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Ningning x Karina x Male Reader | 18k words Tags: 3sum, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, hair pulling, breast play, nipple play, dirty talk, dominance, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, body worship, rough sex, two hot bitches feral for cock

Bio can wait. The two baddest bitches at school just told you to skip class with them. Who the fuck would say no? Especially when its Karina and Ning.

no this is not in the same universe as "dumb" :P

The moment you push through the doors to your school's dance room, you know your plan for a solo practice is finished. Karina and Ningning are sprawled against the mirror wall, a perfect picture of cool indifference that somehow makes the empty room feel smaller.

They're wearing what they always wear—simple but devastatingly effective. Karina in high-waisted gray sweatpants that pool slightly at her ankles, paired with a fitted black long-sleeve crop zip up that rises just enough when she stretches. Ningning in similar wide-leg pants but with a simple white off-shoulder top that somehow makes her collarbones look like art. Both outfits say "I barely tried" while looking impossibly put-together.

They're those girls at school—the ones with presence, the ones who command attention without trying.

Everyone on the dance team is attractive in their own way—but they have that something extra. You've seen it countless times during team practices: the way other dancers give them space, how even the coach seems to hold their breath when they perform.

Karina's scrolling through her phone, platinum blonde waves cascading over her shoulders as she absently twists a strand of Ningning's dark hair between her fingers. Ningning has one AirPod in her ear, her dark eyes drifting up to catch yours before you even announce yourself. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's cool blonde presence against Ningning's warm, dark features—perfectly complementary in the way they occupy space.

"Of course," you mutter, dropping your bag near the door with a thud that's maybe a little louder than necessary.

Of course they taking up the whole floor (they're not)

You try to play it casual, hyper-aware of every movement you make. That's the thing about being dancers—you notice details. Sometimes you catch Karina's eyes lingering on you during practice, or notice how Ningning always ends up stretching near you, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Just the usual dance team dynamics. You're all physical people; boundaries blur. It doesn't mean anything.

Ningning stretches her arms over her head. "What are you pissed for? There's like, so much space."

"I need the whole floor to go full out," you say, gesturing vaguely to the room. "I'm working on that new combo."

Karina snorts without looking up from her phone. "Yeah, because you need the entire studio to practice the same eight-count for an hour."

Ningning laughs, then tilts her head slightly. "You wanna dip with us instead?" Her blonde-tinted waves fall over one shoulder as she shifts to look up at you, dark eyes expectant.

You're instantly torn. Dance has made you disciplined—fit, clean, and sharp on the floor—and that same discipline usually keeps your grades steady. Usually. But there was that chem test last week. And the English paper you turned in late. And now Bio tomorrow, which you're definitely not prepared for.

"Can't," you say, even as your eyes drift to where Karina's top meets the waistband of her sweatpants. "I've got a test next period. If I bomb another one, Coach will bench me for sure."

Karina finally looks up from her phone, golden-rimmed eyes locking with yours in the mirror. Your reflection stands tall behind theirs, and for a moment, the three of you make a symmetrical composition in the glass.

"That's cute," she says, a smirk playing at her lips. "Choosing bio over us." She shifts, her shoulder brushing against Ningning's, and something passes between them—some silent communication that makes Ningning bite her lower lip to suppress a smile.

"Pussy," Karina adds, the word landing soft but deliberate.

The question hangs in the air, and something in the atmosphere shifts. They're still draped against each other—Karina's head now resting on Ningning's shoulder, Ningning's fingers absently playing with the hem of Karina's top—but their attention is fully on you now. The casual indifference is gone, replaced by a focused intensity.

Karina's eyes narrow slightly, calculating. Ningning's lips part, just barely, like she's already anticipating your answer. The way they're looking at you makes your skin prickle with heat. It's the same look they get right before a performance—that blend of challenge and confidence that says they know exactly how good they are.

The logical part of your brain is still calculating how many points you need on tomorrow's test to maintain your eligibility for the showcase. You've already been warned about your grades. One more missed class and you might actually get suspended from the team. This isn't just about one bio test anymore.

But there's something about the way they're waiting, bodies still intertwined but faces turned toward you in perfect symmetry, that makes the decision feel momentous. Like this is some kind of turning point.

Your jaw ticks, just barely.

"Fuck it," you say finally, slinging your bag back over your shoulder. The relief on their faces is subtle but unmistakable, like you've passed some test you didn't know you were taking. "Say less."

The reason is simple, even if your GPA will suffer for it: you just wanted to hang with the two baddest girls at school. And when they both smile at you—Karina's slow and knowing, Ningning's bright and wicked—you can't bring yourself to regret it.

Not yet, anyway.

…

Ningning's house is just a short drive through the sprawl of suburban Southern California. By the time you arrive, all three of you are armed with Slurpees from a 7-Eleven pitstop—yours blue raspberry, Karina's cherry, and Ningning's a swirled mix of both that she sips like she's solved some great mystery of flavor.

Her room is exactly what you'd expect—a perfect blend of cozy and chaotic. Fairy lights wrap around the ceiling fan, with climbing ivy trailing down from the fixture, casting soft shadows across the walls. Posters cover nearly every inch of white space—Frank Ocean, SZA, Tyler the Creator, Tate McRae, Billie Eilish—with a round mirror breaking up the collage. Monstera plants thrive in the corner next to a small white bookshelf. The whole space glows in the afternoon light filtering through the windows.

You settle on the carpet, back against her bed, Slurpee in one hand, a bag of sour gummy worms in the other. But Karina? She's sitting directly on Ningning's lap, legs draped over hers, body leaned back lazily against Ningning's chest like they've done this a hundred times before. No hesitation, no awkwardness—just pure, easy closeness. They fit together the way bad bitches always do, like they know exactly how to take up space.

Leon Thomas hums from a speaker in the corner, his smooth vocals and the soft R&B bassline weaving into the atmosphere, just enough to fill the comfortable silence.

"Let's play a game," Karina says suddenly, her cherry-red nails tapping idly against Ningning's thigh.

"What kind of game?" You ask, already suspicious.

"Just questions. Truth only." Ningning grins, absently running her fingers through Karina's platinum hair. "I'll start easy. Who's the hottest on the team?"

You glance up from your drink, already knowing exactly where this is going. It's a setup. A trap.

You take a second, not too long, just enough to make it seem like you're actually considering your answer. But you know there's only one right response—the one even they would agree on.

"Chaewon."

"Fuck, such an obvious answer," Karina groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "She's so fucking hot."

"Ugh," Ningning adds, biting her lip. "I tried making out with her at Jungwoo's party last month and she wasn't feeling it. I almost died."

They exchange knowing looks, satisfied, like they'd already predicted your answer before you even opened your mouth. Karina leans back further into Ningning, reaching for her own Slurpee.

"Your turn," Ningning says, nodding at you.

You think for a moment. "Best dancer in the crew?"

"Me, obviously," Karina says without hesitation.

Ningning rolls her eyes but doesn't argue.

"Fair," you concede with a smile.

"My turn," Karina says, her voice dropping slightly. "Ever hooked up with anyone from the team?"

The question hangs in the air. It's an escalation, but not entirely unexpected.

"Yes," you answer, taking a sip of your Slurpee.

Their eyes widen simultaneously. "Who?" Ningning demands, leaning forward.

You shake your head. "That wasn't the question."

Karina narrows her eyes. "Sneaky. I respect it." She turns to Ningning. "That's definitely our next question."

"What about you two?" you ask, deflecting.

Karina shrugs. "Not with anyone from the team."

Something in her inflection makes you pause. "But with each other?"

They exchange a look, this one different—a silent communication you can't quite read. Without saying a word, Karina turns her head, meeting Ningning's eyes with a smirk. Ningning doesn't hesitate. She cups Karina's face and pulls her in, capturing her lips in a kiss that's anything but casual.

Jesusfuckwhat.

Karina's hand slides up to Ningning's neck, fingers tangling in her hair as their mouths move against each other. Ningning's other hand drifts down, boldly palming Karina's breast through her top. You watch, frozen, as Karina lets out the faintest sound against Ningning's lips.

Is this actually happening right now? Your throat goes dry as you try to process what you're seeing, your Slurpee forgotten in your suddenly tense grip.

When they finally part, Karina's lipgloss is smudged, and both are breathing heavier, their eyes dark when they turn to gauge your reaction. Neither says anything—they don't need to. The answer is written all over their flushed faces.

And they're just gonna act like that didn't happen? Like they didn't just—

"Your turn," Karina says, her voice noticeably huskier now, acting like she didn't just have her breast grabbed in front of you. "What's your biggest turn-on?"

You blink, trying to recalibrate. The game is apparently still on, despite the fact that your brain is still processing what you just witnessed.

You swallow. "Someone who takes control without asking."

Ningning smirks, running her thumb across her bottom lip to fix her smudged gloss. "Noted."

What the fuck is happening right now?

It's Ningning's turn, and she doesn't hesitate: "Who on the team did you hook up with?"

You consider lying, but decide against it. "Yujin."

That night in her car after the showcase. Her skin under your hands, the way she bit her lip to stay quiet...

"Shut the fuck up," Karina's jaw drops, her eyes widening with what looks suspiciously like jealousy. "Are you serious?"

"She's hot as fuck too, what the hell?" Ningning looks genuinely offended, sitting up straighter, dislodging Karina slightly. "How are you pulling the baddest girls and we didn't even know?"

Karina narrows her eyes. "When did this happen? And why didn't she tell anyone?"

Because she asked me not to tell anyone. Because it was just that one time. But you just shrug, enjoying their reactions more than you should.

The questions heat up rapidly.

"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?" Karina asks, fingers now tracing patterns on Ningning's arm.

You consider your words carefully. "I'd rather show than tell."

"Bold," Ningning says with approval. "But you'll have to wait your turn."

"Ever watched porn with someone else?" Karina asks, changing tactics.

"No."

"Wanna start?" Ningning challenges, raising an eyebrow.

The game accelerates. Boundaries blur. Questions become increasingly explicit.

"Where's the riskiest place you've hooked up?"

"What's something you want to try but haven't yet?"

"Have you ever thought about either of us while getting yourself off?"

"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?"

Your answers grow bolder. Theirs grow filthier. With each revelation, the space between you shrinks, though neither of them has moved from their position.

"Have you ever fantasized about being with two people at once?" Karina asks, no longer pretending this is just a game.

"Yes," you admit.

"Anyone specific in mind?" Ningning presses.

You look from one to the other, letting the silence answer for you.

With each answer, the air in the room grows thicker, charged, until Karina finally shifts on Ningning's lap to face you directly.

"You're pretty hot, you know that?" Her voice is smooth, casual, like she's just stating a fact. She doesn't look at you when she says it, just keeps tapping her nails, waiting to see how you react.

Ningning hums in agreement, finally meeting your gaze. "Especially when you dance."

You shift slightly, a near-imperceptible reaction, but they catch it. Of course they do. Dancers notice everything. The way your grip tightens slightly on your cup, the flicker of something unreadable in your eyes before you school your expression back into something neutral.

You keep your cool. You're unsure where this is going, but you don't back down.

Karina stretches her arms above her head, arching her back slightly against Ningning. The movement causes her top to ride up, exposing a sliver of skin at her waist. It feels too deliberate, too precise to be casual. Your mouth goes dry.

They know exactly what they're doing.

