where am I supposed to go?" you managed to croak out, your voice betraying your fear and confusion.

Your dad's expression softened just a fraction. "That's not my problem," he said, his voice still tense. "You made your bed, now you have to lie in it. I can't have you under my roof when you've been deceiving me like this."

It felt like being stabbed in the heart. You had hoped that, despite his anger and disappointment, he would still have some compassion for you. But his words left no room for doubt. You were being pushed out. "You don’t care what happens to me?" you whispered, your voice small and hurt.

Your dad's face tightened, the lines in his forehead deepening. "Don't put words in my mouth," he snapped. "Of course I care about what happens to you. I’m your dad. But I can't condone what you've done. You've betrayed my trust and disobeyed my rules. You need to learn that actions have consequences."

You nodded, understanding the message. Your tears continued to fall silently as the full weight of your actions crashed down on you. You had crossed a line, and now you were being sent away because of it.

"Go stay with Logan," your dad said, his voice flat. "You like him so much, maybe he can take care of you for a while. See how long your little fantasy world lasts out in the real world."

Shock and disbelief flashed through you at his words. "What?" you exclaimed, your voice rising. "You're sending me to him? After everything that's happened? You can't be serious!"

"No, I'm not joking," your dad said sternly. "You want Logan so badly? Go to him. Let him deal with you for a while. See how he likes having to be responsible for a spoiled, disobedient teenager who has no concept of the real world."

Your heart felt like it was being torn in half. You had never thought it would come to this. "I… I can't stay with him," you protested, your voice thick with tears. "I don't think he even wants me there! And I have a boyfriend!"

Your dad's eyes darkened at the mention of your boyfriend. "You should have thought about that before you started sneaking around behind my back," he snapped. "And Logan can deal with it. He's a big boy. Maybe it's time for him to put his money where his mouth is."

You felt numb as the truth of his words hit you. There was no point trying to argue. You knew your dad had made up his mind. "Fine," you mumbled, your voice hollow. "I'll go."

With that you walked out. It was late and cold. You pulled out your phone and did something you thought you never would again.

"Can you come get me?"

There was a long pause as you waited anxiously, the cold night air stinging your skin. You shivered and hugged your bag closer to your chest, feeling completely alone. Then, finally, your phone buzzed with a reply.

Lo: "Where are you?"

The short message was all that was sent, but it was enough.

You sent him your location and then waited, teeth chattering as the cold seeped into your bones. It felt like an eternity until a familiar car pulled up next to you, the interior warm and inviting.

You opened the door and quickly slid into the passenger seat, the heat of the car like a balm to your freezing body. You avoided looking at the man at the wheel, but you could feel the tension thick in the air.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the car pulled away from the curb. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest aching with a strange mixture of guilt, shame, and a small flicker of… something else.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the car pulled into a quiet, residential street, coming to a stop in front of a small house. The engine fell silent, but neither of you made a move to get out. You glanced at him, the light of the street lamp casting a dim glow over his features.

He was staring straight ahead, his hands clenching the steering wheel. His jaw was set and his expression solemn. The line of his shoulders was tense, his body taut like a coil ready to spring. It was clear that he had a lot he wanted to say, but was holding himself back.

The silence between you was thick and charged. He finally turned his gaze from the front windshield to look at you, his eyes dark and intense. "We need to talk," he said, his voice soft but firm.

A mixture of fear and anticipation fluttered in your stomach, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. "Okay," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the rapid pounding of your heart.

He pushed open the driver's side door, gesturing for you to follow. You got out of the car, the cold air hitting you like a slap in the face. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself as you followed him up the path to his front door.

He unlocked the door, holding it open for you. You stepped into the warm, cozy interior, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. The house was small, but comfortable, and you could see glimpses of his life in every corner. Photos on the walls, books on the shelves, a jacket slung over the back of a chair.

He closed the door behind you and then leaned against it, his body blocking the only exit. He didn't say anything, just watched you, his eyes roaming over your face and body as if trying to figure you out.

"Sit."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Part 1 Part 2

🏷️: @fablehaven-rulez

[monimccoythings]

The Way We Were

Word Count: 791

tags: f!Reader, dark!logan (past), threats, mentions of blood, past abusive behavior, implied alcoholism.

"Stop. it." His voice came out in growls.

His claws are so close to your skin you almost feel a thin line of blood running down your neck.

"One more word. Just one. And I'll show you what these can do."

You couldn't move. You couldn't speak. Too terrified and heartbroken of the man that had once mattered to you the most. The one you'd have willingly sacrificed your entire life for.

"Never look for me again. Don't call me. I don't want to see you." The rage in his eyes, the coldness, was a sharp contrast to the soft hazel orbs you had fallen in love with long ago.

*SNIKT* As fast as his claws had appeared, they were gone. You finally allowed yourself to breathe. It's short lived, because he's soon up in your face again, a disgusted sneer on his features.

"Now. Get out of my life." His breath smelled like tobacco and alcohol, all mixed together. He had been drinking himself to oblivion again. You let the tears fall. You didn't recognise the man in front of you. Your husband.

"GET OUT." He roared in your face, making you wince.

He turned around and left you behind without sparing a single glance, in the empty parking lot of that dive bar in the middle of nowhere.

That was the last time he would see you in many, many years.

Logan woke up sweating and with his heart hammering in his chest. It had been so long since the last time he had dreamed about you. About that fateful night.

He grips the couch so tightly, he's going to tear the cloth. His hands were shaking as he felt the too familiar hole inside his chest reappear. He needed a drink. He had to drink. This never happened when he was drunk.

Stumbling over his own feet, he made his way towards the fridge, opening it with more violence than necessary. With his heart in his throat, his eyes searched manically until they set on a single can of beer.

That would have to do. For now.

He tried to calm his overwhelming thoughts with a single gulp, nearly drinking more than half of the can; focusing on Althea's snores from across the hall. Whatever distracted him long enough to avoid thinking about-

You.

Your soft smile. Your encouraging words. Your endless support through all his mishaps and hardships.

How gorgeous you had looked in that white dress when you walked down the aisle towards him. How great you had made him feel, like he was the luckiest man on the planet.

How he had completely fucked things up.

No matter how hard he tried to keep his memories of you at bay, his treacherous heart kept going back to you.

He wondered how you were doing. If you got that promotion you wanted.

Did you still kept your endless collection of air fresheners that drove him insane? Were you living in a better apartment than the one you had?

Did you remarry? Were you two actually divorced? He didn't remember signing anything at all. His teeth clenched at the thought of anybody else having you.

He shook his head.

What right did he had over you? After everything he had done, all the pain and trauma he pulled you through, what made him think he had any say on who you choose to spend your life with?

He wasn't the man he wished he was for you. The one that you deserved.

Yet...

He was here. He had been given a second chance to pull his head out of his ass and do the right thing. Out of all the better suited Wolverines there were out there, Wade picked him and turned him into a different man.

He was a completely different man from the one he was back then. The one torn with rage and grief. That monster, murderer, he was long gone, locked away, he would make sure of it.

He looked towards Wade's bedroom. He knew the sneaky bastard hid some of those dimension-travelling tablets somewhere in his bedroom. Knowing him, it would be probably the dirtiest and grossest corner where he would be sure Logan would never look.

He titled his head. A dangerous idea forming in his mind.

Could he?

Would he actually dare?

What if he just took a small peek. Just to make sure you were alright. You didn't have to see him. And he could return home with the knowledge that you were alright.

It was a terrible idea. A dangerous idea. But if the Wolverine was known for anything, it was for barreling into danger first and asking questions later.

He just needed to find the right moment.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crash Course

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

word count: 822

pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

summary: Y/n returns to the paddock after recovering from her injuries, and Lando confronts her with his growing feelings

______________________________________________________________

The days following the crash were a blur for Y/n, filled with recovery sessions and endless interviews about the accident. The media buzzed with speculation, talking more about the rivalry between her and Lando than about the championship itself. Everyone wanted to know if the tension between them had reached a breaking point.

But Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about what Lando had said. His confession kept replaying in her mind, stirring something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before. She kept pushing it aside, trying to focus on her recovery and the upcoming races, but it lingered in the back of her thoughts, persistent and confusing.

A few days later, Y/n was back at the paddock, still moving a little stiffly but determined to show everyone she was ready to race again. She walked through the garage, her team bustling around her, making sure everything was in place for the next practice session.

As she sat down to review some data, she felt a presence behind her before she heard the voice.

“Back so soon?” Lando’s voice was light, but she could hear the edge of concern behind it.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, seeing him leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were studying her closely, as if assessing whether she was really okay.

“Did you expect me to stay away?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

Lando smirked, pushing off the wall and walking closer. “Just making sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n insisted, though the slight wince as she shifted in her seat betrayed her.

Lando noticed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure about that?”

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes. “You sound like my doctor.”

“Maybe I should be,” he teased, but there was an underlying sincerity in his tone. “Look, I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Y/n paused, the playful banter between them losing its edge. There it was again—that concern, that softness. She wasn’t used to this version of Lando, and it made her feel off-balance.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked quietly, looking up at him.

Lando hesitated, his playful smile fading. He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before sitting down on the chair next to hers. “Because I meant what I said, Y/n. After the crash, when you almost collapsed… I realized how much I care. More than I probably should.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the air around them growing thick with tension. “Lando…”

“I know we’re rivals,” he continued, his voice low and serious. “And we’re both fighting for the championship, but… that doesn’t change how I feel.”

Y/n’s pulse quickened, her thoughts racing. This was happening—he was actually saying it, putting into words what had been unspoken between them for so long. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. How could she explain the way she felt, when she wasn’t even sure herself?

Seeing her hesitation, Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. This is complicated. And if you don’t feel the same way, we can forget it—”

“No,” Y/n interrupted, her voice firm. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “It’s not that. I just… I’ve been so focused on beating you, on proving I’m the best, that I didn’t stop to think about anything else.”

Lando’s eyes softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his expression. “And now?”

Y/n looked at him, the weight of her feelings settling in her chest. “Now, I’m starting to realize there’s more to this than just the rivalry.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the noise of the paddock fading into the background as they looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. The tension that had always existed between them was still there, but it had changed—shifted into something neither of them had expected.

Lando leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “So… what now?”

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing. She knew they couldn’t just flip a switch and change everything. They were still competitors, still fighting for the same title. But maybe—just maybe—they could be something more, too.

“I guess we see what happens,” she replied softly, her eyes locking with his.

Lando’s lips curled into a small smile. “I like the sound of that.”

Before they could say anything else, Y/n’s team called her over for a briefing. She stood up, feeling Lando’s eyes on her as she turned to leave. Just before she walked away, she glanced back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of their rivalry—but it could be the beginning of something else. Something that neither of them had been prepared for, but now seemed impossible to ignore.

[daughter-lilith]

❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 5 | Read Part 4 here Not the final part. I unintentionally lied in my last post?? I explain at the end of this update. For now, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+

CW (For whole story): Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Grief, Halsin is Emotional!

Word Count: 7.5k

*Reminder, this is part 5. ⋆ a few tags for some. @stanfordscrush | @lanafofana | @catch-all | @thoughts-of-bear | @agathaharknessfan96 | @niki-is-a-reblog | @avabjorna36 | @acrobatalien42 | @princesspeachtacular | @amorgansgal | @freshlemontea (some tags don't work but the thought is there!)

A downpour of emotions flooded Halsin’s heart all at once. His entire body trembled, heart pounding violently in his ears, and the bear within banged against an invisible cage, claws protruding, swiping, and slashing. The beast roared, the force so tremendous and powerful that Halsin felt it in his bones, surging through his veins like wildfire, and he tossed his head back and thundered an agonizing roar of his own. He felt his eyes burning, cheeks wet and stained with violent tears. When his screaming seized, his throat stung, and the muscles in his arms felt tight and sore as he clenched his fists so hard that the veins in his arms began to bulge. Halsin lowered his head, glaring through watery eyes at the vacant space you once occupied only moments ago.

His shoulders slumped and he finally unclenched his fists, though it only made the trembling in his arms and body worse. He nearly flinched when he felt a sudden warmth wrap itself around his frame, half aware of blue flames flickering on the side of his vision. “Oh Halsin,” the voice said. It sounded like Karlach, but he could hardly see, could hardly think. His mind was dazed, lost, the only function he was aware of was the endless tears leaking from his eyes.