Ningning's hand settles on Karina's hip, fingers splayed possessively as she adjusts her position on her lap. You can't help but track the movement. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer, and you shift your position on the floor, grateful you're sitting cross-legged.

Karina takes a long sip of her Slurpee, her eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the cup. When she pulls away, she runs her tongue slowly over her cherry-stained lips, catching a drop.

Jesus Christ.

You blink rapidly, heart pounding against your ribs. Heat crawls up your neck, and you're acutely aware of every inch of your body—especially the parts now responding all too obviously to their performance.

They exchange one last look, a silent confirmation passing between them. Ningning's eyes darken slightly as she tilts her head, expression unreadable but sharp, like she's weighing something in her mind.

Then, just like that, she drops it.

"Yo, be honest, would you fuck both of us?"

Did she really just ask that?

The shift is immediate.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

Everything in the room feels different now—the air heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you process the question, trying to read their expressions for any sign they're messing with you.

You're caught between laughing it off or taking it seriously. But when you look at them, really look, you realize—

They're serious.

"Are you—" you start, voice catching slightly. "Is this for real?"

Instead of answering, Karina slides off Ningning's lap in one fluid motion, the kind of movement that reminds you why she's first in every formation. She kneels in front of you, close enough that you can smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that's been driving you crazy all afternoon.

Her eyes never leave yours as her fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to trace along your stomach. The touch sends electricity up your spine.

"We've been thinking about this since that showcase last month," Ningning says, her voice softer than usual as she moves to join Karina. "The way you danced that night..."

They were watching me?

Karina's mouth crashes into yours with unexpected hunger. It's not just a kiss—it's a claiming. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tasting like the cherry Slurpee and something sweeter underneath. She sucks your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. Her hands fist in your hair, pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how she wants it.

When she finally releases you, your lips are tingling, slick with her spit. You barely have time to gasp before Ningning turns your face toward her, her fingers digging into your jaw.

Her kiss is even more aggressive—open-mouthed and demanding. Her teeth graze your lip, biting down just hard enough to sting before soothing the spot with her tongue. You feel Karina's mouth on your neck now, sucking hard enough to leave marks, her hands shoving your shirt up roughly.

"Fuck," you breathe against Ningning's lips as Karina's nails rake down your chest.

Is this actually happening? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Without warning, Karina's hand finds the back of Ningning's neck, pulling her away from you. For a brief second, you think something's wrong—until they crash together right in front of you, mouths colliding in a kiss that's nothing short of filthy. Karina's tongue slides along Ningning's bottom lip before pushing inside, Ningning moaning into her mouth, hands gripping Karina's waist to pull her closer.

Your hands move on instinct, reaching out to touch them. Fingers grazing Karina's sides, palm flat against Ningning's lower back. They don't stop kissing, but Karina reaches blindly for your hand, guiding it higher along her body until you're cupping her breast through her top. Ningning breaks the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath when your other hand slides down to grip her ass.

They continue making out, but now it's a performance for you as much as it is for them. Karina bites Ningning's lower lip, tugging it between her teeth while looking directly at you. A string of saliva connects their mouths when they briefly part before diving back in, messier this time, wetter. Ningning's hand finds the back of your neck, keeping you close, letting you feel their breath, almost encouraging you to join.

When they finally pull apart, both their lips are swollen, shiny with spit. Ningning pulls you in for another kiss, the taste of Karina still on her tongue. You can taste both of them now, the flavors mingling as Ningning licks into your mouth with deliberate slowness. Karina's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. She drags her tongue up your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse point.

Ningning's fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back further to expose more of your neck. The sharp pull sends a jolt straight to your groin. She works her way down the opposite side from Karina, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that make your skin burn. You're trapped between them, their bodies pressing against you from both sides.

The sensation of their mouths—one on your neck, one on your collarbone, then trading places with practiced coordination—is overwhelming. Karina sucks your earlobe between her teeth while Ningning's tongue traces the hollow at the base of your throat.

Then they're kissing each other over your shoulder again, but it's nothing like the controlled display from earlier. This is raw, messy, desperate. Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, their tongues visibly sliding against each other. Ningning's hand is still in your hair, Karina's palm flat against your chest, feeling your racing heartbeat. You watch, transfixed, as Karina's teeth catch Ningning's bottom lip, as Ningning's fingers tighten in Karina's platinum hair.

"Get the fuck up," Karina breathes when they finally pull apart, her lips swollen, a flush spreading across her chest. She grabs the front of your shirt, hauling you to your feet.

Ningning's already pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. Her hands immediately explore your torso, fingers tracing the definition in your abs, your chest, your shoulders. Karina drops to her knees, working on your jeans, her knuckles deliberately dragging against your hardness through the denim.

"Goddamn," Ningning whispers, lips against your ear as her hands slide around to grip your ass. "Been wondering what you were hiding under those practice clothes."

"Sit," Karina commands, pushing you backwards until you hit the edge of the bed and drop down.

They stand before you, and for the first time, you get a moment to just... look. To really take them in.

Karina unzips her long-sleeve crop top with deliberate slowness, revealing an expanse of smooth skin inch by inch. Her collarbones cast delicate shadows, her shoulders slim but toned from years of dance. When the top finally falls away, the black lace of her bra is a stark contrast against her pale skin, barely containing her full chest. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, pushing them down her hips in one fluid motion, stepping out of them gracefully, her curves unmistakable even in the fading afternoon light.

Ningning watches your reaction to Karina, a smirk playing on her lips before she pulls her own shirt over her head. Her body is different—more delicate frame with gentle curves, her light blue bra a perfect complement to her fair skin. She stretches her arms overhead, an unnecessary movement that's purely for your benefit, showing off her slender waist and the subtle definition in her stomach. Her sweatpants come off next, revealing slim legs that somehow look even longer than they are.

They stand there for a moment, letting you drink them in. Karina in black lace, Ningning in light blue cotton that somehow looks just as sexy. Their dancer's bodies—Karina's fuller curves and Ningning's delicate frame—on full display.

Holy fucking shit. This cannot be real.

"Like what you see?" Ningning asks, head tilted, eyes dark with want.

Words fail you entirely. You just nod, mouth dry.

They move toward you in perfect tandem, the bed dipping as they climb on either side of you. The heat of their bodies is scorching against your skin. Karina's mouth finds your chest first, her tongue tracing a wet path from your collarbone down to your nipple. She bites down gently, watching your reaction through hooded eyes. Ningning works on the other side, her lips softer but no less insistent, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder.

Their hands explore every inch of you—Karina's nails scraping down your abs, Ningning's fingers tracing the V-line of your hips. You feel Karina's teeth against your ribs, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow at practice. Ningning's tongue darts out to taste the salt on your skin, her hands gripping your biceps, feeling the muscles tense under her touch.

They work their way down your body with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth blazing a trail along your stomach while Ningning's lips press against each vertebra of your spine. The dual sensation of their tongues—one hot against your abs, the other tracing the dimples at the small of your back—has you practically panting.

"Fuck, he tastes good," Karina murmurs against your skin, her words vibrating through you.

"Let me," Ningning replies, and suddenly they're trading places, Karina's weight shifting behind you while Ningning moves to kneel between your legs. She presses her mouth to your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans.

Karina's breath is hot against the back of your neck, her full breasts pressed against your back, nipples hard even through the barrier of her bra. "You like that?" she whispers, her hands sliding around to your chest, fingers pinching your nipples just enough to make you hiss.

Ningning looks up at you from under her lashes, a wicked smile on her lips as she moves lower, her mouth now hovering just above the visible bulge in your jeans.

Karina slides around to your side, impatient. "Let's see what you're working with," she breathes, hunger evident in her voice.

Karina's mouth finds yours again, swallowing your groans as she continues to grind against you. Ningning turns your head, breaking the kiss so she can claim your mouth instead. You feel Karina's lips trail down your neck, your chest, moving lower with clear intent.

Their hands work at your jeans in tandem, Ningning popping the button open while Karina drags the zipper down with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth finds yours again, kissing you deeply as Ningning tugs your jeans down your thighs, taking your boxers with them. She pulls them completely off your legs, tossing them somewhere behind her, leaving you fully exposed as your cock springs free, harder than you can ever remember being, already leaking at the tip.

"Oh my god!," Karina breathes, breaking the kiss to look down, genuine surprise in her voice.

Ningning crawls back up, pushing Karina aside to get a better view. "Let me see," she demands, her eyes widening as she takes you in. "Goddamn."

"Fuck, no wonder Yujin kept quiet about this," Karina says, wrapping her hand around you, testing your girth with her fingers barely meeting around your shaft. "Selfish bitch kept this all to herself."

"I can't believe our first threesome is with a dick this good," Ningning murmurs, her eyes fixed on Karina's hand stroking you slowly. "Wish I'd known what you were hiding under those practice sweats."

Karina nods in agreement, her thumb collecting the bead of precum from your tip and smearing it down your length. "Goddamn, we picked the right guy to skip with today."

Their reactions send a surge of confidence through you. The power dynamic shifts—their impressed expressions giving you an unexpected edge in whatever game you've all decided to play.

Maybe I can handle these two after all.

Karina recovers first, her confidence returning as she slides back onto your lap, this time with just her underwear separating you from her heat. She takes your hands, guiding them deliberately to her body—one to her breast, the other to her hip—while leaning in to kiss you deeply. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming your mouth as she grinds down against your exposed cock, the thin fabric of her panties already soaked through.

"Touch me," she commands against your lips, and you don't need to be told twice. Your fingers knead her full breast, feeling the hardened nipple through the lace as your other hand grips her hip, guiding her movements against you. The wet patch of her panties drags against your length, the friction making you both groan.

"Fuck, your tits feel even better than they look," you murmur against her mouth, gaining confidence as you squeeze harder, making her gasp.

Ningning circles behind you, her knees bracketing yours on the bed. Her hands slide over your shoulders, down your chest, her lips finding your ear. "She thinks she's in charge," she whispers, her teeth grazing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, "but we both know better, don't we?" Her fingers pinch your nipples, the sharp pain making your cock twitch against Karina.

You're sandwiched between them—Karina's weight on your lap, her body rolling against yours in a perfect rhythm, the lace of her bra scraping against your chest as she moves, and Ningning pressed against your back, her breasts soft against your shoulder blades, her breath hot on your neck. Karina's mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to mark you, while Ningning's hands roam lower, one sliding between you and Karina to wrap around your cock.

"Fuck," you hiss as her cold fingers encircle you, giving a slow, tight stroke that has your hips bucking involuntarily, pushing you deeper into her grip and harder against Karina's core.

Karina moans at the increased pressure, her head falling back, platinum hair cascading down her back as she rocks harder against you. The movement pushes your cock along her slit through the thin fabric, the head catching on her clit with each stroke.

"I knew you'd feel this good," Karina breathes, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as she watches your face, her lipstick smudged, her cheeks flushed. She takes your hand from her hip, guiding it between her legs, pressing your fingers against the soaked lace. "Feel what you're doing to me."

Your fingers press against her through the fabric, feeling the slick heat there. You can feel how swollen she is, how wet, even through the barrier. You rub your thumb in slow circles, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Goddamn," you breathe, feeling her wetness seep through the lace onto your fingers. "You're fucking soaked."

"Can you blame me?" she says, grinding harder against your hand, her movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure builds. "Who knew you were hiding all this..." She gasps as your thumb presses harder, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily.