Another set of warmth came around him, then something like a hand on his back. Halsin just sat there, on his knees, hair disheveled with several strands hanging in front of his eyes. Someone squeezed him tighter, sniffling near his ears. His stomach felt so unbelievably tight, his chest heavy and straining under an invisible weight. Images of your teary eyes looking up at him crowded his mind; the thin trails of blood that seeped down the side of your chin as you spoke your final words. It was a dream. No, a nightmare. It had to be.

The two of you were still back home, lying in bed, your naked bodies entangled in one another. The sun’s light was still spilling through the open windows, shimmering over your skin. You were still tracing lazy patterns over the hairs on his strong chest, blessing him with your beautiful gaze and occasional kisses. Nature was still singing just outside of your home, the sweet melodies inviting you both to enjoy the new day. Halsin would roll you on your side, settling himself behind you, feeling the bareness of your body curving so perfectly into him. He would—

“It should have been me… Vlaakith—” a familiar voice stirred Halsin away from the dream, painfully bringing him back into this nightmare.

The rocky surface of the Astral Plane flickered back into view, and he heard her speak again. It was Lae’zel— her voice was lower, faltering as she choked to get her words out. “That was my death. Mine.”

Halsin squeezed his eyes shut, his heart crumbling further. The bear within slumped on the floor, defeated, panting, and exhausted. “Do not say that,” he said, his voice dry and throat still burning. Halsin felt no rage towards Lae’zel, and he knew you wouldn’t want him to. There was only one person responsible, and Lae’zel had already laid her to waste.

He felt a gentle hand rest on his knee, tentative and almost fearful. He was more aware now, of the embrace and physical consolation around him. He could feel their sorrow, their grief, their pain both for him and themselves. No further words were said, only the sounds of quiet weeping and the eerie current of the Astral Plane. Halsin’s head swarmed with a million thoughts as his arms started to feel numb and heavy, useless. The magic that flowed through his essence felt hollow and drained like it too was drowning in the sudden loss.

Halsin thought back to the glowing, healing blue light that he desperately tried to pour into you. And yet it did nothing to heal you, nothing to sustain you long enough to get you out of the Planes. What good was it to be gifted with these powers, to wield such powerful magic that did nothing when he needed it most? They had the means to revive those lost, but there needed to be something to revive.

His heart lurched as the flat of his hands felt the cold ground. Where you should’ve been. Where he, Shadowheart, Gale, anyone could’ve brought you back. But there was nothing to bring back, for the damned Astral Plane robbed him of the chance. Stealing you away when you belonged to Faerûn, belonged to him; his greatest confidant, lover, and best friend.

Oak Father… Halsin thought to himself, desperate for aid, for another chance. He was Silvanus’ chosen, one of his most devout followers, surely he would not forsake Halsin now. But even Halsin knew divine intervention did not come lightly or often. And he knew better than anyone that Silvanus was a god of nature; of respecting its balance, the cycle of life, and sometimes the fierce unpredictability of everything nature brings. To even think of asking the Oak Father for such aid may be considered blasphemous, for he was not a god of necromancy but—

Halsin’s eyes shot open, his blood pumping with purpose. And with renewed strength, he rose higher on his knees, stirring those who embraced him.

“Halsin?” Karlach questioned, letting her arms fall away from him as Halsin now stood to his feet. “What is it?”

Halsin glanced at her, eyes frantic, heart racing. The others peered at him curiously, wiping their faces as they kept their attention on the risen druid. “Withers,” he uttered, his heart rate increasing by the second as he darted his gaze towards Gale whose eyes were red and patchy.

“When have you all seen him last?” Halsin inquired, an intense severity in his voice as his words came out rushed and eager. He quickly swept his eyes over all of his companions, waiting for one, anyone to respond first.

“It’s… it’s been years,” Shadowheart answered first, her cheeks and nose a deep rose, flushed with tears.

Wyll groaned as he moved to stand, and he swiftly used his armored wrist to wipe beneath his nose. “Not since our first reunion,” he added.

“You don’t think…” Gale pondered, eyes slowly widening with realization.

Halsin nodded firmly. “I do.” It had been two decades since they last saw and spoke to Withers. After the first reunion, the skeletal being teleported everyone to their respective homes and journeys, bidding them a very blessed farewell. They had long carried suspicions there was more to Withers than he let on. That he was more than a keeper of records or scribe, but an old, mysterious god perhaps. Still, none of them ever pressed the issue, content with the consistent aid Withers bestowed. But they needed that aid once more— Halsin needed it.

Astarion paced around the group, waving his hands hastily. “Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s go wake up the old bastard.”

Halsin strode towards Gale and Shadowheart, each step swift, his presence demanding before he even said a word. They both stared up at him with an anxious gleam in their eyes beneath the haze of sorrow. When Halsin spoke, his words came out rapidly, hands trembling. “She once told me you all found Withers in some sort of crypt only a few miles from the Grove, how- how quickly can you open a portal there?”

“Um- I- well,” Gale stammered, the wheels in his head turning.

Karlach stepped by Halsin’s side, blue flames still dancing along her skin and hair. “Would he even be willing to help us again? It’s been so long.”

“We must try,” a sharp voice responded. Halsin glanced at Lae’zel who was still kneeling on the ground, her head still bowed.

Shadowheart, frowning, closed her eyes briefly while she turned away. She exhaled a deep breath before speaking, gathering herself. “Halsin… our magic is sapped. We only have the portal we came here in. Perhaps we should rest first and then—

“No,” Halsin’s thunderous voice rumbled the ground beneath their feet. “There is no time for rest. We will merge our energies, focus on the task and make a way.” He spoke with an intense conviction, his tone low. It was not in the way one would speak to their friends, but how a leader would speak to their followers—how an Archdruid would enact their commands.

Silence followed his orders as Halsin eyed everyone in turn, taking in their wary and doubtful appearances. Only Astarion seemed just as impatient as he was, ready to follow whatever was needed. From beyond their group, he noticed Minsc’s lumbering frame posed in front of a horde of allied githyanki warriors, becoming a barrier against those who were curious over their crestfallen victors.

Halsin tightened his brows, his heart loud in his ears as the bear within huffed, displeased at the hesitance before him. “All of you,” he ordered, “reach into the Weave, and link yourselves with me.”

A tender and somewhat firm hand rested on his shoulder. Halsin turned his head to find Wyll, the scars on his face as sullen as his expression. “Brother please, let’s not be hasty. Time is different here, right? If we rest in the Planes, perhaps only a few more minutes would have passed in Faerûn.”

Halsin sneered and shoved his hand off him, marching a few steps away from the group. Fists and teeth clenched, he stared off into the ethereal Planes, a wave of anguish and rage threatening to throw him off his balance. A part of him knew his friends were right, that they needed to rest. His own magic felt faint and dull due to the many times he wild-shaped or desperately tried to heal you.

“Where are you, Withers?” he mumbled roughly, unable to ignore the heat boiling in his blood.

Behind him, Halsin could feel his friends’ silent thoughts, their concern and hesitation to approach him. If they couldn’t help, he’d have to figure it out on his own. Why did he have to bend to time’s will? No. There was always a way, and he would find it as soon as possible.

“H-Halsin?” he heard Gale ask, but Halsin only sighed internally refusing to respond. If Gale could not help him, then there was nothing more to say.

Karlach’s voice arose next, urgent. “Halsin, look.”

Just as she spoke, he felt a surge of energy consume the space around him. A great power that felt foreign to the Astral Plane. Turning, Halsin’s eyes widened at the sight of a massive, green, spherical portal hovering a short distance away from the group. A familiar gaunt figure emerged, dressed in worn dark robes as they sauntered casually into the Planes. Halsin’s stomach lurched and a rush of the most extreme sensation of hope filled his chest. It couldn’t possibly be…and so quickly…

“I have heard thine’s call.” Withers. His rumbling echo of a voice still carried a weight of eeriness and an underlying power. “Once separated by the influence of time, our paths once again merge. Does thou require my services once more?” His dark, hollow eyes passively swept over the stunned companions before deftly landing and remaining on Halsin.

Halsin took three long strides toward the undead entity, his breathing rapidly increasing. He moved like he was almost going to tackle the fragile-appearing figure until Karlach’s strong hand tugged at his forearm.

“Easy there, soldier,” Karlach urged. “Breathe first.”

Halsin swallowed, trying to steady himself while Withers observed coolly, undisturbed by Halsin’s intensity. Towering over the undead man, he took one deep breath, speaking with purpose. “You’ve aided us before- can you aid us now? A resurrection. Any price.”

Withers surveyed Halsin silently, then examined the appearance of his friends before calmly strolling in between the group. With his gaunt arms folded behind his back, he hummed to himself as though analyzing the results of an experiment. Halsin watched intensely as the undead man continued to take in his surroundings. His heart dropped as he watched Withers stop at the very spot Halsin last held you, where he lost you.

“Ah, a hero has fallen,” Withers droned. “A great loss indeed.”

Halsin moved towards him, heart hammering. “Can you bring her back? Please.”

“Please, Withers,” Karlach added, frowning as she stepped near Halsin.

Withers was still for a moment then closed his hollow eyes, extending his skeletal arm over the area you fell. A glowing, green light illuminated his arm and Halsin watched with bated breath as the bear within paced frantically.

Withers made a few humming noises, some faint mumbling as his hand glowed brighter. His hand swayed in side-to-side motions like he was brushing something away or searching through a pile. Withers twitched, and the light burst in his hand before dimming completely. Halsin’s heart dropped at the sight, a part of him sensing something was wrong. Then Withers, ever so calmly, opened his eyes.

“Alas, their spirit has not been found, for it does not linger in the realm of where my power extends.”

Halsin stumbled, his stomach twisting. “What? Then where!?” he bellowed, his thunderous voice powerful enough to shatter the rocks they stood on.

Withers answered, impassive. “I cannot answer, for I do not possess the knowledge of such an answer. Such truths are beyond even my grasp.”

“So there is nothing you can do?” Halsin raged, incredulous. His voice was caught between yelling and trying to control his erratic breaths. “There is nothing you can do? She is just lost, gone forever?”

Withers raised a hand as if to calm him. “The Astral Planes are but a single thread of existence in the great cosmos. Fear not, mortal one, for fate spins as it should. What is lost may simply be lost, not gone.”

“Tsk’va! What good is a master necromancer who cannot perform this very task!” Lae’zel was on her feet now, pointing her sharp nails in Withers’ direction. “Htak’a! Is there nothing you can do!”

“Well isn’t this just marvelous,” Astarion crooned, incredulous. “Our magic is useless, the gods are quiet, and the one oh-so-powerful undead who has helped us several times before suddenly- cannot. How wonderful.”

Halsin surveyed Withers’ decrepit face as he stood almost apathetically, his body unmoving. It was hard to tell what he was feeling within those dark, obsidian eyes—if he was feeling anything at all. Withers seemed utterly unfazed by the chorus of frustrations and the occasional insults directed his way. He had never been one to show a heightened level of emotion before, why would the undead entity begin now? After another moment, Halsin turned away, taking several steps while his mind drifted and the voices of his friends grew muffled with each passing second.

The realm around him suddenly felt so distant and veiled, like he was ambling his way through a cryptic, blurred dream. A dream where angry voices were shouting in the distance but he could not decipher what they were saying, nor did he have the means to care. Withers could not help him, which meant Halsin could not bring you back. You were not just lost to him, you were gone, even your soul was apparently nowhere to be found.

The weight of Halsin’s shoulders felt painfully burdensome, his muscles tight and sore, legs threatening to betray him. The druid was defeated, broken beyond repair. Halsin looked down, bringing the palm of his hands into view at the same time. His calloused hands were streaked with crimson, a notable tremor in both. He lowered his arms and inhaled a deep breath, feeling his heart sink as a tide of gloom and agony tore through his body, penetrating his mind. Even the bear and all his wild shapes retreated deep within his essence, burrowing into the darkest corners they could find.

Halsin lifted his gaze, noticing that Withers was standing before him again, a curious glint in his sunken eyes. His friends were out of his vision, behind him, still arguing amongst themselves about what to do next or which god to call upon. As for Halsin, he had a new goal.

“Withers,” Halsin uttered, quiet as to not alert the others. “May I request one last thing, and I will no longer seek your services.”

Withers did not respond verbally, he simply tilted his head and blinked as though he were permitting Halsin to proceed.

“May you grant me a portal to The High Forest? I wish to go alone. No followers.”