Ningning's hand continues to stroke you, her grip tightening just beneath the head on each upstroke, twisting slightly in a way that has your thighs tensing. Her teeth find the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to make you groan. "Don't forget about me," she whispers, her other hand reaching around to pull Karina's face toward her.

They kiss over your shoulder, messy and aggressive, all tongues and teeth, while their hands continue to work you both. You watch, entranced, as Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, her hips still moving against your hand, Ningning's fingers still wrapped tight around your cock.

The image of them kissing while touching you, while grinding against you, is almost enough to push you over the edge right there. You feel the familiar tightening, the building pressure. Ningning must sense it because she squeezes the base of your cock, staving off your orgasm.

"Not yet," she breathes against Karina's lips. "I want more than just my hand on him."

Karina pulls back from the kiss, lips swollen and wet. "Greedy bitch," she says, but there's no real heat behind it, just desire. She grinds against you one more time, the friction delicious but not enough, before lifting herself off your lap.

Before you can process what's happening, Karina drops to her knees between your legs, shoving them apart roughly. Her nails dig into your thighs as she positions herself, looking up at you through her lashes, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

"Hold on," she says, sitting back on her heels. She reaches behind her head, gathering her platinum hair in her hands. The movement lifts her chest, her arms raised, exposing the soft skin of her armpits and stretching the fabric of her bra against her breasts. She works quickly, twisting her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.

The sight of her—arms raised, back arched slightly, body on display—makes your cock twitch with anticipation. She catches your reaction and smirks, knowing exactly what she's doing.

"Fuck, I need to taste it," she murmurs, her breath hot against your length. She runs her tongue from the base to the tip in one long, slow stroke, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When she reaches the head, she pulls back slightly, letting a string of saliva fall from her lips onto your cock. She works it in with her hand, coating you before wrapping her lips around the tip, sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks.

Ningning watches intently from beside you, her hand absently stroking your thigh. As Karina works you deeper into her mouth, Ningning reaches behind her own back, unclasping her light blue bra. She slides the straps down her arms slowly, revealing her small, perfect breasts, the nipples already hard.

Your hand instinctively reaches for her, palm cupping the soft weight, thumb brushing over the hardened peak. She sighs at your touch, leaning into your hand as she watches Karina suck you.

The sight alone is almost enough to make you cum—Karina, the girl half the guys at school would kill to talk to, on her knees with your cock in her mouth, her platinum hair pulled up to give you a perfect view, while your hand explores Ningning's bare breast.

Karina takes you inch by inch, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, creating delicious pressure as she sucks. Her hand works what doesn't fit, twisting in tandem with her mouth's movements, spit already making her fingers glide smoothly along your shaft. You feel the vibration of her moan around you as she takes you deeper, the hot, wet pressure of her mouth making your toes curl.

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing against your tip. "Fuck, you taste so good," she breathes, her eyes heavy-lidded with genuine pleasure. "Better than I thought you would."

She descends again, moaning around your length in a way that tells you she's enjoying this just as much as you are. The vibrations from her throat send shockwaves of pleasure through your cock.

"Jesus Christ," you breathe, your free hand instinctively going to Karina's hair, tangling in the loose strands that frame her face. She moans around you as you tug slightly, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine.

Just as you're settling into the sensation, she's yanked backward, Ningning's hand fisted in her hair, pulling hard enough to make Karina yelp.

"My turn," Ningning says, her voice sharper than before, edged with hunger. She moves between your legs, but first reaches behind Karina, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. "Take this off. I want to see you."

Karina complies, shrugging the black lace from her shoulders, her full breasts bouncing slightly as they're freed. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them now topless, their dancer's bodies on full display.

Ningning sits back momentarily, mimicking Karina's earlier motion as she gathers her hair, arms raised above her head, body stretched long and lean. The position emphasizes the delicate curve of her waist, the subtle definition of her stomach. She secures her hair in a high ponytail, a few strands falling to frame her face.

"Much better," she says, settling between your legs. Rather than starting slow, she spits directly onto your cock, the warm saliva dripping down your length, trickling over your balls in a sensation that makes you shiver. She spreads it with both hands, stroking you a few times before wrapping her lips around you.

The first slide of her mouth around you is electric—different from Karina's technique, more aggressive from the start. She takes you deep immediately, your tip hitting the back of her throat, the muscles there contracting around you in a rippling sensation that makes your vision blur momentarily. You feel every millimeter of her throat closing around your head, squeezing in a way that's almost too intense.

She pulls back, gasping for air, but her eyes are bright with excitement. "Fuck, you're so big," she breathes, stroking you with her hand. "Feel so fucking good stretching my throat." She dives back down with enthusiasm, humming in satisfaction as she takes you deep again, the vibrations traveling through your entire length.

Karina moves to your side, pressing her now bare chest against your arm. Your hand immediately finds her breast, significantly fuller than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your palm. You squeeze gently, drawing a soft moan from her as she watches Ningning take you deep.

The dual sensation is overwhelming—Ningning's hot mouth around your cock, taking you deeper than Karina had, her throat constricting rhythmically around your tip with each swallow, while your hands explore Karina's body, feeling the softness of her skin, the firmness of her breast in your palm.

This is not real life. This cannot be real life.

The sight of Ningning on her knees, lips stretched wide around your cock, eyes watering slightly as she takes you to the back of her throat, is almost too much. Her technique is different from Karina's—less teasing, more focused on depth and suction, her hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. Each time she pulls back, you feel the cool air against your saliva-slick skin for just a moment before she descends again, taking you impossibly deep.

Karina presses closer, guiding your hand to her breast again while she watches Ningning work. Your fingers pinch her nipple lightly, drawing a soft gasp from her that turns into a smile. She leans in to kiss your neck, her teeth grazing your pulse point as Ningning continues to suck you, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room.

"You're doing it wrong," Karina says after a minute, tugging Ningning's hair hard enough to make her release you with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva still connecting her lips to your glistening cock. She moves between your legs, gently pushing Ningning to the side.

Ningning doesn't move far. Instead, she shifts to your other side, pressing her small, firm breasts against your arm, guiding your hand to touch her as Karina had done. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller, heavier breasts against Ningning's smaller, perkier ones, both equally perfect in different ways.

Your hands explore their bodies as they continue taking turns with your cock—feeling the taut muscles of their dancer's bodies, the softness of their breasts, the hardness of their nipples against your palms. Karina arches into your touch, more vocal in her enjoyment, while Ningning responds with subtle shifts of her body, pressing herself harder against your hand.

Karina pushes Ningning aside, but instead of taking you directly into her mouth, she gathers saliva and lets it fall in a long, obscene strand onto your cock. The warm wetness slides down your shaft, pooling at the base and dripping onto your balls, the sensation making your cock twitch visibly. She spreads it with both hands, one working the shaft while the other focuses on the head, applying more pressure on the upstroke. Her technique is more deliberate—twisting motions, varying pressure, her thumb occasionally swiping over the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

"Watch and learn," she tells Ningning before taking just the tip between her lips, sucking firmly while her hands continue their assault, working you with practiced precision. Each stroke is wetter than the last, her spit making obscene squelching sounds as she pumps you. You feel the suction of her mouth intensifying as she hollows her cheeks, the pressure building at the base of your spine.

She releases you with a gasp, her eyes glazed with arousal. "So fucking good," she moans, jerking you faster. "Love how you throb in my mouth." She's not performing anymore—the pleasure in her voice is raw and genuine as she takes you in again, moaning around your length like she's tasting something delicious.

Not to be outdone, Ningning moves closer. "Let me show you how it's really done," she says, nudging Karina to share. She gathers a mouthful of saliva and lets it drip directly onto your cock where Karina's hands are still working, the added wetness making the glide even smoother. The warm spit runs down to your balls, the tickling sensation making your thighs tense.

Then she ducks lower, her mouth finding your balls. She takes one gently between her lips, sucking lightly while Karina continues working the shaft, their combined efforts making your head spin. The contrast between Karina's firm strokes and Ningning's gentle suction creates a dual sensation that has you groaning, your hands tangling in the sheets.

Ningning hums against your sensitive skin, the vibration traveling up your shaft. "Mmm, I can feel you getting closer," she purrs, her breath hot against your balls. "Getting harder for us." She sucks again, moaning like she's savoring the taste and feel of you, her enthusiasm unmistakable.

Karina watches Ningning with growing arousal, her own breathing heavy. "He tastes so fucking good," she tells Ningning, almost reverently. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"Fuck," you groan, hips lifting involuntarily, the muscles in your stomach clenching. "This really your guys' first threesome? There's no fucking way you're both this perfect at this."

They exchange a look, something passing between them that you can't quite read. Then, without warning, they both move at once. Karina releases your cock from her grip, allowing Ningning to take you deep into her throat in one smooth motion, her nose pressing against your stomach as she swallows around you. The tight squeeze of her throat has you seeing stars, the rhythmic contractions milking your length as she holds herself there, her eyes watering from the effort. You hear a muffled moan vibrating around your cock as she takes you, a sound of pure pleasure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.

The sensation is indescribable—hot, wet pressure surrounding every inch of you, her throat muscles rippling involuntarily around your head, her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your shaft. You feel yourself hit the back of her throat and then push beyond, into the tighter passage that spasms around you.

When she pulls back for air, a thick strand of spit connects her lips to your cock. Before it can break, Karina leans forward, connecting her mouth to Ningning's through the spit strand, the two of them sharing a messy kiss with your cock between them. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.

"Holy shit," you breathe, unable to look away as they kiss, their tongues visibly sliding against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.

Now they work in tandem, taking turns—Karina sucking the head while Ningning strokes the shaft with spit-slicked hands, then switching, Ningning taking you deep while Karina's hands massage your balls. The constant switching, the different pressures and sensations, the visual of them trading your cock between their mouths, is mind-bending.

Karina pulls off with a gasp, a line of spit connecting her bottom lip to your cock. Ningning immediately takes her place, but not before Karina spits directly onto your length, adding to the mess. Ningning works the extra wetness in with her hand before taking you deep again, her eyes watering as she pushes past her gag reflex.

The competition escalates further. Karina yanks Ningning off by her hair, replacing her mouth with her own. She takes you as deep as she can, gagging slightly but pushing through it, determined to outdo Ningning. When she comes up for air, Ningning is ready with another gob of spit, this time letting it fall into Karina's open mouth. Karina takes it, letting it mix with her own saliva before dripping it all onto your cock.

"Fuck," you groan, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The sight of Karina's mouth open, receiving Ningning's spit, then the combined wetness falling onto your cock, is filthier than anything you've ever seen.

They're getting progressively sloppier, wetter, messier with each passing minute. Ningning holds your cock at the base, pointing it toward Karina's waiting mouth, but before Karina can take you in, Ningning spits onto the head. Karina smiles, working the wetness in before adding her own spit, creating a growing puddle of saliva that drips down onto your balls.

The visual is obscene—both of their faces are wet with spit, their lipstick long gone, hair messed up from where you've grabbed it, eyes dark with desire as they work you between them. Your cock is coated in a sheen of their combined saliva, glistening in the fading light of Ningning's room.

The wetness is incredible—warm spit running down your shaft, pooling at the base, dripping onto your balls and beyond. Each stroke of their hands spreads it further, creating a slick, frictionless glide that has your toes curling. The sounds are just as filthy—wet suction, obscene slurping, the squelch of saliva between their fingers as they stroke you.