Withers seemed to consider, then very faintly bowed his head.“As thou wishes.” Withers turned, lifting his hand with his palm outward as though he was ordering someone to stop. Green orbs began to glow in the center of his hollowed eyes and in the next moment, a shimmering, emerald portal flickered to life before them.

The druid stared at the sphere of green light and mist buzzing with power, waiting to be used. Halsin, posture sullen, began to step towards the waiting portal but stopped just before entering. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of hasty steps rushing towards him. Withers lifted a hand, and his friends were instantly repelled by an invisible barrier, splitting them from Halsin.

“Hey, what the fuck is this Withers!” Karlach shouted, the pain in her voice palpable.

“Be at ease, child of fire. For the druid has requested to journey in solitude.”

Karlach scoffed, banging once at the transparent bubble that shimmered on each contact. “Journey huh? Wherever you think you’re going, big guy, we’re coming with you!”

“No,” Halsin responded, stern. “This is a path I tread alone now.” He turned away, fully facing the portal again, unable to hold her grievous eyes any longer. “Forgive me for this dejected departure, and goodbye my friends.”

“So, that’s it then?” Astarion yelled, taking a turn to thrash at the barrier. “You’re leaving us, too?” His voice seemed to choke and a harsh hiss escaped as he breathed.

“No, brother! We should stick together,” Wyll chimed in, a faint crack in his voice, “now more than ever.”

Halsin closed his eyes, stung by the pain in their voices, the desperate need to cling close together. But his heart was drained and weak, his body dense and heavy— soul shattered. And his friends, they were too much of a reminder of what they all lost.

The shouts and cries of their pleas tormented him, hearing their aggressive pounding on the magical barrier. He heard curses at Withers, vocal incantations, and consistent calls for his name. But the elf’s mind had been set, he wanted out of this blasted Plane- alone. And they could not convince him otherwise. So without sparing another glance, Halsin, head hung a bit low, walked through the portal crafted just for him. Immediately, he was greeted by tall trees and a fading sun as the sound of a loud whoosh erupted behind him, and the portal vanished.

Two years had passed since Halsin lost you. Two years since he walked away from his friends in the Astral Plane, effectively cutting himself off from any contact. The mighty elf found himself sitting in a tavern along the northern part of the Sword Coast, in the coastal city of Neverwinter that was a few hundred miles north of Waterdeep. He was pausing for the night to restock before he headed even further north, deep into the wilderness, alone once again.

Two years since he left the Astral Plane, and two years since he returned to a life of roaming, lacking the strength to return home. After spending days mourning in The High Forest, Halsin knew he couldn’t go back to the home you and him created together. His home was solely with nature now, in every and any region he could reach. Unfortunately for him, his current path had him passing through a city at his displeasure, for it had been quite some time since Halsin was surrounded by such dense civilization that the noise of collective chatter felt foreign to him.

Just the one night, he reminded himself. One night, then he would proceed north to Icewind Dale, the furthest reach of the northwestern coast, and deep into the forests along the mountainside. Winter was coming, and the bear was craving a long rest far away from civilization.

Halsin sat in the corner of the lively tavern, next to long open windows that gave a wide view of the beach and sea beyond. He hadn’t meant to pass through such a busy place, but aimlessly found himself traveling along the coast on his way north, directly into the heart of Neverwinter. While he was there, he chose to stop to fill his belly, and perhaps stay for at least half a night to rest before he packed up and moved on.

He would occasionally scan the massive room, drawn towards the bard’s lively tune on stage and the many patrons who linked arms and danced to the joyous melody. They laughed and swirled, some still holding their jugs in hand while their feet carried them across the wooden floors. Radiant musical notes hovered around the stage with some floating above the dancing patrons, the sparkling magic leaping to the same rhythm.

Halsin noted the bliss on everyone’s faces, and he wanted to smile, to bask in the jubilant energy… but joy seemed to no longer have a home in Halsin’s heart. It had been two years since he last felt a genuine smile smooth its way onto his face. Two years since he laughed and danced, losing himself to the enthralling tunes amongst wonderful company.

He closed his eyes, jaw clenching before he took a sip of the harsh gin, hot and brutal down his throat. He used to detest the stronger liquors but found more comfort in them these days. The potent burn of the taste was but a brief discomfort, a door that opened into the calmness that followed.

Halsin’s eyes swept across the coastline from his seat, his mind partially adrift. But he wasn’t oblivious to the curious glances and hushed whispers when he first walked in, even more so once he found a place to sit down. For an elf the size of a half-orc, he was used to the wondrous stares whenever he entered new places.

Feeling an oncoming presence, Halsin turned to find two patrons sauntering towards him—a drow and a half-elf. They seemed young; the half-elf couldn’t have been over sixty, and the drow could have been anywhere between thirty and two hundred. They both wore playful smirks as they approached, eyeing Halsin keenly.

The drow stopped in front of the table. Her pink eyes, like cherry blossoms, analyzed Halsin’s face with a sparkle of excitement. “We don’t mean to intrude but… are you the Archdruid Halsin?” Her voice was smooth as silk, white hair brushed neatly down her back.

Halsin cleared his throat, leaning back, and the wooden seat creaked slightly under his weight as he moved. “Former Archdruid.”

Their eyes widened in delight and the half-elf stepped forward. “But still a master I’m sure. We’ve heard many... intriguing things about you, one being that you can turn into a bear for hours,” the half-elf exclaimed with a praising voice, his green eyes full of interest. He then gestured to the vacant seating across from Halsin. “May we?”

Halsin thought about it for a moment, torn between clinging to his solitude and not wanting to deny a potentially friendly conversation. It had been weeks since he had a proper chat with anyone, perhaps it was time to mend that. So he nodded his head and the pair eagerly slid in across.

The drow leaned forward, the descending sun emphasizing the pink in her irises, extenuated by her lilac skin. Before she spoke, her lips curved into a slight frown. “Apologies but, we couldn’t help but notice you seemed rather… downtrodden. Lonely, even.”

“A hero of Baldur’s Gate deserves company,” said the half-elf, a friendly smirk on his face.

Halsin half chuckled, darting his eyes between the pair. He analyzed their postures, how they leaned closer to the table in his direction, but also how their shoulders and arms touched naturally… familiar. Their clothing was sleek and tight fitting, save for the long thin coat the half-elf wore. They were both matching with a deep royal blue, fashioned with golden embroidery patterns, wealth seemed to be of no trouble to them.

“I rather enjoy quiet time alone,” Halsin told the pair, their smiles mildly falling. “But I will not shy away from welcoming conversation.”

The drow smirked, blinking slowly through her long lashes. “If it’s solitude you seek, you’ve chosen a rather interesting establishment.”

Halsin released a soft, quick laugh. “Interesting indeed. But I am just passing through.”

“Oh? And to where is your true destination, might we ask?” inquired the half-elf, a genuine intrigue in his tone.

“Further north, near the mountains,” Halsin told them, terse, not wanting to divulge the specifics.

“Hmm, there’s not much fun up there,” said the half-elf. “And the cold can be frigid and unforgiving I hear.”

The drow nodded in agreement. “You should stay here, basking in the gentle warmth of the city. This place is called Neverwinter for a reason, courtesy of the elemental magic warming our waters.”

Halsin sighed, taking a moment to glance out the window towards the sea. The air was strangely warm there, considering how north they were and almost at the turn of the next season. “Tempting but… my purpose remains. I am here for the night and journey onward tomorrow.”

The drow pursued her lips like she was thinking, a hint of a sulk on her dark-painted lips. She glanced briefly at her partner before locking eyes with Halsin again. She slid her nails across the table in the direction of Halsin’s mug, stopping just shy of his fingers. “Well then, former Archdruid, since we are pressed for time, allow us to be forward with you. We’ve heard more tales than just that of your bear but that you are also quite… skilled in other aspects.”

Halsin inspected them closely, humming in response with a slight tilt of his head. The faintest smirk touched his face, but he said nothing, curious to hear more of the presumably oncoming proposal.

Beside the drow, her partner spoke. “If you are interested,” he began, his green eyes bright against the contrast of his pure black hair. “We’d like to invite you to share in our bed tonight. A hero deserves to be praised, after all.”

Halsin leaned back slightly, his finger obliviously tapping against his mug. A faint feeling simmered deep within his abdomen as he surveyed the couple. The lightest stir of a change in his pulse. As he began to ponder, the drow quickly continued their request.

“You needn’t do much, master Halsin. It would be our pleasure to take care of you,” she murmured sweetly, one slender finger of hers daring to stroke along Halsin’s. “But we also wouldn’t be opposed to more… wilder sides of your druidic charms.”

“Just for the night,” the half-elf added with a sly smile. He confidently placed both hands on the table, slowly clasping them together while he awaited the druid’s answer.

Halsin gave a deep intake of breath, slow and pondering. His gaze shifted between the couple across him, their eyes watching him eagerly, a hidden flush of want and need. Halsin, in his long life, was no stranger to the attention of being desired. Many considered him to be quite exotic, awakening things within themselves when Halsin was in their sights. And it had been long since he felt the touch of another, the touch of you….

He felt himself take another deep breath as a flutter of the faintest nerves danced in his abdomen. He could not deny that the couple before him were pleasing to the eyes, and they were open and willing to invite him into their private lives for the night.

Halsin had willingly secluded himself to the bellies of nature almost entirely, like he was betrothed to it alone. But he was never promised to it. And right now that very nature was reminding him of the many gifts it offered. To deny it was to deny nature itself.

Halsin raised his mug to his lips and then downed the rest of the strong liquid once and for all. He kept his eyes on the pair as he did this and watched as the drow parted her mouth, her bottom lip seemed to quiver with an unseen gasp.

“Alright,” Halsin said, feeling a warmth pass through his torso as he agreed. “Just for the night.”

The drow clasped her hands with an excited giggle as the half-elf simply smirked and nodded his head. Halsin watched him rise, then extended his arm out to the side. “Let us lead the way, we rest our heads not far from here.”

Halsin stood from his seat and immediately towered over the couple, especially the drow. He heard a pleasing breath leave the half-elf’s mouth as his eyes swept over Halsin’s frame with unabashed praise. The druid noticed a few patrons casting curious glances at the trio as they strode through the tavern toward one of the exits.

Halsin’s long cloak swayed with him as he marched with confident strides through the streets while the pair occasionally glanced over their shoulders to ensure he was still there. But despite the confident advance in his long legs, and the even and focused expression he wore, Halsin’s stomach proceeded to twist and flip. It was not the first time he experienced such a feeling before acts of physical intimacy, but it was rare when it came to strangers. He was confident in his performance and cared not for the opinions and judgments of those he did not know, so why was a storm brewing within?

“We’re here,” the drow suddenly said, turning towards a grand, three-story home that was connected to a row of other houses and shops.

Halsin repressed his anxious thoughts and walked up the few steps into the house. Inside was warm, and the smell of pure vanilla and something unknown to him filled his nose, but it was sweet and inviting, sultry even. Halsin strolled further in, stepping on a rather expensive-looking red rug that covered dark brown flooring.

“This way, please.” The drow winked at him before strolling up a wide staircase with the half-elf on her heels.

Halsin exhaled, steadily aware of the rising beat of his heart. He followed them up the stairs, the steps croaking beneath his mighty weight. A breeze from an open window tickled his face and swayed his cloak as they reached the top of the stairs. The gentle song of windchimes rattled throughout the quiet house, save for the sounds of distant voices on the streets and the trio’s concentrated footsteps inside.

The couple led Halsin into a lavish, quiet room with several accents of reds and purples: the curtains, sheets, and various flowers adorning two massive wardrobes. There was a large bed at the center, decorated with bulky pillows and another red rug beneath the bed’s stand.

Halsin came to a stop but swayed slightly as a shift in his heartbeat caused a quick intake of breath. His stomach was beginning to tighten, much to his dismay, but he willed himself to force those sensations away. This was far from his first experience with couples— two at once was neither a challenge nor spectacle, so why was his body acting as such?

A sharp but quiet sigh drew from his lips at the feeling of the drow knowingly brushing her shoulder along Halsin’s side as she sauntered past him and toward the bed. She spun around once she reached the end of the bed, her movement slow and alluring. The half-elf gave Halsin a sultry wink as he came to stand parallel to her but with enough room in between. With a tantalizing smile, the half-elf gestured his arm towards the space between the couple, an invitation.