Then they change tactics. Instead of taking turns, they position themselves on either side of your cock. Karina takes the head into her mouth while Ningning works the shaft with her tongue, both of them moving in a synchronized rhythm that has your thighs tensing. You feel the different textures—Karina's soft lips sealed around your tip, the suction of her mouth pulling at you, while Ningning's tongue traces patterns along your shaft, occasionally dipping lower to tease your balls.

When they switch, it's seamless—Ningning taking the head while Karina's tongue traces patterns along the underside. Their eyes meet over your cock, some unspoken competition still driving them, but now they're working together to destroy you completely.

"He tastes so fucking good when he's about to cum," Karina whispers to Ningning, her voice raspy with desire. "Can you taste it?"

Ningning nods, her lips never leaving your skin. "Mmm, getting saltier," she agrees, moaning as she takes you into her mouth again. She pulls off with a wet pop. "Love how he twitches on my tongue."

Their obvious enjoyment, the way they're talking about you like you're some delicious treat they can't get enough of, pushes you even closer to the edge.

The most obscene moment comes when they both press their open mouths to either side of your shaft, essentially making out with each other with your cock between their lips. Their tongues slide against your skin and occasionally touch each other, sharing spit as they work you from base to tip. The sensation of both their tongues, both their mouths, both their breaths against your most sensitive skin has your head spinning.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you groan, your hands fisting in the sheets, hips lifting involuntarily. "I'm gonna—"

"Not yet," Karina says, pulling back, her hand squeezing the base of your cock hard enough to stave off your orgasm. Her lips are swollen, her chin and chest slick with spit and precum. "We're just getting started with you."

Ningning's eyes are dark with want as she looks up at you, her mouth and chin equally wet, a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to the side of your cock. "We haven't even decided who goes first," she says, her voice raspy from taking you so deep.

Karina wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze predatory. "And I'm not done showing off what I can do with my mouth."

Is this actually my life right now? How the fuck did I end up here?

The tension between your need to cum and their determination to edge you builds to a breaking point. Just as you think you can't take anymore, Ningning makes a decisive move, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backward onto the bed.

"My turn to feel good," she announces, climbing up your body with predatory grace. Her small, perfect breasts hang above you as she straddles your chest, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your torso. "Scoot back," she commands, waiting for you to shift until your head is properly on the bed.

Without hesitation, she moves forward, positioning herself directly over your face. Through the thin fabric of her panties, you can see how wet she is, a dark patch spreading across the cotton. The scent of her arousal hits you—sweet and musky and intoxicating.

"Show me what you did to Yujin," she demands, lowering herself until her covered core is just inches from your mouth.

You reach up, hooking your fingers into the sides of her panties, pulling them to the side to expose her completely. The sight of her pussy makes your mouth water—she's got a neat landing strip of dark hair leading down to otherwise perfectly bare lips. The contrast of the carefully maintained strip against her pale skin speaks to her personality—controlled yet still wild underneath. Her folds are delicate, pink and glistening with arousal, already swollen and parted slightly, revealing the deeper pink within. She's absolutely soaked, her wetness visible from her entrance all the way up to her small, perfect clit that peeks out from beneath its hood.

"Fuck, you're pretty," you murmur before lifting your head to run your tongue through her slit in one long, firm stroke, tasting her fully for the first time.

"Shit," she gasps, her thighs trembling slightly as she grips the headboard for support.

You continue exploring her with your tongue, learning what makes her breath hitch and her thighs quiver. You trace around her entrance, gathering her wetness before moving up to circle her clit, alternating pressure and speed to keep her guessing.

Meanwhile, Karina hasn't forgotten about your cock. You feel her mouth envelop you again, picking up where they left off, but with a new urgency. She takes you impossibly deep, her throat constricting around your head as her hands massage your balls.

"Don't forget about me down here," she whines when she comes up for air, her hand replacing her mouth as she strokes you firmly. "Just because she's getting your tongue doesn't mean I'm done with your cock."

The dual sensation—Ningning's wetness on your tongue, Karina's mouth and hand working your length—creates a sensory overload that makes your head spin. You grip Ningning's thighs, pulling her more firmly against your face, your tongue diving deeper into her heat.

"Fuck, your tongue is fucking insane," Ningning moans, her hips beginning to roll against your mouth with more purpose. "The way you—shit—the way you flick it right there."

You focus your attention on her clit, alternating between fast flutters and firm circular motions, watching her reactions to learn exactly what drives her wild. Her thighs tense and tremble around your head, her breathing becoming more labored.

"Oh my god, oh my god," she chants, grinding herself shamelessly against your face now. "Your fucking tongue, holy shit—don't stop, please don't stop."

From below, you hear and feel Karina's response—the wet suction of her mouth intensifies, her pace increasing to match your efforts on Ningning. The competition continues, each trying to divert your attention and pleasure to themselves.

"He's already shaking," Karina observes after pulling off your cock with a wet pop, her hand continuing to stroke you firmly. "His cock gets harder every time you moan, Ning."

Ningning looks down between her legs at you, then back over her shoulder at Karina. Without breaking the rhythm of her hips against your mouth, she reaches back with one hand. Karina meets her halfway, their fingers intertwining in a brief moment of unity despite their ongoing competition.

"Fuck, I think I could die on his tongue," Ningning confesses, her voice thick with pleasure but not quite at the breaking point. "No wonder Yujin kept coming back."

You feel a surge of pride at her words, doubling your efforts, flattening your tongue to provide a broad surface for her to grind against while occasionally dipping into her entrance. Her taste is addictive—tangy and sweet with a hint of something uniquely her. Your chin and lips are completely coated in her arousal now, the obscene wetness making filthy sounds with each movement.

As amazing as it feels having Ningning on your face, you're acutely aware of Karina working diligently between your legs, her mouth and hands tag-teaming your cock with relentless precision. Each time you feel yourself getting close, she backs off just enough, squeezing the base or slowing her rhythm to keep you right on the edge.

"You taste so fucking good," you murmur against Ningning's pussy, the vibration of your words making her gasp. "Could eat you for hours."

"Please," she whimpers, her body trembling with the effort of restraining her orgasm. She's close—you can feel it in the way her thighs tense, see it in the flush spreading across her chest, hear it in the pitch of her moans.

But before she can tip over the edge, you pull back slightly, easing the pressure on her clit, focusing instead on long, slow strokes through her folds. Her frustrated groan makes you smile against her wet flesh.

"Evil," she hisses, recognizing what you're doing—giving her just enough to keep her on the edge but not enough to push her over.

Two can play at that game.

You feel a newfound confidence swelling within you. Making Ningning tremble above you while Karina worships your cock below has awakened something primal and commanding. You're done being the passive recipient of their attention.

You grip Ningning's hips firmly, lifting her off your face despite her whine of protest. "Move," you tell her, your voice rougher than usual. "I want to try something else."

Ningning slides off you reluctantly, her chest heaving, lips swollen from biting them to hold back her moans. Karina looks up from between your legs, her chin wet with spit, eyes questioning.

"Get on your hands and knees," you tell Karina, sitting up and pointing to the middle of the bed. "Facing Ningning."

Karina's eyebrows raise, a slight smirk playing on her lips, but she complies, crawling into position on all fours across the bed. Her platinum hair falls around her face as she looks up at Ningning, who's watching this shift in dynamic with undisguised interest, still breathing heavily from her near-orgasm.

You position yourself behind Karina, taking a moment to appreciate the view—the elegant curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the way her hair cascades down her back. You run your hands over her skin, feeling the goosebumps that rise in the wake of your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her thighs. The reveal is exquisite—unlike Ningning's landing strip, Karina is completely bare, her pussy smooth and flawlessly waxed. Her lips are fuller than Ningning's, her pink folds more pronounced, glistening with an abundance of arousal that's already begun dripping down her inner thighs. She's swollen with need, her entrance visibly pulsing as you watch.

"Fuck, look at you," you breathe, running a finger through her slick folds, collecting her wetness. She's so wet it makes an obscene sound, a lewd squelch that fills the room. "Soaked just from sucking my cock."

Karina looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark with want. "What are you waiting for?" she challenges, but the slight tremble in her voice betrays her desperation.

You grip your cock, still slick with their combined spit, and drag it through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. The head catches on her clit, making her gasp and arch her back further.

"Please," she whispers, and the vulnerability in that single word hits you hard.

"Look at Ningning," you command, waiting until she turns her head forward.

Ningning has positioned herself cross-legged in front of Karina, close enough to touch, her eyes darting between Karina's face and your cock poised at her entrance.

This is it. This moment. After all the teasing, all the build-up, you're finally about to be inside one of them. The significance isn't lost on you—or them, judging by the anticipation crackling in the air.

You position yourself at her entrance, gripping her hips firmly with both hands, and then thrust forward in one smooth, relentless motion, burying yourself to the hilt inside her.

"Fucking hell!" Karina cries out, her arms nearly buckling from the sudden intrusion. She's impossibly tight around you, hot and wet and perfect. Her inner walls grip you like a vise, pulsing around your length in a way that nearly makes you cum on the spot.

"Goddamn," you hiss through clenched teeth, fighting for control. "So fucking tight."

You hold still for a moment, both to let her adjust and to regain your composure. The sensation is overwhelming—better than anything you could have imagined. Better than Yujin, better than anyone you've been with before.

Slowly, you pull back until just the tip remains inside, watching your length emerge coated in her arousal, before driving back in with deliberate force. She makes a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets.

"Eat her out," you command Karina, nodding toward Ningning. "Show her what that pretty mouth can do."

Ningning's eyes widen at your directive, but she doesn't hesitate. She scoots closer, positioning herself so her pussy is directly in front of Karina's face. Karina leans forward eagerly despite the distraction of your cock still pumping into her, her tongue darting out to taste Ningning.

You establish a rhythm, your hips meeting Karina's ass with increasingly forceful thrusts. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, mixing with Karina's muffled moans against Ningning's pussy and Ningning's sharper gasps.

"That's it," you encourage, your hand sliding up Karina's spine before tangling in her platinum hair, pulling just enough to arch her back further. "Make her feel good while I fuck you."

The visual is pornographic—Karina on all fours, her face buried between Ningning's thighs, her ass raised high as you pound into her from behind. Your cock glistens with her arousal each time you pull back, her wetness making the glide effortless despite how tightly she grips you.

"Fuck, she's good with her tongue too," Ningning moans, her hand coming down to grip Karina's hair, holding her firmly in place. "Not as good as you, but still—ah!—still fucking amazing."

The praise spurs Karina on, making her work harder to prove herself. You can feel her determination in the way she pushes back against your thrusts, meeting you halfway, taking you impossibly deeper.

You bring your hand down on her ass in a sharp slap, watching the flesh jiggle and redden under your palm. Karina jerks forward with a muffled cry, her inner walls clenching around your cock in response.

"You like that?" you ask, doing it again, harder this time.

Her answering moan, vibrating against Ningning's core, is all the confirmation you need. You develop a rhythm—thrust, slap, thrust, slap—each impact making her tighten around you, each moan making Ningning gasp.

"Fuck, don't stop," Ningning pants, her hips rolling against Karina's face with increasing urgency. "She gets better every time you spank her—fuck!—it's like she's trying to earn it."

You can tell they're both getting close, teetering on the edge of release. Karina's pussy is gripping you with almost painful intensity, fluttering with each thrust in a way that signals her approaching orgasm. Ningning's thighs are trembling, her chest flushed, her breathing ragged as she grinds against Karina's eager mouth.

But you're not ready for this to end. Not yet.

You pull out of Karina suddenly, making her whine against Ningning's pussy. At the same time, you reach forward to pull her away from Ningning, denying them both their release.

"Not yet," you tell them, your voice rough with desire but commanding in a way that surprises even you. "I'm not done with either of you."

They both look at you with identical expressions of frustration and arousal—lips swollen, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. Karina's mouth and chin glisten with Ningning's arousal, while Ningning's thighs are visibly trembling from how close she was.

"Don't forget about me," Ningning says, her eyes fixed on your cock, still hard and slick with Karina's juices. "I want to feel that too."

"You had his mouth," Karina argues, turning to glare at her friend despite her breathlessness. "My turn to have something."

"Your pussy isn't the only one that needs attention," Ningning shoots back, crawling closer to you. "He obviously likes how I taste better anyway."

"Bullshit," Karina scoffs, reaching for your cock possessively. "He was practically shaking inside me. Weren't you?" She looks up at you, seeking confirmation.

The competition between them reignites, both vying for your attention, both desperate to be the one who makes you lose control first. But you've found your footing in this dynamic now, no longer overwhelmed by their beauty or intimidated by their confidence.

You know exactly what you want to do next.

After pounding into Karina with increasingly forceful thrusts, your control begins to waver. The wet heat of her pussy, the sight of her platinum hair bouncing with each impact, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting—it's all becoming too much.

"Fuck," you growl, suddenly pulling out completely with a lewd, wet sound. Your cock springs free, glistening with her arousal, bobbing heavily in the air between you. Karina whimpers at the loss, looking back at you over her shoulder with confusion and frustration in her eyes.

You take a deep breath, fighting for composure, and shift backward until you're settled against the headboard. Your cock stands at full attention, slick with Karina's arousal, veins prominent against the flushed skin, pulsing visibly with each heartbeat.

"Get over here," you command, voice rough with barely restrained desire. "Both of you."

The frustration on both their faces at being denied release only heightens your newfound confidence. Their flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and desperate eyes tell you everything you need to know—they're as close to the edge as you are.

"Ningning," you command, your voice leaving no room for argument. "Come ride me. Karina, you're on ball duty."

Their eyes widen at your sudden assertiveness, but neither hesitates. Ningning practically scrambles toward you, her small breasts bouncing with the movement, eyes dark with hunger. She straddles your thighs, positioning herself above your cock, while Karina crawls between your spread legs, her platinum hair falling around her face as she looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal.

Holy shit, who am I right now? When did I start giving orders to the two baddest girls at school?

You take a moment to truly look at Ningning hovering above you—her skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, making her body gleam in the scattered light. Droplets trail down between her breasts and along the defined lines of her dancer's abdomen. Her dark hair, once perfectly styled, now falls in messy strands around her face where it's escaped her ponytail. The contrast of her disheveled appearance against her usually perfect composure makes your cock throb with anticipation.

You reach up to trace the elegant curve of her collarbone, your finger dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat where sweat has pooled. Impulsively, you lean forward to lick the salt from her skin, dragging your tongue along the defined ridge before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She gasps at the sensation, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance.

"You taste fucking incredible," you murmur against her skin, your lips moving down to capture a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts. "Even your sweat is sweet."

Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as you continue to explore her body with your mouth. Your hands roam freely, cupping her small, firm breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. They're incredibly responsive, stiffening further at your touch, drawing a whimper from her lips.

"Please," she whispers, her voice so different from her usual confident tone. "Need to feel you inside me now."

Ningning hovers above you, her entrance just brushing against your tip, teasing you both. You've had enough teasing. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingertips digging into her soft skin as you pull her down onto your length in one forceful motion.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out, her body going rigid as you fill her completely. She's even tighter than Karina, her walls gripping you like a vise, her heat enveloping you in a way that makes your vision blur momentarily.

Her pussy feels different from Karina's—tighter, with more texture, gripping you in rhythmic pulses that suggest years of dance have strengthened muscles you're now benefiting from. Every tiny movement sends lightning through your nerve endings.

This cannot be real life. There's no way I'm inside Ningning right now with Karina watching. No fucking way.

You feel Karina's presence below, her breath hot against your thighs as she watches Ningning take you. The anticipation of her mouth on you while you're buried inside Ningning makes your cock swell even harder.

"Move," you growl, your hands still gripping Ningning's waist, guiding her into a rhythm. She begins to ride you, her hips rolling with a natural fluidity that showcases her dancer's body. Unlike Karina's more controlled movements, Ningning rides you with complete abandon, her head thrown back, small breasts bouncing with each drop of her hips.

Your hands slide from her waist to her ass, squeezing the firm globes, feeling the muscles flex and contract as she moves. Her skin is impossibly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You spread her wider, your fingers digging into the supple flesh, controlling her movements even as she sets the pace.

Sweat drips down her temple, following the curve of her jaw before trailing down her neck. You lean forward to catch it with your tongue, tasting the salt of her exertion, the evidence of how hard she's working on your cock. Her hair has come further undone, dark strands sticking to her damp neck and shoulders, the ponytail now hanging by a thread.

"Fucking hell, you're deep," she gasps, her internal muscles clenching around you as she adjusts to your size. "Shit, shit, shit."

You feel Karina's mouth on your balls, her tongue lavishing attention on the sensitive skin while Ningning continues to ride you. Her lips are impossibly soft, contrasting with the occasional graze of teeth that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She sucks one into her mouth, the wet heat surrounding you from below as Ningning envelops you from above.

The dual sensation—Ningning's tight heat surrounding your cock, Karina's wet mouth on your balls—creates a pleasure so intense you have to grit your teeth to maintain control. Your hands tighten on Ningning's ass, fingers dipping between the cheeks, exploring every inch of her.

"Look at you," Karina murmurs against your skin, her breath hot and teasing. "Already about to bust for her. Your balls are so tight."

She's not wrong—your entire body is wound like a spring, tension building with each drop of Ningning's hips, each swipe of Karina's tongue. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing with the effort of holding back.

Her observation spurs you to reassert control. You tangle one hand in Ningning's hair, finding the loose ponytail and wrapping it around your fist before yanking her head back sharply, exposing the elegant line of her throat. The remaining hair tie snaps, releasing a cascade of dark waves that fall around her shoulders. She gasps, her pussy clenching around you in response, her rhythm faltering momentarily.

"Fuck, I love when you pull my hair," she moans, her pace increasing, taking you deeper with each drop of her hips. Her nails dig into your chest, leaving crescent-shaped marks that sting deliciously, adding tiny crescents of pain to the overwhelming pleasure.

You pull her down to crush your mouth against hers, swallowing her moans as you thrust up to meet her movements. Her lips are swollen from earlier kisses, softer now, yielding to your assault. You taste yourself on her tongue, mixed with her own unique flavor and the lingering sweetness of the Slurpee from earlier. The combination is intoxicating.

Your free hand slides up her sweat-slicked back, feeling each vertebra, each ripple of muscle beneath her skin. You trace the definition of her shoulder blades, the delicate curve of her spine, the subtle dimples at her lower back. Her body is a masterpiece of lean muscle and subtle curves, honed by years of dance but still undeniably feminine.

Karina's not content to be forgotten. She moves from your balls to nip at Ningning's thighs, leaving small red marks that make Ningning jerk and gasp above you. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin where thigh meets ass, leaving a trail of light bruises that will remind Ningning of this moment for days to come.

Then she presses her tongue flat against the place where your bodies join, tasting both of you with each of Ningning's movements. The added stimulation makes Ningning shudder, her inner walls fluttering around you. Karina's tongue slides up to tease Ningning's asshole, circling the tight ring of muscle before dipping back down to where you're connected.

"Oh god," Ningning whimpers, the added stimulation nearly pushing her over the edge. Her movements become erratic, desperate, her inner walls fluttering around your length in warning.

You can feel how close she is—her thighs trembling against yours, her breathing shallow and rapid, her pussy contracting in those telltale rhythmic pulses that signal impending orgasm. Her eyes are unfocused, lips parted, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck to her chest.

Not yet. I'm finally in control here, and I'm not letting it end this fast.

You're not ready to let her finish yet. With a sudden burst of strength, you lift her off you entirely, eliciting a cry of protest that cuts off when you manhandle her to the side, practically throwing her onto the mattress beside you.

Her body bounces slightly with the impact, her hair splaying across the sheets like dark ink, chest heaving with exertion and denied release. Her skin is flushed pink, nipples tight peaks begging for attention, thighs still spread with the memory of having you between them. A thin sheen of sweat makes her entire body glisten, highlighting every curve, every muscle, every dip and hollow of her dancer's physique.

"My turn with Karina," you state, your voice rough with arousal but commanding enough that neither questions you.

Karina's eyes darken with desire as she moves to take Ningning's place, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is hot to the touch, slightly damp with exertion, surprisingly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You can feel her pulse racing beneath your palm.

"Get your ass up here," you direct, indicating your face. "Wanna taste you while you ride me."

Her breath catches, pupils dilating until her eyes are nearly black, a fresh wave of arousal evident in the way she presses her thighs together momentarily. She complies immediately, positioning herself over your face, facing your feet, while reaching back to guide your cock into her waiting heat.

The position allows you full access to her pussy with your mouth while she controls the depth and pace of penetration. The view is spectacular—her round ass hovering above your face, her slick, swollen pussy lips parted and ready, the perfect curve of her spine leading up to her platinum hair cascading down her back.

As she sinks down onto your length, you grip her hips, pulling her core against your mouth simultaneously, your tongue finding her clit with unerring precision. The taste of her explodes across your tongue—tangy, sweet, with an underlying muskiness that's uniquely hers, different from Ningning's flavor but equally intoxicating.

She cries out, her body jerking at the dual penetration, her inner walls clenching around you. You feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, her weight shifting as she struggles to maintain balance in the face of such intense stimulation.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, beginning to move on your cock while grinding against your mouth.

Where Ningning rode you with wild abandon, Karina's movements are calculated, controlled—each roll of her hips designed for maximum pleasure, each contraction of her inner muscles deliberate and devastating. She knows exactly how to angle herself to take you deepest, how to twist to hit her most sensitive spots, how to clench around you to create the perfect pressure.

Your hands roam her body, one gripping her hip to guide her movements, the other sliding up her sweat-slicked torso to find her breast. It fills your palm perfectly, heavier than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your skin. You pinch it between your fingers, rolling it, tugging slightly, feeling her inner walls contract around your cock in response.

Your tongue works her clit relentlessly, circling the swollen bud before flattening against it, applying perfect pressure as she grinds down. Her taste becomes more intense as her arousal builds, her wetness coating your chin, dripping down your neck. You trace her entrance with your tongue, feeling where your cock stretches her, the tight ring of muscle yielding to your thickness.

That's the difference between them—Ningning all passion, Karina all precision. Both fucking incredible in completely different ways.

Ningning watches for a moment, her chest heaving, before moving to participate again. She positions herself beside your head, leaning down to whisper in your ear, her voice husky with arousal. Her breath is hot against your skin, her lips brushing your earlobe with each word, sending shivers down your spine.

"She thinks she can take you better than me," she murmurs, her hand trailing down to massage your balls as Karina continues to ride you. Her fingers are cool against your heated skin, gentle yet firm as they cup and roll, occasionally dipping lower to feel where you stretch Karina open. "But I had you deeper. I felt you throbbing inside me."