“Come, master druid, let us care for you,” the drow droned, a sultry purr calling out to him. Inside, the bear stirred, curious at the hint of long-dormant sensations being gradually stimulated.

Halsin half smiled, rolling his shoulders back which made him appear even taller, a powerful presence. “Remove your garments first. When there are more than one involved, it brings me pleasure to stand as a witness for a short time,” he told them with a confident pitch. However, his words were not entirely true.

While he did enjoy watching one rid themselves of the fabrics that shielded what nature blessed them with, he wasn’t one to linger on the sidelines much when other parties were involved, typically joining the affair with haste. But he felt the strangest need to give himself time, to ease the lurking monster of nerves threatening to simmer across his torso.

“Show me how you care for each other, and how you would wish to care for me,” Halsin said, the vigor of his voice deep and unintentionally commanding.

But this only seemed to entice the couple more. Obliging, the half-elf reached behind the drow’s neck and drew her in for an immediate, deep, needy kiss. A soft whine left her lips as the half-elf moved his hand to fiddle with the back of her constricting gown, loosening the ties and freeing her skin from its embrace. Halsin huffed a small pocket of hair, watching as her perky, lilac breasts bounced lightly. The half-elf groaned as her slender hands moved deftly over his buttoned trousers. With experienced speed and grace, the couple wasted no time freeing themselves from what few layers they wore.

Halsin readjusted his stance in response to a familiar twitch fueling his blood. The scent of a swelling salacity fluttered in the bedroom as the couple fondled and caressed the smooth, hairless planes of their bodies. Halsin quietly admired the curve of the drow’s body and the tight lines of muscle in the half-elf’s lithe physique. He watched her pull him into a searing, wet kiss, slowly reaching upward to thread her fingers through his short, black hair. The half-elf left her lips, gliding his tongue down her neck and chest before closing his lips over one of her violet nipples.

A satisfied sigh left her mouth as she tilted her head back, exposing her long neck. She yelped as the half-elf's other hand slipped between her thighs, and Halsin could barely make out his thumb running down the middle of her folds, disappearing within. His large chest rose and fell as he watched the pair, a low heat tingling over his skin. He could almost imagine the bear within rising on all fours, enticed to watch more.

The half-elf licked a long trail back up her chest, capturing her lips in another heated kiss. The drow chuckled lightly as she placed both of her palms flat on her lover's chest, halting him from further movements. “Patience my darling,” she murmured, nearly breathless. “We have another to pleasure tonight.”

The half-elf gave a closed-mouthed grin before releasing her. She turned away from him, her naked body facing Halsin fully, chest slick from her lover’s kisses. She was a beautiful creature, Halsin could not deny it. Nature was often incredibly talented with its canvases. Her eyes peered at him, dark with lust, cheeks already so flushed, and Halsin released an unstable breath as she sauntered towards him.

“Join us, master druid. Grant us your touch,” she purred, closing the short distance in little time. She placed a tender hand at the center of Halsin’s clothed chest. “Grant us the pleasures of your taste.”

A peculiar feeling cut across his stomach when she touched him, like a spark, but it was unlike one of sudden pleasure or pain. He couldn’t quite interpret it and cared not to, for it was fleeting, already gone the moment he started to ponder about it.

From behind the drow, Halsin caught the eye of the half-elf sitting on the bed, leaning back on his elbow, his bare legs wide open as he observed his lover and the druid. The half-elf reached for his long erection that rested on his thigh and began slowly playing with himself, as though in anticipation to watch his drow lover seduce and praise the druid.

“So thick with muscle,” the drow breathed as her hand traveled along the wide planes of Halsin’s strong chest. Her eyes roved over him appraisingly, and she leaned up towards his face, a soft gasp leaving her lips. “And such scars… a true fighter you are.” Her breath tickled his skin and a shiver ran down his back, accompanied by the same bizarre flip in his stomach. Still, Halsin felt himself swelling, breaching against the confines of his trousers.

The drow raised one hand to the side of his face and gently coaxed him to bend down towards her. Halsin caught a light floral aroma hovering over her skin as she rose on her toes, closing the distance. Her breath felt surprisingly cool as she angled her chin towards his mouth. Halsin watched her closely, her pupils so dilated with a brazen desire like she was already intoxicated from the exertion of passion before they even began.

With bated breath, he watched her eyelids close as her lips pressed softly against his own. Another flip inside his stomach, this time stronger, fiercer. A shiver rocketed over his skin but it wasn’t pleasurable, and his abdomen tightened. Halsin stood still, the wheels in his head spinning, his entire body growing rigid with each passing second. It felt bizarre, it felt wrong. The drow’s touch felt wrong, his body rejecting.

“You can kiss me, druid,” the drow murmured, smiling as she stared into his eyes after pulling away briefly. She leaned forward once more but Halsin drew back, causing her to gasp softly in surprise as her hand fell away.

“Perhaps this was a mistake,” he said, as gently as he could. All desire that was rising in his blood was rapidly waning, his heart pacing for other reasons entirely. Even the firmness of his cock began to reverse, the interest in what was to come no longer enough to awaken it.

The drow simply smiled, whining playfully. “Aww, don’t say that.” She bit her bottom lip, staring at his mouth with supreme volumes of yearning. “I can be slower if you’d like. I can ease all of the tension I know is trapped in those broad shoulders.” She reached for his face again—

“You cannot.” Halsin gripped her wrist, not enough to harm her but enough to seize her movements. The sternness in his voice sliced through the room, the aura of an Archdruid, destroying all flavor of the carnal atmosphere.

A flicker of surprise and fear flashed in her pink irises, and from the corner of his eye he noticed the half-elf take a cautious step towards them, eyes narrowed, but Halsin continued. “There is only one whose touch I crave most, and I will not find that here. May you both enjoy yourselves.” He let go of her wrist, then glanced once at the half-elf before turning his large body away from the couple and headed out of the bedroom.

The last he remembered was their dumbfounded stares as he turned to leave, having not a single care about what else they might have to say to convince him to stay. They still had each other, far more than what Halsin had, and that would have to be enough.

Halsin was already back outside, marching faster through the streets than he realized, ignoring all curious glances and stares along the way. The indecipherable noises, faces, and scents were a blur as he almost blindly strode down the stone-paved streets. His heart was hammering, his breathing coming in rapid, trembling currents. He needed to be alone again, to throw himself into the solitude that he should’ve never released in the first place.

His large legs brought him back to the lodgings adjacent to the tavern. He stormed inside, ignoring any greetings, and made his way upstairs where the volume from the streets became muffled. Halsin rushed through his door, slamming it behind him, and immediately fell forward against it. His forearm was leaning against the large door, with his head resting against the taut muscle.

He stared aimlessly at the mahogany floor, so incredibly aware of his blood rushing through his veins. “My heart,” he uttered, shakily. “I need you.” Images of your sweet face flooded his mind, the harmonious sounds of your laughter echoing in his ears, a faint memory.

Maybe two years was too soon, maybe he needed more time. He immediately buried that thought, there would never be enough time. “You are still all I want,” Halsin whispered, feeling his eyes starting to burn, naively hoping you’d somehow respond.

“Silvanus give me strength.” He closed his eyes, desperately trying to level his breathing, to calm his thundering heart.

It had been two years since he felt the true touch of another. Two years since he felt your touch. For someone of his lifespan, one would think he'd be immune to the effects of two simple years. But it was far from simple. Two years felt like two lifetimes without you by his side. Nature offered him a chance today to reap its bounties, but his heart was unmoved, his flesh disinterested.

One night. Just one night of rest, and he would gather his things and continue north to Icewind Dale. He’d trek deep into the wilderness for the next few weeks or months, alone again with nature and the memories of you. He’d spend his nights finding you in his meditations, and sometimes when he was exhausted enough, his dreams.

The thoughts alone sent a shrill up his back as he proceeded to conjure more images of you, imagining you standing right behind him, comforting him. Halsin sighed, deep, his body prickling at the visual of you running your hands up his abdomen, pressing yourself against him while you whispered alluring praises and admirations in his ears. 

He could almost feel it, the ghost of your touch, an airy sensation hovering over his long body, blanketing him in love and desire. A voice tickled his ear, breathy and sweet, and he let his eyes flutter closed, bringing his other arm against the door to better support his weight. His mouth curved into a closed smile at the faint sound of his name again, from a voice he adored from the moment it graced his ears a little over twenty years ago. Your voice, a sweet tune blessed by the gods themselves.

A sensation of peace washed over him at the feel of your touch, almost swearing he could feel the pressure of it as though you were truly right behind him. His heart thumped in his ear, desire coursing through him once again. With his eyes closed, he could picture you much clearer, could feel you better. “Halsin…” He swore he could hear you whispering right along the tip of his ear. And he sighed happily, smiling wider now.

“I’m here, my heart.” His words were soft leaving his lips, falling deeper into the image of you and the surroundings he created in his mind’s eye.

“Halsin?”

This time your voice sounded much clearer, like it was a part of his realm, his space. Halsin released a deep breath, blinking rapidly a few times like he was shaking off a daze. The memory of himself leaning on the door washed away like sand being called to the ocean.

“Halsin?” you asked for a third time, tilting your head to survey his face. Halsin blinked, exhaling as his warm eyes found yours.

You smiled, running a finger teasingly down his center as you held his gaze. “I lost you for a moment… It seems like we’re both experiencing much tonight.” You stroked his cheeks tenderly, speaking so softly and he immediately weakened at your touch.

Halsin, chuckling quietly, nodded in agreement. “It would appear so.” His brief laughter waned and he shook his head, slightly frowning, surprised at how overcome with emotion he was that he let his mind drift in such a way. “I never thought I’d feel your touch again, and yet…” he trailed off, breathing deeply as took you in, his entire being teeming with pure elation. “You are here and I fear my very mind and soul can scarcely handle it.”

Your hands were solid against him, real, no longer just a spectral touch of longing memories and fantasies. And though he was larger than you by far, it was your touch that he felt so unbelievably safe in, your eyes that he trusted more than anyone. He traveled dimensions for you, and he’d do it again and again, letting no god or cosmic force get in his way.

“Then let us ground each other tonight,” you said to him. He felt your thumb swipe over his bottom lip before resting at the corner of his mouth. “I’m with you, my Halsin. Are you with me?”

Halsin leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, never breaking his gaze. “I am with you, my love. I am truly, truly with you.”

Okay, part 5 was supposed to be the final. Taking a mini trip into what Halsin went through wasn't a part of the original plan, but I had the idea come to me literally a day after posting part 4 and I couldn't shake it! Our favorite druid went through a lot! Was this part necessary? Not really, but I think it makes the reunion all the more sweeter and powerful. And lastly, I mentioned a few names in this chapter: Neverwinter, High Forest, Icewind Dale. I'm sure some are already familiar with the names, but if it helps with the visuals of where these places are, I wanted to share a link of a map this awesome person created! The places mentioned are all on the west to north-western coast of the mainland, along the Sword Coast. Baldur's Gate is far below Neverwinter, in the middle of the coast. See you soon!

[we-ask-beforewe-bite]

Levis: I feel the same. Whatever you need of me, consider it done. Gale: Right now, I need nothing more than a kiss. Then we'll face what is to come, together. And claim the crown when the time comes. Levis: Kiss him. Gale: You put the stars to shame. Let's sit here another while - I want to drink you in.

[ Full transcript ⇩ ]

Gale: I must admit, the Crown of Karsus has occupied my every thought since we learned of it. If we can seize it, and use it... the possibilities are endless. Yet you haven't uttered a peep one way or the other about it. The power to change the world - it may be within our reach. You must have an opinion, surely. Levis: I'm here to support you, no matter what you want. Gale: Thank you. But I owe you more than that. I need to help you understand just what this could mean for us. Words alone are not enough. Permit me to show you. Please, close your eyes a moment. Levis: Close your eyes. Gale: Astra navigabimus. Few mortals ever glimpse what you're about to see. But don't be alarmed - I'm here with you. Now... open your eyes. The Outer Planes. This is where gods dwell. Where they observe us from afar. Where they make play-things of us. They would keep all of this from us - the power, the possibilities. They only want us to serve them, prey to them... and ultimately, die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead, and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to. I could make that happen. I could make this illusion a reality, with you by my side. Levis: Are you saying you want to ascend? Claim godhood? Gale: No, not like that. I don't want to join them, I want to better them. A god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart. The tadpoles, the orb - these threats to our existence - the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind Ao. So let us act ourselves. With the power of the crown, any foe would be rendered impotent. Any obstacle would be dwarfed by our might. I used to believe Mystr's forgiveness was worth dying for. But I was wrong. You showed me just how much I have to live for. With you, I forget my goddess. I love you. Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me you want what I want. Please. Levis: I feel the same. Whatever you need of me, consider it done. Gale: Right now, I need nothing more than a kiss. Then we'll face what is to come, together. And claim the crown when the time comes. Levis: Kiss him. Gale: You put the stars to shame. Let's sit here another while - I want to drink you in.