Karina hears her and responds with a particularly skillful twist of her hips that makes you groan against her flesh. The movement changes the angle, taking you impossibly deeper, her inner walls rippling along your length in a way that makes your toes curl.

"He's rock hard inside me," she shoots back, looking over her shoulder at Ningning with a triumphant smirk. Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-dampened back in places, strands darkened by moisture. "Like, literally throbbing."

Their competitive banter continues as they trade positions again, this time with Ningning straddling you in reverse, her back to your chest. The view is spectacular—the elegant line of her spine, the subtle dimples at the small of her back, the perfect curve of her ass as she positions herself over your cock once more.

She sinks down slowly this time, savoring each inch as you fill her, her head falling back against your shoulder with a gasp when you're fully seated. Her hair, now completely free from its ponytail, spills all around you, tickling your chest, your neck, your face—dark, silky strands that smell faintly of coconut shampoo and her own unique scent.

Karina kneels beside you, her mouth finding your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of her platinum hair against your skin is stark, beautiful, the strands sticking to your sweat-dampened chest as she moves.

You grip Ningning's hips, guiding her movements as she rides you with increasing urgency, her head falling back against your shoulder. Your hands slide up her torso, feeling the taut muscles of her stomach contract with each movement, the delicate ribs beneath her soft skin, before finding her small, perfect breasts.

They fit perfectly in your palms, the perfect handful, nipples stiff against your fingers. You pinch them lightly, rolling them between your fingers, feeling her pussy clench around you in response. Your mouth finds the side of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that will be visible for days.

"Fuck, the way you fill me," she gasps, her hand reaching back to tangle in your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss over her shoulder. The angle is awkward but intensely erotic, her tongue sliding against yours as she continues to move on your cock.

Her body is a furnace against yours, heat radiating from every inch of her skin, her sweat mingling with yours where your chests press together. You can feel her heartbeat, rapid and strong, her pulse fluttering beneath your lips when you break the kiss to suck at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

Karina's hand slips between Ningning's legs, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that make Ningning's rhythm stutter. "Let me help you," she offers, her voice innocent but her eyes calculating as she watches Ningning respond to her touch.

It's not cooperation so much as an extension of their competition—each trying to prove they can give and receive pleasure better than the other. Still, the effect is the same: Ningning moaning loudly as Karina's fingers work her clit, her pussy clenching rhythmically around your length.

They might be competing, but holy shit does it work in my favor.

You break the kiss to watch them, fascinated by the shifting dynamic. Karina leans forward to capture Ningning's mouth in a passionate kiss, swallowing her increasingly desperate moans while continuing to work her clit. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, the kiss open-mouthed and filthy, a performance as much for your benefit as for their own pleasure.

Your hands slide to Ningning's ass, spreading her cheeks, feeling where your cock disappears into her tight heat. The visual of them kissing while Ningning rides you, Karina's fingers visible between her legs, is almost enough to push you over the edge.

Sweat drips down your temple, your chest, your back—every inch of you is damp with exertion, muscles burning with the effort of maintaining control. The room smells of sex now, the sweet musk of their arousal mixed with sweat and the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo creating an intoxicating blend that fills your lungs with each ragged breath.

"Switch," you command, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "Karina on my cock, Ningning on my face."

They separate reluctantly, exchanging a look that speaks volumes before repositioning themselves according to your instructions. The brief moment it takes them to adjust gives you a chance to regain some control, your breathing ragged, your cock throbbing painfully with need.

Karina sinks down onto you with a satisfied sigh, her pussy still incredibly tight despite how wet she is. Ningning straddles your face, her thighs bracketing your head, her scent intoxicating as you pull her down onto your waiting tongue.

What happens next is the most seamless teamwork you've seen from them so far. Karina leans forward to kiss Ningning deeply, their breasts pressing together as they move in synchronized rhythm—Karina riding your cock with deliberate precision, Ningning grinding against your tongue with increasing desperation.

Their hands explore each other's bodies, pinching nipples, tangling in hair, tracing curves with obvious familiarity. It's clear this isn't the first time they've touched each other this way, but the addition of you between them brings a new intensity to their interactions.

They work together now, their earlier competition forgotten in favor of a united goal: pushing you past the point of control. Karina's inner muscles contract around you in waves, milking your length with expert precision. Ningning grinds against your tongue with shameless abandon, her wetness coating your chin, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.

"Fuck, he's gonna cum," Karina observes, feeling your cock swell and pulse inside her. "I can feel it."

The sensation is overwhelming—Karina's pussy gripping your cock like a vise, her inner walls rippling along your length with practiced control, while Ningning floods your mouth with her arousal, her taste growing stronger as she gets closer to her own release. You feel the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, the tension building in your balls, the telltale throb of impending orgasm.

Ningning looks down at you between her legs, her eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," she says, both to you and Karina. "We're not done with him."

They exchange another look, some silent communication passing between them, before they both lift off you simultaneously. The sudden loss of stimulation makes you groan in frustration, your cock twitching in the cool air, your mouth still chasing Ningning's retreating heat.

"What the fuck," you hiss, your voice rough with need.

Are they seriously edging me right now? After I was finally about to—

They smile at your frustration, identical expressions of satisfied mischief on their flushed faces. The power dynamic shifts again as they move to position themselves on either side of you, their hands trailing teasingly across your sweat-slicked skin.

Your body is hypersensitive now, every touch amplified tenfold. Karina's fingers along your ribs feel like fire, Ningning's breath against your neck like a physical caress. Your cock stands proudly between you, harder than it's ever been, the head swollen and purple, veins prominent against the shaft, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

"We told you," Karina purrs, her fingers wrapping loosely around your aching cock, not providing nearly enough pressure. The touch is maddening—just enough to keep you on edge, not enough to provide relief. Her platinum hair falls across your chest as she leans over you, a few strands sticking to your sweat-dampened skin. "We're not done yet."

"You'll cum when we say," Ningning adds, her tongue darting out to flick across your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Her dark eyes hold yours as she does it again, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of sharp pain and soft pleasure makes your cock jerk in Karina's loose grip.

Your earlier dominance wavers in the face of their united assault, but you're not ready to surrender control completely. With a growl, you reach out, one hand tangling in Karina's platinum hair, the other gripping Ningning's hip hard enough to leave marks.

You feel the damp heat of Karina's scalp as you fist her hair, the moisture from her exertion making the strands cling to your fingers. On Ningning's hip, your fingers dig into the subtle curve, feeling the contrast of soft skin over firm muscle. Your grip is possessive, commanding, a clear statement that this power struggle isn't over yet.

"No," you state firmly, pulling Karina's face close to yours. Her platinum hair falls around you both like a curtain, individual strands clinging to the sweat on your face and neck. You can smell her shampoo—something expensive and floral—mixed with the musk of sex and the salt of her sweat. "I decide when this ends."

The authority in your voice makes both of them freeze, their eyes widening in surprise before darkening with renewed arousal. Karina's pupils dilate so completely her eyes look almost black, while Ningning's lips part on a shaky exhale.

"Yes, sir," Karina whispers, the unexpected honorific sending a shock of pleasure through your system. The word falls from her swollen lips with surprising naturalness, as if she's been waiting for the opportunity to say it.

Sir? Oh fuck, that's hot coming from her mouth.

Ningning nods her agreement, suddenly docile under your grip. "Whatever you want," she adds, her voice softer than you've heard it all day. The contrast between her usual sharp-tongued confidence and this new, yielding tone makes your cock throb painfully between you.

The surrender in their responses ignites something primal within you. You pull Karina into a bruising kiss, your teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper. Her mouth opens immediately under yours, tongue sliding against yours in eager submission. Her platinum hair tangles around your fingers as you hold her in place, controlling the angle, the pressure, the depth of the kiss.

When you release her, her lips are even more swollen than before, a tiny drop of blood where your teeth caught her too hard. The sight of it—evidence of your intensity—makes something dark and satisfied unfurl in your chest.

You turn to Ningning, claiming her mouth with equal ferocity, your tongue pushing past her lips in a clear mimicry of what your cock has been doing to both of them. She yields immediately, moaning into the kiss, her small hand coming up to grip your bicep, feeling the muscle flex under her fingers.

The taste of them mingles on your tongue—Karina's cherry-sweetness, Ningning's slightly spicier flavor, both layered with the salt of sweat and the unique taste of their arousal from when they rode your face. The combination is intoxicating, driving you to deepen the kiss, to take more, to claim her completely.

You break the kiss, looking at them both with undisguised hunger. Their faces are flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with desire. Sweat makes their skin gleam in the fading afternoon light, highlighting the contours of their bodies—the swell of Karina's breasts, the elegant line of Ningning's collarbones, the defined muscles in both their stomachs from years of dance.

"Get on your backs," you command. "Side by side. Now."

They scramble to comply, positioning themselves as instructed, their earlier bratty competition replaced by eager compliance. They lie beside each other, legs spread, bodies on display for your approval. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller curves and platinum hair against Ningning's more delicate frame and dark waves.

Both are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, their skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal. Ningning's small breasts rise and fall with her rapid breathing, the subtle definition in her stomach more visible now as she lies flat. Karina's fuller curves create shadows and valleys across her body, her platinum hair spread out across the pillow like spilled moonlight.

You move to kneel between them, looking down at the feast before you—Karina with her full breasts and perfectly waxed pussy, Ningning with her smaller, perkier breasts and neatly trimmed landing strip. Both of them flushed, breathing heavily, watching you with identical expressions of desperate need.

Your own body bears the marks of your encounter—small crescent-shaped indents from their nails, light bruises forming where their mouths have been too eager, sweat dripping down your chest and back. Your cock stands painfully erect between you, harder than you've ever been, throbbing with each heartbeat.

"Now," you say, your voice calm despite the fire raging through your veins, "let's see which one of you can take me better."

They exchange a glance—half challenge, half solidarity—before turning their attention back to you, waiting for whatever comes next.

I've got the two baddest dancers at school spread out for me. Bio test be damned—this is worth getting benched for.

And what comes next will test all three of you to your limits.

You move between them, your body radiating heat, muscles tense with anticipation. Your hand trails up Ningning's inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath your touch, while you lean down to capture Karina's mouth in a hungry kiss.

"I want it first," Ningning demands, her voice a mixture of need and command. Her slender fingers wrap around your wrist, trying to guide your hand higher between her legs. The desperation in her tone sends a fresh surge of arousal through you.

Karina breaks the kiss, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. "Make him choose," she challenges, her eyes locked on Ningning's, then flicking back to yours. "Let's see who he really wants."

Jesus, even now they're competing. And I'm supposed to pick?

You pull back slightly, looking between them—both flushed, panting, their bodies on display just for you. An idea forms, something that will satisfy them both while maintaining your newfound control.

"I choose both," you state, your voice leaving no room for argument. "But I'm calling the shots."

Without warning, you move over Ningning, positioning yourself at her entrance. She's so wet you can see it glistening on her inner thighs, pooling slightly beneath her on the sheets. The head of your cock slides through her folds, gathering her arousal, the contact drawing a whimper from both of you.

When you finally push inside, the wet sound is obscene – a lewd squelch that echoes in the room, matching Ningning's sharp gasp as you stretch her open.

"Fuck, you're splitting me in half," she cries out, her back arching off the bed, small breasts pointing upward as you fill her completely. Her inner walls clamp down around you like a silken vise, rippling with involuntary spasms that nearly end you on the spot.