[son1c]

In all honesty thank you to responding to that anon like that, I have no idea how to articulate to people that criticism is not negative and it is so necessary to make something better, without people getting defensive and angry.

I will do anything to avoid conflict (due to some personal issues I have to work through) and I feel like I am never allowed to say anything without being put in the firing line of irrationally angry fans.

Anyways, all that to say, thank you for not letting people try to stop you from saying things that are necessary and in all actuality make the content more enjoyable for others

yeah, i feel like "criticism" has gotten a bad rap in recent times.

in reality, taking a "critical look" at things is neither positive nor negative; it, by definition, simply means "to question." why were these decisions made? who benefits from them? what are they trying to accomplish? these questions and more can help you deepen your understanding of a work.

it's unfortunate that so many people are so adverse to criticism. in my opinion, it's fun to think about things on more than just the surface level. to "dig deep" is, to me, what fandom is all about.

but things have changed. people don't want to think too hard about the things they "consume" anymore. "fast fiction" and media that's meant to be binged, not watched slowly and savored, are the norm now. it's created this frantic atmosphere that i don't like. people barely talk about one thing before already moving on to the next. where's the fun in that?

that being said, i don't think a lot of people who are the so-called "critics" do it correctly. i like to be overdramatic as much as the next guy, but spewing endless hate and writing "critical" posts that consist solely of exaggerated statements about things you clearly don't like is not criticism. maybe that's why people conflate criticism with negativity so often now. because those "critics" are really just haters.

it's a fine line. i think being able to tell the difference between good faith, well thought out, well researched criticism and rage-bait hatred is in and of itself, critical thinking. and i think it's a skill people on the internet desperately need to develop or at least improve.

because people getting defensive at the first whiff of anything less than 100% positivity isn't good for them. it makes you complacent. it lowers your standards. don't you want not just good shows, but GREAT shows? don't you want full, rich texts that are meant to be savored, not just consumed in a day and then thrown away?

if the people who make subpar media never get any pushback, then they never have a reason to make anything better, because they know whatever they make, no matter the quality, it will make them money. and i'm just not happy with that. i demand better. don't you?

[hjea]

1899 - The Key

“Tut mir leid, Captain.”

[kingofstag]

things get better. my best friend in the world got top surgery after us talking about it for years. i'm getting mine next year. i have genuine friends now who teach me everyday what love looks like. love looks like going to an arcade and talking for hours at the bar instead. love looks like planning road trips to our hometowns. love looks like choosing our regalia colors together. love looks like learning our language. love looks like compression binders. love looks like top surgery scars. love looks like sweet grass tattoos.

things get better.

[spacespore]

HI TUMBLRR it’s me

[lichtecht]

PART 20

of the dfk 2023 audiobook translation

@cnka

Narrator (audiobook): Robert puts another piece of wood on the trunk and swings the axe.

Bökh: „And you never wanted to get in touch?"

The Nichtraucher picks up a piece of wood.

Silence.

Nichtraucher: „Why should I? We didn’t see each other for the past ten years either.“

He rips the piece of wood apart with his bare hands. While holding eye contact with Justus.

Silence.

Justus lowers his head.

Jo: „Uh.. weren’t you-" Martina, quietly: „Jo, leave it. Lets go.“

Martina, louder: „We need to go! We still have something to do.“

The kids leave. Jo and Martina are holding hands as they walk away.

Bökh: „Yeah… Thank you, kids.“

Jo, whispering as they walk away: "What was that just now?!"

Robert picks up the chopped wood and walks back to his wagon. Justus looks after him.

Narrator (audiobook): If the two friends will find back together? Matze isn’t so sure of that.

Matze, sarcastically: „Well, that was a great success!“ Jo: „Yeah, so much for friendship between Internals and Externs.“

Narrator (audiobook): At least Robert granted Herr Bökh access to his wagon. He looks around lost in thought more or less, while Robert washes the dishes.

Dishes clatter. There is silence otherwise.

Justus stares wistfully at Robert while he washes the dishes.

Justus takes his eyes off Robert and starts looking around while Robert continues to ignore him.

Bökh: „I thought you were living in London.“ Nichtraucher: (silence) Bökh: „It's nice here.“ Nichtraucher: (silence)

Justus starts walking around.

Bökh: „I told the kids about our friendship.“ Nichtraucher: „As a cautionary tale?“ Bökh: (chuckles/scoffs) „No. Of course not.“

Narrator (audiobook): Bökh spots the poster of „the Bandits“, the same one hanging in his apartment.

Bökh: „The 'Wild Dog' that we always played in is still there.“

Nichtraucher: (silence)

Bökh: „Should we meet there sometime? For a beer?“

Robert looks up.

He lets out a small huff, almost like an incredulous laugh or a scoff.

He dries his hands on a towel and folds it.

Nichtraucher: (silence) Nichtraucher: „I don’t know what we would have to say to each other.“

Bökh: „Hm. Well. A lot of time has passed.“

Narrator (audiobook): Robert sits down at the table and lights himself a cigarette.

Justus turns as well and starts looking around again.

Nichtraucher: „Why didn’t you come to Marie’s funeral back then?“

Nichtraucher: „You didn’t even get in touch.“

[„You didn't even get in touch“ -> parallels to „And you never wanted to get in touch?“]

Justus is silent. He starts fiddling with his jacket and pulls it off his shoulder. He lets out a deep, shaky sigh and is silent for another few moments.

Bökh: „…I don’t know, you met her and… and suddenly you were gone.“

[Parallels to „suddenly your closest loved ones are gone“]

Bökh: „As if everything -our friendship, the band- as if that had all just been a dream.“

Justus turns around and looks at Robert.

Bökh: „Wir zwei. Wir hatten doch Pläne.“

Bökh: „That really hurt me.“ Nichtraucher: „It hurt you.“

Silence. Just the music.

Bökh: „Yes. Very much back then.“

The Nichtraucher lets out a soft incredulous laugh again, almost like a scoff.

Nichtraucher: „I see.“

Long silence. Justus stares out the window. Finally, he turns and walks to the door.

Bökh: „You know where to find me.“

Justus leaves the wagon. Robert nods to himself silently.

Narrator (audiobook): And with these words, Herr Bökh leaves his friend’s train wagon. If the two will ever see each other again?

[pennyserenade]

i read that autobiography cary grant did for himself in 1963, and this part has haunted me since i read it three or so days ago:

I dreaded the bustle of packing backstage that last night, as I have at the finish of every show or film I’ve been associated with ever since. I am always content to stay doing what I’m doing wherever I’m doing it; only circumstances seem to propel me on. I seldom leave anyone or anyplace of my own conscious volition. When the meal or party or association is over, and the people or person close to me are no longer there, I seem unwishing to move; without urge to change the situation, even though it could be for the better. Perhaps death is like that. Perhaps it is better on the other side of death; but I’m in no hurry to get there to prove it.

[yongseungkim]

.

[phantomrose96]

Thinking about Edward Elric as the Amestrian Military's specialest little unfireable boy

State alchemists can be fired for underperforming. We know this up front from the likes of Shou Tucker. And this makes a ton of sense from the homunculi's standpoint since the state alchemists are sacrifice candidates, and the homunculi would want to cull the weakest candidates and focus only on cultivating the strongest ones who stand the best chance of opening the portal.

........Then there's Edward. Who's already opened the portal.

There's no need to cultivate him. No gamble taken on whether he's good enough to open the portal. He passed the final test already. Graduated 4 semesters early.

And as such, has a free pass to do Absolute Fuck All.

And I'm imagining how funny this is from like an outside perspective.

Some newish state alchemist who'd only ever read up on the stories of Edward Elric, ready and excited to start their career of being paid handsomely with endless freedom to research and travel and do anything they want in the pursuit of science... surprised and confused to find themselves put on probation their first month for things like "ignoring orders." Which is, as best they had thought, a famous Edward Elric pastime.

Roy showing a slight bit of stress about his yearly state alchemist report, and Ed just snorting and rolling his eyes at Roy because every year HE just hastily does his on the train ride over (canon in the manga, a travesty it was left out of the anime) and it gets rubber stamped. Ed not realizing that other alchemists' reports get genuinely scrutinized and torn apart while Ed is free to turn in whatever absolute bullshit he thinks of 36 hours ahead of time. One year his report was about whether alchemy could be done via dance (conclusion: no it can't) and no one cared. Roy WANTS to tell Ed there's some kind of unknown favoritism around Ed making him literally bullet-proof but Roy has no way to phrase this that doesn't sound like he's just in denial and mad at how good Ed's train-reports are.

Guy from the Internal Amestrian Affairs sector who's responsible for auditing other internal military personel for any suspicious activity hitting about 1 million red flags for Edward Elric, issuing a STRONG and URGENT recommendation to suspend the alchemist pending further investigation into things like "literal bunk-buddies with two members of the Xingese royalty (enemy nation)" and "spent $10,000,000 of his stipend on a librarian to make her re-copy (what he seemed to interpret as?) military records in some extremely transparent effort to unearth state secrets (it was a recipe book but he was literally asking her about state secrets)" and "literally has never once obeyed an order, ever, not even once in his career, and is on public record having said 'I do not care about the goals and protections of the Amestrian Military. I am in fact only pursuing my own interests several of which are diametrically opposed to the safety and well-being of the governing body of Amestris'"

The issued recommendation is intercepted before it even reaches its intended desk. President Bradley himself has taken issue with it and denies it before a single set of eyes has seen it. The President's veto stamp is a terrifying hammer, used rarely, and it is now sitting on the auditor's desk.

The auditor sleeps with one eye open from then on out.

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

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[melancholy-of-nadia]

i'm not sure?! (m) | jjk/pjm/kth

title: i'm not sure?!  pairing: jungkook x jimin x taehyung x show producer!reader(f)  rating/genre: m(18+) ; fluff, smut ; the canon idol au summary: You're a producer working on a BTS travel show, called "Are You Sure?!" staring BTS members Jimin and Jungkook, with their fellow member guest star Taehyung. Everything is going well on set as filming for the night comes to an end, but when Jungkook and Jimin inform you that they caught you staring at their shirtless bodies, things quickly escalate between you guys by the poolside. warnings: fluff, language, pwp, threesome, foursome, tit play, nipple play, licking, some body boob worship, blowjobs, hand jobs, eating out, multiple orgasms, ass slapping, light mlm moment, cumming, oral sex (m and f receieving), biting, praise, they all have a big dicks but they're different!, tatted jk and jimin is a warning in itself, jungkook is a bit more rough, jimin is soft :(((, taehyung dom tease!, insinuation that this is not their first rodeo lmfao, kisses note: i am watching are you sure?! and i've thought many thoughts... i hope this one shot can be prescribed to you and heal whatever insane and nasty intrusive thoughts you guys have when watching. i am a simple woman, but these men only slightly older than me have me wrecked :"))) also s/o to @daegudrama for editing despite her busyness total word count: 6.6k drop date: August 29th, 2024 5pm pst ao3 link

A day of filming wrapped as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the lush greenery of Jeju Island.

The final shot had captured the last rays of sunlight glinting off the shimmering pool, where Jimin and Jungkook had been playfully splashing each other and playing mermaids, their laughter echoing through the tranquil evening air. The crew began to pack up the equipment, the usual post-shoot chatter filling the space as everyone prepared to unwind after another successful day.

You, the producer, had been watching the monitors closely, ensuring every moment was captured perfectly for "Are You Sure?"—the travel reality show hosted by BTS members Jimin and Jungkook. You’ve seen how their chemistry was undeniable since filming started out in the US in July. Now, once again, their camaraderie was infectious as they explored the beauty of Jeju, Korea with their fellow bandmate and guest star Taehyung by their side. Each outing in Jeju had been a hit: indoor rock climbing, go-karting, savoring omakase as well as other Jeju delicacies, and now, the pool at the luxurious house accommodation, where they seemed to find endless ways to entertain themselves, and the audiences who would eventually be watching this.

However, throughout this filming project, you found your eyes constantly lingering. The cool blue water rippled gently as Jimin and Jungkook clambered out, their naked torsos glistening in the fading light. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught yourself staring a little too long, mesmerized by the sight of them so effortlessly carefree and touchy. There was something about the way they moved, their playful energy, that made it hard to look away.

You shake off the thought. Get it together, Y/N! You finally got a big gig producing a reality show for BTS in your mid-20s and you cannot be ruining it over your lust. You sigh. Maybe the lack of touch and a relationship is really getting to you, but that’s what happens when you value your career above other mundane things. You have to remind yourself that you have to continue staying professional to make it to the end of filming this.

What you don’t know is that your stares haven’t gone unnoticed, especially by the youngest of the trio, Jungkook.

As you begin to collect your things, your heart skips a beat when you hear a voice call out to you.

“Hey, PD-nim. Can you come join us by the pool for a bit before you go,” Jungkook says, his tone casual, but his smile inviting. “We wanted to talk about tomorrow’s shoot.”

Jimin nods in agreement, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans against the edge of the pool. “Yeah, we’ve got some ideas for tomorrow. Plus, it’s a nice night—no reason to rush off, right?”

You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing. The day has been long, and you can feel the exhaustion settling in. But the chance to spend a few more moments in their company, even if just to discuss the next day's itinerary, is too tempting to resist.

“Uh,” you turn to look around at the other staff, seemingly wondering if you should stay behind.

However, the ones who notice the interaction shrug, seemingly wanting to go back to their accommodation next door and eat dinner. Great.

“Sure, I can stick around for a bit.” trying to keep your voice steady as you walk over to where they’re waiting.

All the staff but you fully exit, closing the large doors that encase you in this space with these beautiful men. You sit on one of the comfortable seats by the pool, nervously hugging your knees as you watch Jimin and Jungkook swim toward you. You notice Taehyung is still inside the living room, lying on the floor as he scrolls on his phone. “Is he coming to join us?” You ask, wondering if there are any concerns for tomorrow, wouldn’t it be good to have him hear this information too?  

“He’ll join us later~” Jimin answers, his tone sounding like he’s up to something, but his adorable smirk makes you not question it.

“Ah, alright.”

A brief silence follows as you look to Jimin and Jungkook to start the conversation, but instead, they exchange a glance and giggle.

You’re confused, but you recognize this as typical behavior from them. “Is there something wrong?”

Jungkook’s giggling becomes softer before it cuts, “You know, we’ve noticed you staring at us too much throughout the trip in America and here.”

Holy shit! They noticed!

Panic sets in. Oh no no no. Is this it? They probably think you’re creepy.  What if they think you’re some sort of sasaeng fan who somehow got involved in the production of this show to stalk them? 

You’ll be labeled a pervert, potentially losing your job and getting blacklisted from the industry. All because you couldn’t keep your eyes off of their beautiful faces… and bodies. It’s not your fault! While you were a fan of BTS years ago, you gave that up once you entered the entertainment industry a few years ago and started out as a production assistant. You’ve occasionally seen them at music and end of the year shows you worked on, but you gently admired them from afar, prioritizing your work over anything else.

“I–” You struggle to find the words to defend yourself. “I’m so sorry!” You cover your face with your hands, your words muffled. “I-I didn’t mean to! Y-You’re… He’s…”

The professional and stoic exterior you’ve maintained begins to crumble now that you’ve been caught red-handed.

But despite your panic, Jimin and Jungkook find your reaction completely endearing.

“She’s reacting exactly as cute as you said!” Jimin laughs, splashing water at Jungkook, who swims toward the pool ladder to get out.

“I didn’t realize she’d be this flustered, though!” Jungkook says, a hint of concern in his voice. He climbs out of the pool and walks toward you, dripping water onto the deck. “PD-nim, don’t worry about it.”

You peek through your fingers, still mortified, as Jungkook approaches, looking as attractive as ever with his body glistening from light reflecting on the remnants of water falling down his body. His expression is soft, reassuring, and it only makes your heart race faster.

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re just teasing you,” His voice is light and teasing as he floats lazily in the pool “We’re not uncomfortable. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

Jungkook nods, his expression gentle yet probing. “Yup! You’ve been nothing but professional this whole time. We just noticed that… maybe there’s more beneath the surface.”

Jimin gracefully lifts himself out of the pool and takes the seat on your other side. His presence is both comforting and disarming. “It’s like there’s something you’re holding back,” he adds, his tone hiding something deeper. “Something you’re denying yourself.”

You exhale slowly, trying to steady your nerves. Internally, you’re awestruck. It’s like they read you like a book. The intensity of their gazes still makes your heart race. Before you can respond, Jungkook’s eyes drop to your chest, his smile turning playful again.

“You know,” he says, “I noticed the black bikini top peeking out from under your tank top earlier.”

Your breath catches as his fingers touch the straps that tie behind your neck. You’d planned to swim later, after filming, wearing the bikini under your tank top and maxi skirt. Seeing how much fun they were having, you’d wanted to join in. But now, with their attention focused on you, you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Jimin leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Why don’t you take off your clothes so we can see it better? We’ll help you~”

Take off your clothes?! Your heart pounds in your chest, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. The teasing is taking a turn, and you’re not sure how to respond. Saying no might kill the mood, and who knows what they’d think—or say. But if you say yes… there’s no telling where this might lead.

You’re not sure. But after a moment’s hesitation, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay…”

Jungkook gently takes hold of the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. His touch is both soft and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine as he slowly lifts the fabric, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath catches in your throat as Jungkook pulls the tank top over your head, revealing the black bikini top beneath. Your cleavage and the roundness of your breasts are on full display, which makes them slightly more excited. The cool air hits your skin, making you acutely aware of how exposed you are. 

But the look in their eyes isn’t one of judgment—it’s something far more intense, more primal.

Jimin watches with a satisfied smile, his gaze flickering between you and Jungkook. “You don’t need to hide, okay?” he adds, his voice soft yet commanding. “We’re all just having a little fun, right?”

Jungkook’s hands linger on your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against the skin just above the waistband of your maxi skirt. “This too,” he says, his voice almost a whisper as he hooks his fingers under the fabric.

You glance at Jimin, who nods encouragingly, his eyes dark with anticipation. There’s no turning back now, and a part of you doesn’t want to.

With a gentle tug, Jimin helps you slide the skirt down your hips, letting it pool around your feet. You stand up, stepping out of it. Now, your body is fully on display in the black bikini that suddenly feels far more revealing than it did before.

Jimin’s smile widens as his gaze travels over you, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. “Wow, you look even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his voice sending a thrill through you.

“She’s really pretty,” Jungkook’s hands trail up your sides, his touch light but possessive. “Let’s go in the pool for a swim,” he says softly, his eyes locked onto yours.

You’re momentarily thrown off by the sudden change of scenario, blinking in surprise. The intensity of the moment shifts, and both Jimin and Jungkook burst into soft giggles at your reaction. Before you can say anything, Jungkook takes your hands and, with a mischievous grin, pulls you up from the lounge chair.

In one swift motion, he lifts you into his arms, the strength in his hold both reassuring and thrilling. “Hold on tight,” he says, winking at you before he leaps into the pool, bringing you along with him.

“Huh!? Wahh!!” The water rushes around you, cool and refreshing as you both plunge beneath the surface.

When you resurface, laughing and splashing, Jimin stands at the edge, watching with amusement. “Wait for me!” he calls out before executing a perfect cannonball right between you and Jungkook, sending a wave of water crashing over both of you.

The three of you laugh as the playful atmosphere takes over. The tension from earlier dissolves into something lighthearted and fun. In the pool, you play a variety of games: splashing water at each other, racing from one end to the other, seeing who can hold their breath the longest, and even attempting to dunk each other under the water.

You become more familiar with them and vice versa.

Jimin and Jungkook take turns lifting you up and tossing you into the deeper end, your laughter echoing in the night. At one point, Jungkook even suggests a round of “chicken fight,” where Jimin hoists you onto his shoulders while Jungkook does the same with an imaginary opponent, both of you trying to push each other off into the water.

As the night progresses, the games become more relaxed, the three of you floating side by side, your bodies gently swaying with the ripples of the water. 

Maybe this is all that’s going to happen. Maybe you were overthinking any other scenario. They were just teasing you because you were staring at them throughout the filming. You guys are gonna call it a night, right?

Right–

“Y/N, can I touch your breasts.”

The sudden question jolts you out of your thoughts, and you quickly stand up in the pool, water cascading off your skin. Jungkook is closer now, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that wasn’t there before. His eyes are darker, a smoldering intensity taking over the playful spark you’re used to.

You swallow hard, caught completely off guard. “Is there… a reason?” you manage to ask, your voice coming out shakier than you’d like. You are on the bigger side than most girls here, so it’s not entirely surprising that your chest caught his eye.

Jungkook steps even closer, his presence almost overwhelming. “I’m just curious,” he says softly, his voice low and almost hypnotic. “I want to see how they feel.”

Your heart races, every nerve in your body tingling as the situation escalates far beyond anything you’d imagined. You can’t believe this is happening, and yet, there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes it impossible to say no.

“Uh… sure,” you respond, barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation.

Jungkook’s hand moves slowly, deliberately, under the cup of your bikini top. His touch is tentative at first, as if he’s savoring the moment, but then his fingers press more firmly against your skin, exploring the softness with a deliberate curiosity. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel his thumb brush against your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. 

The sensation is heightened by the sight of his tattooed right arm, the intricate patterns of his sleeve adding a dark contrast to his skin. The ink swirls and curves with every movement, the bold lines almost mesmerizing as his hand continues its exploration.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sound that threatens to escape, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to his touch. The water feels warmer now, the atmosphere is charged with sexual tension. Luckily the cameras outside are now off, but you still can’t let the staff in the building next door hear anything going on. 

Jimin, who had been floating nearby, quietly watching, now moves closer as well, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Jungkook,” he says softly, his voice a gentle reminder that he’s there too, “Don’t hog all the fun.”

Jungkook pulls back slightly, his hand still lingering on your skin as he glances at Jimin with a playful smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jimin leans closer, his gaze intent and voice soft. “I’m going to touch you too, is that okay?”

You nod, anticipation and nervousness swirling within you.

Jimin’s hand moves under the bikini cup to grasp your left breast, his touch gentle yet confident as he begins to explore. His fingers graze and play with your nipple, causing a shiver to run through your body. His thumb and forefingers move in careful back and forth motions. Tenderly tweaking them, carefully observing the way your face reacts to his every touch. He appears as if he is under a trance, and looks at you with such a need in his eyes.

The sensation is heightened by Jungkook, who leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. 

“I’m gonna remove your top so I can suck on them a bit,” He says shyly, pausing for a moment to untie your bikini straps from the back of your neck and remove your bikini top, before lowering his head and softly pressing his lips to your nipple, his tongue darting out to tease. 

His hands push your breasts together as his tongue caresses the inner curves of your tits, swirling his tongue across them. Your hands are on his shoulders as he continues, licking every inch of your chest, nuzzling his face between them and leaving kisses along the path. His tongue flicks your right nipple and your breathing hitches in your throat. Despite the water in the way, you can feel yourself becoming wet from below.

Jimin watches, clearly intrigued, and soon follows suit, his mouth finding the other breast. He rubs his mouth along it, giving it a couple of kisses then wrapping his lips around it. Suctioning and taking in the tit with such hungry delight. 

You feel like you have whiplash, as you cry out from the warmth of their mouths on your skin, your back arches off of the wall of the pool. You want to touch them, reach for them, feel the silkiness of his hair in your grasp. 

But Jimin doesn’t let up, taking his time licking slowly around your areola until your nipple perks up, hard and stiff. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue, and with the sudden cold from the night air, it feels all too much. 

Jungkook looks up at you through his wet hair, through black lashes as he widens his mouth over your breast, his teeth bared, scraping the fat of your breast without ever breaking the skin. You cry out in a cluster of pleasure, maybe pain, as your senses are confused about all of the sensations at once.

Despite the feelings of them against you, their actions are synchronized and perfectly in tune with each other.

The pool’s gentle ripples and breeze seem to fade into the background as the focus narrows to the intimate touch of the two men. Their movements are tender and explorative, a blend of curiosity and desire that leaves you breathless and overwhelmed.

Your mind is fighting for dear life to stay sane and not lose to your animalistic urges,

“Let’s get out of the pool,” Jungkook commands, his voice firm yet enticing. “I want you to sit back on that daybed couch, baby.”

The shift in how he’s addressing you in the past 45 minutes is striking—both intimate and commanding. You nod, your body responding almost instinctively to his command as you all exit the pool. The three of you walk over to the poolside daybed, water dripping off your bodies, cooling in the night.

You sink into the plush cushions, the soft fabric cool against your heated skin. The daybed is large, designed for lounging, but right now, it feels like the center of something much more intense. Jungkook and Jimin kneel on either side of you, their knees pressing into the mattress as they lean over you, their wet bodies glistening under the soft pool lights.

You look at both of them, a daring thought forming in your mind. “I want to… lick at your chests too,” you say, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of eagerness, shyness and uncertainty.

The thought of exploring the contrasting textures of their skin, the difference in their nipples under your tongue, is almost overwhelming. You wonder how each will react, the mere anticipation making your breath catch.

Jimin’s eyes light up with a mischievous glint. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of encouragement and desire. “We’re here for you.”

Jungkook watches intently, his gaze dark with expectation. “We’re all yours,” he says softly, his tone dripping with promise.

You reach out tentatively, your fingers brushing against their chests to feel the firmness of their muscles under your touch. The warmth of their skin sends a shiver down your spine as you explore the contours of their bodies. Your hands glide over Jungkook's chest first, pausing to tease his nipples with your fingertips gently. His breath hitches, a low hum of approval escaping his lips as he watches you with darkened eyes.

Encouraged by his reaction, you lean in closer, your mouth hovering just above his skin. You start with a soft kiss on his chest before taking one of his small chocolate nipples into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it in a slow, deliberate motion. Jungkook’s hand instinctively reaches up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he lets out a quiet groan of pleasure. His chest rises and falls more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier as you continue to tease him, alternating between gentle licks and firmer sucks.

The sound of his pleasure fuels your desire, making you want to elicit even more reactions from him. But as you pull back slightly, your gaze shifts to Jimin, who has been watching with equal intensity. His eyes are filled with anticipation, his lips slightly parted as if he’s already imagining what it will feel like when it’s his turn.

You move towards Jimin, your fingers tracing the outline of his chest as you did with Jungkook. His skin feels different—softer, yet still firm beneath your touch. Just below his right breast, he has a delicate script tattoo, the word "Nevermind" inked in elegant, flowing letters. You've always found it sexy, this handwritten tattoo adds a personal touch to his perfectly sculpted body.

His nipples are also differently shaped, bigger, and a bit lighter in color. You can feel the slight tremble in his body as you gently roll his nipple between your fingers before leaning in to taste him. Your mouth closes over his nipple, your tongue flicking against it in a teasing rhythm that draws a sharp inhale from him. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly as you continue to explore him with your mouth.

Jimin’s reactions are more subtle, yet no less intense. His soft moans mix with Jungkook’s heavier breathing, creating a symphony of sounds that only heighten your own arousal. The way their bodies respond to your touch, the contrast in their reactions, drives you to explore further, to discover just how much pleasure you can bring them.

You pull back slightly, glancing toward the large doors that separate the pool area from the rest of the accommodation. A flicker of concern crosses your mind, and you bite your lip before whispering, “You two need to stay quiet. We don’t want anyone overhearing us.”

Any slight mistake and you will lose your job, remember?

Jimin and Jungkook exchange a glance, their playful expressions tinged with a shared understanding. They nod, their eyes never leaving yours as they silently agree to your request. But just as you start to relax, your actions come to a stop when you feel them guiding your hands downwards, placing them on their lower bodies.

Your breath catches as your fingers wrap around their growing hardness, the heat and firmness of their cocks hidden under their swim trunks pressing against your palms. Jimin lets out a shaky exhale, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear. “I’ve wanted to feel you so bad for months now,” he confesses, his voice low and thick with desire.

Jungkook, not to be outdone, adds in a hushed tone, his eyes glinting with a dark sparkle, “Me too. You don’t know how much you’ve been driving us crazy.”

Their words send a thrill through you, intensifying the moment. You didn’t realize you were having this effect on them. You look at them both, their shared longing evident in their eyes. Slowly, you pull their members out from their swim trunks, your heart racing as you position yourself between them, sinking to your knees on the cushioned daybed.

Oh fuck…

The size difference even extends to their dicks. Jungkook’s is much longer, with veins prominent on its sides. Jimin’s is shorter, but the girth is insane. You can’t help but imagine how they’d feel inside your pussy. No, you can’t get ahead of yourself Y/N. Not yet at least…

With a mixture of boldness and anticipation, you lean down, your lips parting as you begin to lick at their members, starting with soft, tentative strokes of your tongue. The sensation of their heated skin against your tongue is intoxicating, their quiet groans spurring you on. You alternate between them, your tongue tracing the veins along their lengths, savoring the contrast in texture and taste.

Jimin’s breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his member, the salty taste mingling with the slickness of your saliva. His fingers suddenly tighten in your hair, but he remains obediently quiet, the tension in his body evident as he struggles to hold back his angelic voice.

You shift to Jungkook, taking him into your mouth with a slow, deliberate sucking. His quiet sounds of pleasure are like music to your ears, the low hums of approval vibrating. His hands rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but not forceful, guiding you as you take him deeper, feeling the way his body responds to every movement of your tongue.

At the same time, your hand reaches out to Jimin, wrapping around his throbbing length. You start stroking him with a steady rhythm, making sure to keep him engaged, the sensation of your fingers gliding over his slick skin keeping his arousal high. Jimin’s breath hitches, his eyes half-lidded with desire as he watches you.

The two of them try their best to stay quiet, but the occasional gasp, lust-filled phrases or whispered name of yours slips out, betraying their growing need. 

“You’re so good at this PD nim…”

“Y/N, you’re so fucking fine…”

“Such a good girl, Y/N…”

“Fuck, right there…”

The thrill of their restraint only heightens your own arousal, driving you to explore them further, your lips and tongue working in tandem to bring them closer to the edge.

While working your mouth over Jungkook, you feel Jimin’s hand sliding up your body, his fingers brushing against your wet skin before cupping your breast. His thumb grazes over your nipple, teasing it to a hardened peak, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. The dual feeling—Jimin’s touch on your breast and Jungkook’s heat filling your mouth—intensifies the moment, driving you to pleasure them both with renewed focus.

The tension in the atmosphere thickens, all your quiet breaths turning into ragged gasps. You can feel the subtle changes in their bodies, the way their muscles tighten, and the way their grips on you grow firmer. The anticipation builds, and you know they’re close, teetering on the edge of release.

Jimin is the first to break the silence, his voice low and filled with need. “Y/N… can I come on your chest?” His eyes are dark with lust, the words almost a plea.

Jungkook isn’t far behind, his voice breathless and shaky as he adds, “And I–I want to come in your mouth. Is that okay?”

The heat in their words sends a shiver down your spine. You pause, looking up at them, their faces flushed with desire. 

“Y-Yes that’s fine with me,” You nod, your consent clear in your eyes and the slight smile that tugs at your lips.

With their requests granted, you resume your ministrations with renewed intensity. Your hands work in tandem, stroking their members with a firm, steady rhythm while your tongue flicks and teases them both. The taste of them lingers on your tongue, salty and intoxicating, driving you to push them further, to bring them to the edge of ecstasy.

Their breaths quicken, and you can tell they’re both struggling to hold back, to savor the moment as long as possible. But the pleasure is overwhelming, and soon their restraint begins to falter.

Jungkook’s voice is the first to crack, a desperate whisper as he warns you, “I’m close… so close…”

Jimin removes his hand from your hair. Instead, Jungkook’s hand, adorned with intricate tattoos and the bold "ARMY" inked across his knuckles, slides from your shoulder to your hair this time. The grip is firm and possessive, his fingers weaving into your strands with a fierce, almost primal hold. The veins beneath his tattooed skin pulsate as he uses his arm to guide you closer, pushing himself deeper into you with each powerful thrust. His tattooed bicep flexes with every movement, demonstrating his strength and control, while the rhythmic thrusts become more urgent.

Jimin's breath hitches as soft, erotic moans escape his lips, each sound laced with urgency to let go. His voice quivers, with a strained yet sensual whisper, “Me too… I’m going to come…” The words tumble out in a series of ragged breaths

With one last, deliberate stroke of your hand and a final suck, you push them both over the edge.

“F-Fuck!” Jimin lets out a guttural groan as he releases, his hot seed spilling onto your breasts, painting your skin with his pleasure. The warmth of it spreads across your breasts, the sensation almost surreal as you continue to stroke him, milking out every last drop.

At the same time, Jungkook’s hips buck slightly as he comes, the hot, salty taste of his release flooding your mouth. You swallow him down eagerly, your tongue swirling around him to milk him of every last bit. The taste of him lingers, warm and slightly bitter, but satisfying in a way that leaves you wanting more.

The sounds they make—those broken moans, the gasps of pleasure—echo in your ears, a symphony of gratification. Their bodies tremble with the aftershocks of their orgasms, their hands gentle but insistent as they guide you through the final moments of their release.

When they’ve finally come down from the high, their breathing ragged but steadying, they look down at you with a mix of awe and satisfaction. The sight of you, your chest slick with Jimin’s release and your lips still wet from Jungkook seems to stir something deeper in them—a shared sense of intimacy that goes beyond mere physical pleasure. Your fingers move instinctively, collecting Jimin’s release and bringing it to your lips, savoring the taste as you clean yourself, erasing the evidence of what just transpired. The sensation is both surreal and thrilling, the intimacy of the moment lingering in the air.

Jungkook's voice breaks through the haze, his tone a mix of innocence and desire. “PD-nim, can we do more with you?” His eyes sparkle with the same enthusiasm you’ve seen during filming, making it nearly impossible to deny him.

“H-Huh!? Oh…” you stammer, caught off guard. That look in his eyes—it’s almost impossible to resist. But a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you should be heading back before the other staff starts wondering where you are.

“C’mon, we’ll be quick!” Jimin adds, his voice smooth and coaxing, making it even harder to stick to your resolve. “We can eat you out, or we can penetr—”

Before he can finish, another voice cuts through the tension, startling you. “Oh… so that’s what you guys were doing?”

You turn your head sharply to see Taehyung standing there, now wearing swim trunks, with a smirk playing on his lips. Your heart races, the sudden realization hitting you like a wave. “Oh my God, I forgot about Taehyung…” you gasp, instinctively trying to cover yourself, though it’s far too late for modesty.

“Hey, I thought you were going to head to bed?” Jimin narrows his eyes at the slightly younger man. He must’ve been watching you all this entire time, he thinks.

He chuckles, an amused glint in his eyes as he takes in the scene. “I thought you guys were still playing in the pool or something… but I’m not surprised things ended up this way. You two are always up to shit like this.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, clearly unimpressed yet intrigued.

“Huh?” you manage to squeak out, your mind reeling. Always up to shit like this? What’s that supposed to mean–

Taehyung’s smirk deepens, and he steps closer. “Anyways, I’m bored. Let me join in too,” he says casually with a boxy smile, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I won’t disappoint heh~” 

He winks. HE WINKS! 

The three members of the BTS maknae line look at you deviously, waiting to pounce on you at your command.

“I don’t think we should be–”

“Are you sure?” Jimin and Jungkook say in unison.

“I… “ The title of the show is going to come back to haunt you.

“I’m not sure…?” You can’t find yourself to say no, having already gone to the deep end.

You will be closer to getting fired if you get caught at this rate, but to hell with it, “Okay, fine!” 

And immediately, they’re all over your body, reigniting the hidden flame in your heart that reminds you how much you loved them as a fan years before. You won’t survive this.

“Come over here,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice deep and commanding as he settles against the pillows of the daybed. He props himself up, making sure he’s comfortable, then motions for you to crawl in front of him.

Your heart races as you move into position, with Jungkook and Jimin on each side of you, their eyes dark with lust. The daybed is deep enough that you’re perfectly nestled between them.

As you get closer to Taehyung, you feel his hands sliding up your thighs, tugging lightly at the waistband of your bikini bottoms. You gasp softly, a thrill running through you as he pulls them down slowly, exposing your wetness. The sensation sends a shiver through you, heightening your anticipation and eagerness to get this over with. You lift your hips slightly to help him slide them off completely, leaving you fully exposed.

Taehyung’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

He props himself up with the pillows behind his head, his hands settling on your hips as he guides you closer. “Sit on my face,” he tells you, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Your breath catches at the bold command, but the heat in his eyes, the way his hands grip your hips, sends a rush of excitement through you. You move to straddle him, your heart pounding as you position yourself over his face. Jungkook and Jimin remain close, their hands brushing over your body, adding to the growing heat between you all.

As you lower yourself onto his waiting mouth, the first touch of his tongue against your most sensitive spot sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body. 

“A-Ah~ T-Taehyung…” You gasp, your fingers gripping the daybed as Taehyung’s tongue begins to work its magic, teasing and tasting you with skillful precision.

Taehyung’s tongue explores you, from your clit to your entrance. His mouth working in a rhythm that leaves you breathless, and your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

Jimin and Jungkook are on either side of you, their hands moving to your breasts, where they each take a breast in their grasp. Their mouths soon follow, lips closing over your nipples as they begin to suck and tease you with their tongues once more. The dual sensation of Taehyung’s mouth on you and the boys’ attention on your breasts sends your mind reeling, pleasure coursing through you to unleash an orgasm. But you need to be patient and let it continue consuming you.

Jungkook’s hand slides down, tugging off Taehyung’s trunks with a practiced ease before wrapping his fingers around Taehyung’s impressive length. The sight makes your eyes widen, but you aren’t entirely surprised by their actions—after all, you’ve seen how touchy BTS are with one another. Even filming earlier in the day and even back in the States. But this? Seeing them work together to push you to the brink of pleasure only makes you even hornier.

And Taehyung’s dick… it’s massive, much bigger than the other two. The way his tan skin contrasts with the thick, veined shaft is mesmerizing, almost too much to take in. You can’t help but imagine what it would feel like inside you, making you ache with the anticipation of trying it next time.

Jimin, not to be outdone, reaches over to stroke Jungkook, his touch slow and deliberate, making sure to keep him just as aroused. His free hand slips down to touch himself, fingers wrapping around his own length as he matches the pace. The sensation of their hands moving in tandem, coupled with the attention they’re lavishing on you, makes your body tremble with need.

You ride Taehyung’s face, grinding down against his mouth as his tongue works magic on you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can. Your hands clutch the edges of the daybed for support, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you lose yourself in the sensations they’re giving you. Since you’re facing outwards, Taehyung’s hands slide down to grab your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulls you even closer, deepening the connection between his mouth and your most sensitive spot. His grip is firm and possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as he devours you with renewed intensity. He gives it a slap, which makes you cringe before you go back to indulging in the pleasure.

The feeling of the two men’s mouths on your breasts, Taehyung’s tongue inside you, and the sight of their hands pleasuring each other is almost too much to bear. The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, your body quivering with the need to release.

Jimin and Jungkook suck harder on your nipples, their teeth grazing them just enough to send jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Taehyung’s tongue flicks and swirls with expert precision, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

And then, finally, it all becomes too much. The pleasure explodes within you, sending you spiraling into an intense orgasm that leaves you gasping for breath. Your body tenses, your thighs clenching around Taehyung’s head as you ride out the waves of ecstasy, the sensation amplified by the boys’ continued ministrations.

As the last tremors of your orgasm fade, you collapse forward slightly, your body spent and trembling. Taehyung gently guides you off him, his lips slick with your arousal, and you fall onto the daybed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook quickly follow, their own bodies shuddering as they reach their peaks, their releases mingling, landing onto each others bodies or the fabric beneath them.

Now the three of you lay there, breathless and spent, with limbs piled on top of each other. The air is thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction, however a yearning for more still remains. The outdoor area is quiet, save for the sound of your heavy breathing, as you all come down from the high of your shared pleasure.

Jungkook leans in close, his voice low and filled with unfulfilled desire. “I’m so eager to fuck you, but I’ll wait until tomorrow after the itinerary is done,” he murmurs, his eyes smoldering with lust as he looks down at you.

Jimin, still tenderly stroking your skin, adds with a soft smile, “We don’t want you getting into trouble, PD-nim. We’ll be patient.”

You manage a weak smile, your mind swirling with the aftershocks of what just happened. “How have the staff not conveniently come in to check on us?” you wonder aloud, your voice shaky with exhaustion and disbelief.

The three of them exchange a glance, a shared understanding passing between them. 

Don’t say that the staff are aware that they’re doing this…!? Taehyung’s words from earlier were already… odd, but you decide not to think too hard on it right now. You need to head back anyway, so let’s keep this drama-free, you think to yourself. Wouldn’t be the first time you hear about idols doing these things.

They begin to clean you up, wiping away the evidence of your intense encounter.  They’re gentle, their touches soothing as they take care of you, ensuring that you’re comfortable before helping you to your feet to get dressed.

They walk you to the door, each of them pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before they see you out, their eyes filled with satisfaction. You step out, your mind reeling from the events that just transpired.

“Oh my god…” you say to yourself in a whisper.

As you walk away from the daybed, you can’t help but wonder how you ended up in this situation—tangled up with the three members of BTS in a way you never could have imagined. The memory of their hands, their mouths, their words lingers with you, a heady reminder of the connection you’ve just shared. And though you know the risks, the dangers of what you’ve done, you can’t bring yourself to regret a single moment.

With a deep breath, you start heading back to your accommodation, telling yourself you still have more days of this show’s filming to go. And more chance encounters with them as well.

-

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-

The End????

A/N: HAPPY SURPRISE ONE SHOT DROP! OKAY. ALSO I HAD PLANNED TO BLUE BALL YOU GUYS AND NOT GIVE YOU A TAE SCENE BUT RAE SAID I SHOULD WRITE IT SO I DID! I've seen all y'all thirsting over are you sure?! and honestly, the maknae line really FED US SO WELL WITH THIS SHOW. also never in my life did i think there would be no censoring of their bodies, but thank you god for allowing us to indulge in their beauty and cute antics lmao. if you somehow survived this and made it to the end, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think or like bc i was going THROUGH IT writing this 🥴 if it wasn’t good, i am so sorry for wasting your time. 😭

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[dduane]

I just received a copy of a book I've been very much looking forward to by a favorite author, but the quality of the book itself is... not great. Cheap paper, weak binding, even a weird illustration of the main character on the cover that I'm having trouble believing the author approved. Obviously, I don't want to leave a bad review on Amazon or GoodReads or anywhere, as I'm 100% certain the content is as excellent as her other work. But how can I best let the publisher (Baen) know I'm disappointed without threatening to never buy her books again? Because, well, if this is the only option, I'm gonna keep buying them even in my disappointment.

Well, the first thing I thought when I read this was "Wow, I'm really glad I don't have anything in print from Baen at the moment except a couple of anthologized short stories." :)

As for the rest of it, let's take it point by point.

Adding a cut here, because this will run a bit long. Caution: contains auctorial bitching and moaning, painful illustrations of cases in point, and brief advice on how to complain most effectively. (Also links to paintings of cats.)

Cheap paper: This has been an accurate complaint since well before COVID—and it's often been worse since, with supply chain issues also being involved. That said: one way publishers routinely save money on printing books, especially the bigger ones, is by going for thinner/cheaper paper. I remember one of our UK editors going on at great length and with huge annoyance—during one of those late-night convention-bar bitch sessions—over how the only way they could get some really good books published (because Upstairs insisted on reducing the per-copy production costs) was by reducing the paper quality to the point where you could nearly read through it. Sacrificing decent text size(s) also became part of this. Nobody in editorial was happy about the result: but there wasn't much they could do.

Bad bindings: Similar problem. Sewn bindings used to be a thing in paperbacks... but not any more: not for a good while, now. These days, it's all glue. Even hardcovers are showing up glued rather than sewn. Don't get me started. :/ (This is why I so treasure some of the oldest paperbacks I've acquired, which are actually sewn.)

Crap covers: I've had my share of these—though my share of some really good ones, too. And one of the endless frustrations of traditional publishing is that the writer routinely has little or even no influence over what the cover will look like... let alone how much will be spent on it, or (an often-related issue) how good the execution will be.

There are of course exceptions. If you're working at the, well, @neil-gaiman -esque level or similar in publishing, a lot more attention is going to be paid to your thoughts. You may even be able to get "cover veto" written into your contracts, so that if you disapprove, changes will get made. But without actual contractual stipulations, the writer has zero legal recourse or way to withhold approval. (And I bet even Neil has some horror stories.)

The normal workflow looks like this. After a book's purchased, its editor and the art director discuss what it's about and what the cover should look like. The art director then hires an artist and tells them what to do. After that, the artist executes their vision and gets paid. It is incredibly rare for a writer to have any significant input into this process. And as to whether or not they approve of the final result, well... the publisher mostly just shrugs and goes back to eyeing the bottom line, muttering "Who told them they get a vote?"

Now, I've been seriously lucky to occasionally be an exception in this regard. In particular, my editors at Harcourt (when Jane Yolen and Michael Stearns were editing Harcourt's Magic Carpet YA imprint) would ask me what I thought would be a good idea for the next Young Wizards cover, and I'd think about it a bit and send them back a paragraph or so about some core scene. They'd then talk to their art director, and after that send their notes and mine to Cliff Nielsen (who started doing the covers for the hardcover and mass-market paperback editions of the series in the mid-90s) or to Greg Swearingen (who was the artist on the digest-format editions). And the results, by and large, were pretty good. ...I also think affectionately of the UK artist Mick Posen, who insisted on seeing pictures of our cats before painting the covers for the Hodder editions of The Book of Night with Moon and On Her Majesty's Wizardly Service (the UK title for To Visit The Queen).

But this kind of treatment is a courtesy—not even vaguely suggested in the books' contracts, and very much the exception to the rule. And for every writer who's midlist, there are times when the luck runs out. For example: one time I wrote a book that was an AU-Earth-near-future fantasy police procedural, thematically pretty dark—dealing with issues of abuse of megacorporate power, institutionalized bigotry, and (explicitly) attempted genocide. And the cover, done by an artist who's a good friend and some of whose fabulous art hangs in our house, came out looking like this. It was... let's just say "not ideally representative."

So I was glad, when my local workflow allowed it, to recover the current, revised version of the book with something at least a little more apropos. But the original cover's not the artist's fault. He did what the art director told him... as a cover artist must do to get paid, and (ideally) to get hired again. At present, that's how the system works.

...So. You've got a badly-built and -presented book on your hands. How best to make your feelings known in some way that might make a difference down the line? (As you make it plain that you'll keep buying this author's books this way if you must.)

First of all: when (as part of my psych nursing training) we were taught how to complain most effectively, we were told that the first and most basic rule of the art is this:

Only Complain To Someone Who Can Actually Do Something About Your Problem

So I salute your desire not to waste your time taking the issue to the reviews on Amazon, or the pages of Goodreads... because they can't do anything. The odds that anyone from production at Baen is reading the comments there strike me as... well, not infinitesimally small, not being hit-by-a-meteorite-while-in-the-shopping-center-parking-lot small... but really low.

So: write to corporate.

In your place I would go online and rummage around a bit to find out who's on record as the publisher at Baen. I would then write them a letter on paper. And I would lay out the problem pretty much as you laid it out up at the top.

The tone I think I'd choose would be the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger approach. I'd say, "I write to comment about your recently published book by [X Writer], whose work I love. I have to say, though, that I don't think the cover on [X Book] is terribly representative of the quality of the prose inside. And also, the construction and production quality of the book itself was a disappointment to me because [here spell out why].

"I'd really like to see [X. Writer's] books succeed with you, and I'd like to buy more of them without wondering whether I was going to be disappointed again. But if this is typical of how they're being produced, I'd also be concerned that the state of these books is setting up a situation in which the author's sales will be damaged, and you would stop publishing them... which would really be a shame. Whereas on the other hand, better production quality could keep previous purchasers coming back and buying, not only more books by this author, but books by others whom you publish."

This phrasing, as you'll have seen, walks a bit wide around the issue of your further purchases, while directing attention toward the bottom line... which will routinely be what the publisher's looking at from day to day. And—being, one has to hope, in possession of the wider picture as regards what's going on with their production costs—maybe they can actually do something about it.

Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained, yeah? It's worth a try. All you can do is hope for the best.

And finally: please know that I admire your commitment to the author: whoever she is, she's lucky to have you. It's a terrific thing to have readers who'll willing to spend the time to hunt you down, and who're willing not to judge a book by its cover. :)