The sensation of her tight heat surrounding you again nearly makes your vision go white, but you hold on to your control by a thread, fingernails digging into your own palms as you fight the urge to come immediately.

You don't give her time to adjust, setting a brutal pace immediately, each thrust punctuated by the wet sound of her arousal and the sharp slap of your hips against the backs of her thighs. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, heels digging into your lower back, urging you deeper.

"God, don't stop," she gasps, each word punched out of her with your thrusts. Her hair splays across the pillow in dark waves, sticking to her sweat-slicked temples and cheeks. There's something almost painful in her expression as she takes you, a mixture of pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

You shift your angle, driving deeper, searching for that spot inside her that will make her fall apart. When your cock brushes against it, her reaction is immediate – her entire body seizes, back arching further, a broken sound torn from her throat.

"There! Right there!" she sobs, eyes wide and glassy, unfocused with pleasure. "Oh god, I'm gonna—"

But you haven't forgotten Karina. Your hand finds her core, two fingers sliding easily into her wet heat, thumb circling her clit with deliberate pressure. She gasps at the contact, hips bucking up to meet your hand.

"I need more than fingers," she demands, voice cracking with need as she watches you pound into Ningning. "She's hogging you."

You lean down, capturing one of Ningning's nipples between your teeth as you continue thrusting, the dual sensation making her cry out louder. The taste of her sweat-slicked skin is addictive – salt and something uniquely her that makes you want to lick every inch of her body.

Your fingers pick up speed inside Karina, curved perfectly to hit her g-spot while your thumb continues its assault on her clit. Her hips rise to meet each thrust of your hand, grinding against your palm, seeking more friction.

"I can feel how wet you are," you tell Karina, voice rough with exertion as you continue pounding into Ningning. "Soaked through. All for me."

Sweat pours down your back, drips from your forehead onto Ningning's chest, mingling with the perspiration already coating her skin. It slides between her small breasts, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Impulsively, you lean down to lick it away, tasting the salt on your tongue, feeling her pulse hammering beneath your lips.

The room fills with the sounds of your collective panting, moaning, the wet slap of flesh, the squelch of your fingers in Karina's pussy, the creak of the bed frame protesting your vigorous movements. The air is thick with the scent of sex – musky, primal, intoxicating.

Ningning's nails rake down your back, leaving burning trails that sting deliciously. Her inner walls flutter around you, signaling her approaching orgasm. Her eyes, which have been locked on yours, suddenly squeeze shut, brows drawing together in intense concentration.

"I can't—it's too—" she gasps, words failing her as pleasure overtakes her ability to form coherent thoughts.

You pull out suddenly, leaving her empty and gasping, hovering right at the edge of release. Before she can protest, you shift to Karina, removing your fingers from inside her only to replace them with your cock in one swift movement.

"Finally," Karina gasps, body arching up to meet your thrust. Her pussy welcomes you with a gush of wetness, the lewd sound filling the room as you bottom out inside her. She's different from Ningning—slightly less tight but wetter, hotter, inner walls undulating around your length in deliberate pulses that suggest years of practice.

Her legs immediately wrap around your waist, ankles crossing at the small of your back, pulling you deeper. The change in sensation is mind-bending – from Ningning's tight grip to Karina's silky heat, both equally devastating to your self-control.

Now it's Ningning's turn to receive your fingers, sliding easily into her abandoned pussy, still stretched from your cock and dripping with arousal. You find her g-spot with unerring accuracy, applying firm pressure that has her keening, back arching off the bed.

"No fair," she whimpers, eyes glassy with frustrated tears. "I was so close."

"You'll get your turn again," you promise, voice barely recognizable through your labored breathing. "Want to make it last."

You lean down to kiss Karina as you thrust into her, swallowing her moans. Her mouth is voracious against yours, tongue tangling with yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip. One of her hands tangles in your hair, pulling hard enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure down your spine.

"Feel how fucking wet I am for you?" she pants against your lips, inner muscles clenching deliberately around your length. "Been thinking about this since I first saw you in homeroom."

The confession, unexpected and raw, sends a fresh surge of arousal through you. Your hips stutter in their rhythm before driving deeper, harder, drawing a choked cry from her throat.

Beside you, Ningning grows impatient with just your fingers. She rises to her knees, moving closer until she can press her body against your side. Her small breasts brush against your arm, nipples hard points of contact that make your skin tingle.

"Let me help," she murmurs, surprising you as her hand slides down to where you're joined with Karina. Her slender fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with a practiced touch that suggests this isn't the first time she's touched her friend this way.

Karina's reaction is immediate – a sharp gasp, inner walls clenching around you, back arching to press her breasts up toward you. Her platinum hair fans out across the pillow, damp strands sticking to her flushed face and neck.

"Fuck, Ning," she breathes, using a nickname you've never heard before. "Just like that."

The sight of Ningning's darker fingers against Karina's pale flesh, the contrast of their skin tones as they work together to maximize pleasure, is possibly the hottest thing you've ever seen. Your cock throbs inside Karina at the visual, drawing a knowing smile from both girls.

"You like watching us together, don't you?" Karina purrs, voice thick with satisfaction. "Been playing with each other since sophomore year. Wondering when we'd find someone worth sharing."

The casual revelation sends your mind reeling, imagination filling with images of them together – Karina's head between Ningning's thighs, Ningning's fingers buried inside Karina, their bodies entwined in countless configurations.

Holy shit, this is actually happening.

You increase your pace, pounding into Karina with renewed vigor while maintaining the curl of your fingers inside Ningning. The awkward angle strains your wrist but the dual sensation of both their bodies clenching around different parts of you is worth any discomfort.

Suddenly, you withdraw from Karina, her disappointed whine cutting off as you move down her body. Your tongue finds her clit, sucking the swollen bud between your lips while three fingers thrust into her soaked entrance. She tastes incredible – tangy, sweet, with an underlying musk that's uniquely hers.

"Oh my GOD," she cries out, thighs immediately clamping around your head, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you in place. "Right there, don't you dare fucking stop!"

Your free hand continues working inside Ningning, her wetness covering your fingers, dripping down your wrist. The position is challenging but the sound of both girls moaning, their bodies writhing on either side of you, spurs you to push through the discomfort.

"His tongue," Karina gasps to Ningning, eyes wild, pupils blown wide. "You have no idea."

Instead of responding with words, Ningning leans down to capture one of Karina's nipples in her mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The unexpected cooperation between them – Ningning pleasuring Karina while you work between her legs – creates a tableau of feminine beauty that's almost artful in its eroticism.

You alternate between them, mouth moving from Karina to Ningning, fingers filling whoever doesn't have your tongue, never letting either girl get too close to the edge before switching again. Their frustration builds with each denial, whimpers turning to pleas, then to demands.

"Please," Ningning begs, voice cracking, a tear escaping the corner of her eye to disappear into her hairline. "I need to come so bad it hurts."

"Let her finish," Karina surprises you by saying, her own voice shaky with need. "Want to watch her fall apart on your cock."

The request – so unlike her earlier competitive attitude – makes your decision for you. You move up Ningning's body, positioning yourself at her entrance once more. She's so wet now that you slide in effortlessly, her body accepting you with a soft squelch that should be embarrassing but is just incredibly hot.

"Yes," she hisses, hands immediately finding purchase on your shoulders, nails digging in. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You comply, setting a relentless pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust. Her small body takes everything you give her, inner walls gripping you like a vise, fluttering with the beginning of her orgasm.

"Look at me," you command, one hand moving to cup her jaw, forcing her gaze to meet yours. "Want to see your eyes when you come."

Her gaze locks with yours, dark irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils. There's something raw and vulnerable in her expression that contrasts sharply with her usual guarded demeanor. A single tear tracks down her temple, disappearing into her hairline—overwhelmed by sensation, by the intensity of feeling you so deep inside her.

You grip her small, firm breast in one hand, thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, while your other hand finds her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. The gesture is possessive, dominant, and her response is immediate—pupils dilating further, inner walls clenching around you.

"Going to come," she warns, voice thin and reedy, barely audible over the sound of your bodies meeting. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't—"

Her words dissolve into a high-pitched keen as her orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy spasms around you in powerful waves, each contraction stronger than the last, milking your length with incredible strength. Her entire body goes rigid beneath you, back arched so dramatically only her head and hips remain on the mattress.

The sight of her coming undone – face contorted in ecstasy, throat working as she gasps for air, body surrendered completely to pleasure – burns itself into your memory with crystal clarity.

You continue thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it, feeling each aftershock ripple through her overstimulated body. Only when her whimpers take on an edge of discomfort do you finally pull out, your cock glistening with her release, harder than it's ever been, angry red and pulsing with need.

Before you can move, Karina pushes you onto your back with surprising strength, swinging one leg over to straddle you. Her eyes are wild, desperate, platinum hair hanging in damp strands around her flushed face, lips swollen from kisses.

"My turn," she growls, positioning herself above your cock. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

She sinks down onto your length in one fluid motion, taking you to the hilt with a satisfied groan. The wet heat of her pussy surrounds you, different from Ningning's but equally intoxicating. Where Ningning was all tight, gripping heat, Karina is velvet smoothness with deliberate control, her inner muscles rippling along your length in waves that suggest she's done her Kegels religiously.

"So fucking thick," she gasps, beginning to ride you with the perfect combination of speed and pressure. Her larger breasts bounce with each movement, nipples stiff peaks begging for attention. You reach up to cup them, feeling their weight in your palms, thumbs brushing over the sensitive tips.

She leans forward, changing the angle, her platinum hair falling around your faces like a curtain. The new position has the head of your cock dragging against her front wall with each movement, hitting that spot that makes her thighs tremble.

"Right there," she breathes against your lips, not quite kissing you, just sharing breath. "Can feel you so deep like this."

Ningning, still trembling from her recent orgasm, moves to join you. She positions herself beside you, her small hand sliding down your chest, over your stomach, to where you and Karina are joined. Her fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with practiced ease while her mouth finds your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

The dual sensation – Ningning's mouth on your chest, Karina's pussy gripping your cock, the visual of both girls working together to maximize pleasure – sends jolts of electricity down your spine, coiling at the base, threatening to push you over the edge embarrassingly quickly.

"Not yet," Karina commands, reading your expression with unsettling accuracy. She slows her movements, rising until just the head of your cock remains inside her before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. "Want this to last."

Ningning shifts positions, moving behind Karina now, her small hands reaching around to cup Karina's breasts, taking over where your hands just were. The visual is incredible – Ningning's darker skin against Karina's paleness, her delicate fingers pinching Karina's nipples as she continues to ride you.

Karina's head falls back against Ningning's shoulder, throat exposed, eyes closed in concentration as she chases her pleasure. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the beginning of what promises to be an intense orgasm.

"She's close," Ningning murmurs, looking down at you with dark eyes, her chin resting on Karina's shoulder. One of her hands slides down Karina's stomach to find her clit again, rubbing in tight circles as Karina continues to ride you with increasing urgency. "Can feel how tight she's getting."

The sight of them together – Karina bouncing on your cock while Ningning touches her from behind – combined with the incredible sensation of Karina's pussy gripping you like a silken vise, brings you dangerously close to the edge again. Your balls tighten painfully, pressure building at the base of your spine, every muscle in your body tensing with impending release.

"Gonna come inside you," you warn, voice tight with the effort of holding back. "Can't wait any longer."

"Yes," Karina hisses, movements becoming more erratic as her own orgasm approaches. "Fill me up. Want to feel it."

Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-slicked back, strands darkened by moisture. Beads of sweat roll down between her breasts, along her stomach, glistening in the fading light. The scent of sex fills the room – musky, primal, intoxicating – mingling with the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo and the cherry sweetness of Karina's lip gloss.

Behind her, Ningning continues her ministrations, one hand on Karina's clit, the other reaching down to cup your balls, feeling their tightness, the way they draw up close to your body as you approach your peak.

"He's about to explode," Ningning announces, voice husky with renewed arousal despite her recent orgasm. Her fingers massage your balls gently, adding another layer of sensation that pushes you closer to the brink. "Can feel how tight they are."

Karina's movements become more deliberate, grinding down on each downstroke, creating a corkscrew motion that has the head of your cock hitting every sensitive spot inside her. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the telltale beginning of her orgasm.

"Don't stop," she gasps, eyes locking with yours, pupils so dilated her blue eyes look almost black. "Please, I'm so close, I'm right there—"

Her words cut off as her orgasm hits, body going rigid above you, thighs clamping down on your hips with bruising force. Her pussy contracts around you in powerful waves, each pulse threatening to pull your own release from you. Her face contorts in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream, a single tear tracking down her flushed cheek as the intensity overwhelms her.

The visual of Karina coming undone above you – head thrown back against Ningning's shoulder, throat working as she tries to breathe through the pleasure, body trembling with the force of her release – combined with the rippling contractions of her pussy around your cock, finally shatters your control.

You grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as you thrust up into her spasming heat. The first pulse of your orgasm hits with such intensity that your vision whites out momentarily, pleasure radiating from your core outward until every nerve ending is alight with sensation.

"Fuck, I'm coming," you growl, the words torn from your throat as you empty yourself inside her in hot, powerful spurts. Each pulse seems stronger than the last, your entire body seized in the grip of the most intense orgasm of your life. Your hips buck uncontrollably, driving deeper, prolonging the pleasure for both of you as her inner walls continue to milk every last drop from you.

Karina collapses forward onto your chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Her skin sticks to yours with sweat, her breathing ragged against your neck. Behind her, Ningning strokes her back gently, fingertips tracing the knobs of her spine with surprising tenderness.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the room are your collective breathing, gradually slowing as your heart rates return to something approaching normal. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, mingled with sweat and the faint traces of their different perfumes – Karina's expensive floral scent, Ningning's lighter coconut notes, both now thoroughly blended with the musk of shared pleasure.

Eventually, Karina shifts, wincing slightly as she lifts herself off your softening cock. A mixture of your release and her own arousal follows, dripping onto your stomach in a lewd display that somehow still manages to send a weak throb of interest through your spent cock.

She collapses beside you, one arm thrown across her eyes, chest still rising and falling with slightly labored breaths. Ningning moves to your other side, curling against you like a satisfied cat, her small hand coming to rest possessively on your chest.

The three of you lie there in sweat-soaked, satisfied silence, the reality of what just happened slowly sinking in as your brain begins to function again. Your body feels simultaneously weightless and heavy, every muscle pleasantly exhausted, skin hypersensitive as you come down from the most intense experience of your life.

Ningning's fingers trace lazy patterns across your chest, occasionally circling a nipple, making you twitch despite your complete exhaustion. Her head rests in the crook of your shoulder, damp hair tickling your skin. You can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing where her small breasts press against your side.

Karina reaches for your free hand, intertwining her fingers with yours in a gesture that feels surprisingly intimate after everything you've just done. Her thumb strokes the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, sending tiny shivers up your arm.

"So much better than bio class," she murmurs, voice still slightly hoarse from all her moaning. "Worth missing that test for sure."

You laugh, the sound pulling from deep in your chest. "Coach is gonna kill me when I get benched, but yeah... definitely worth it."

Ningning lifts her head to look at you, dark eyes still soft with lingering pleasure. She leans in to place a gentle kiss on your lips – so different from the desperate, hungry kisses you shared earlier. This one is almost sweet, her lips soft and yielding against yours.

When she pulls back, Karina immediately takes her place, claiming her own kiss. Her style is different – a little deeper, her tongue briefly tracing your lower lip before she pulls away with a small nip that makes you gasp.

"We should make this a regular thing," Karina suggests, trying to sound casual despite the hint of eagerness in her voice. Her fingers continue their gentle exploration, trailing down your stomach now, circling your navel, deliberately avoiding your spent cock.

"Mmm," Ningning agrees, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Next time I go first though." The competitive edge is back in her voice, though softer now, wrapped in playfulness rather than genuine rivalry.

You find yourself laughing again, equal parts disbelief and delight. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Duh," they say in unison, then exchange a look and burst into giggles.

Karina props herself up on one elbow, pushing damp platinum strands behind her ear. With her makeup smudged and her hair a mess, she looks younger somehow, more like the girl who sits behind you in English rather than the untouchable dance team captain.

"I wonder if Yujin would want to join us sometime," she muses, glancing at both of you. "Now that I know about your little secret hookup."

Your face heats up at the mention of what you thought was your private encounter. "You think she'd be into this?"

Ningning shakes her head slightly. "She kept that whole thing with you totally quiet. Didn't even tell us, and we tell each other everything." She shoots a meaningful look at Karina. "She might not be into sharing."

"Maybe," Karina concedes with a thoughtful expression. "But I've seen how she looks at Ningning during practice."

Ningning rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Whatever."

"And I'm still determined to finish what Chaewon started with you at Jackson's party," Karina continues, poking Ningning's side playfully. "Before she chickened out."

"She didn't chicken out, she just got weird about it," Ningning protests, but there's a wistful quality to her voice. "Said she wasn't ready or something."

"Trust me," Karina says confidently, "if she saw what I just saw, she'd definitely be ready. We just need to ease her into it."

Your eyes widen at the casual way they're discussing expanding this... whatever this is. Your cock gives a valiant twitch despite being completely spent, drawing knowing smirks from both girls.

"Look at that," Karina teases, glancing down at your slight movement. "Someone likes the idea."

"Don't break him," Ningning warns, reaching across you to flick Karina's arm lightly. "We need him functional for next time."

Karina catches Ningning's hand, bringing it to her lips for a quick kiss before releasing it. The gesture speaks to a depth of connection between them that goes beyond the competitive dynamic you've witnessed so far.

"So what do you say?" Karina asks, blue eyes fixed on yours, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Ready to be our regular class-skipping buddy?"

"With benefits," Ningning adds with a suggestive smile, her hand drifting dangerously close to your cock again, though it's far too soon for you to respond.

You think about your day just hours ago – boring, predictable, defined by classes and swim meets and the constant pressure to maintain your GPA. Then you look at these two incredible girls curled against you, their bodies warm and soft, offering something you never imagined would be within your reach.

"Bio test was today," you remind yourself aloud, wincing slightly. "I'm definitely getting a zero."

"You can make it up," Karina says with a dismissive wave. "Just tell Mr. Park you were sick or something."

Ningning nods in agreement, her fingers drawing circles on your chest. "No one's gonna believe you'd skip for no reason anyway. You're like, annoyingly responsible."

As they continue chatting, arms draped across your body, heads resting against your shoulders, you find yourself wondering what exactly you've gotten yourself into. The dance team's secret hookup? Their shared boyfriend? The guy lucky enough to be their favorite distraction?

Whatever this is, whatever label might eventually apply, one thing is certain: there's no way you're backing out now.

Bio test be damned, you think, pulling both girls closer as you sink into the comfort of Karina's bed.

This is definitely worth getting benched for.

#malereader #kpop smut #cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #smut #karina x reader #ningning x reader #karina #ningning

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saintrosalyn · 5 months ago

Text

BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths.

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep.

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him.

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room.

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself.

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine.

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge.

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift.

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside.

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you.

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst.

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate.

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels.

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver.

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence.

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him.

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in).

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone.

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again.

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong.

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.”

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments.

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head.

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall.

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach.

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon is such a meanie #He's gonna give reader an ulcer fr

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pedgito · 25 days ago

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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Tommy Miller x reader x Joel Miller

summary | You need something to ease the pain, but Joel and Tommy aren't very generous.

author's note | this isn't for everyone, please read the tags. i'm already working for a follow-up on this, but if you decide to read this - thank you!! <3 also ily and thank you for the betas @gracieheartspedro @amanitacowboy

content warning | DDDNE — noncon & dubcon, there's not defined consent, reader is both drugged and has a head injury that is blurring the lines of reality, early outbreak days, dark!tommy, dark!joel, unprotected piv, restraints, degrading, deepthroating, creampies, this is literally them fighting over a shiny new toy, joel spitting on reader, marking/claiming, very little aftercare. this is dark fic, don't engage if you don't like.

word count — 5.3k

You had struck gold.

On, well, drugs.

There was the saying—only the strongest will survive. But, you’ve seen a clicker take down a man double its size without an ounce of struggle.

Then again, they were literal killing machines.

You’ve learned that sanity is what has kept you alive.

And lately, yours had been slipping.

It was the anxiety, the lack of food and water, the seventh group you’ve filtered into torn to bits overnight and because you were so weary – always sleeping above ground level and never really letting yourself succumb to deep sleep – had managed to slip away in the knick of time.

Regardless, you needed the drugs.

You’ve been on the run for two weeks, completely alone, raiding every hospital and pharmacy you’ve come across with no luck, all wiped clean.

Sometimes, the anxiety made your chest hurt — blood pumping into your ears so loud you couldn’t hear anything else, too aware of the functions within your own body.

It has gotten explicitly worse the past couple days and when you finally find some luck, therein follows the immediate feeling that it was too good to be true.

There was a catch.

This was a trap.

Well, fuck it.

What did you have to lose anyways?

You’ve been in this dilapidated house before, months ago when you were passing through with another group. So, when you find the bags, you’re wondering if this was just a mistake.

Someone had left these behind, surely.

There wasn’t anyone in the nearest vicinity, not a speckle of life anywhere to be found.

So, you dig.

There’s a treasure trove of bottles all half full or almost empty, scanning through the names until you find something worth taking.

Diazepam.

It could work, it would work.

By the looks of it, there’s only ten pills left and if you used them sparingly enough, you could stretch it out for a couple months, long enough to continue your search.

The end goal was always civilization, hopeful that you could stumble upon a well-established group that would be kind enough to take you in.

Though, the outlook was grim.

You stuff the bottles of pills into your coat pocket and continue to dig, unsure why you’re feeling so greedy. Some of the labels are ripped and unintelligible, some of the bottles simply don’t pique your interest, crouched on the floor and burrowing through someone else's belongings like a rat.

You’re so focused that you don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is sharp, cuts through the silence like a knife and you freeze, hunched over and caught red-handed.

“Turn around slowly.”

You comply, unwinding yourself carefully, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s one man standing in the doorway, another a few steps ahead.

They share a similar build and face, undoubtedly related.

You raise your hands to show no threat, hands shaking slightly. “I’m just passing through,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

The closer man takes a step forward, but the gun doesn’t waver. “You with anyone?”

“No.” You hate how weak you sound, “No—just….just me,”

Dumbass. You should have lied.

Your hands are shaking noticeably and you’re not sure if it’s from fear or adrenaline or relief that you’ve scored something.

It doesn’t matter.

“Empty your pockets,” his voice is indescribable, but demanding, eyes lingering briefly to the quieter man behind him that lingered like a shadow, as you hesitate, the gun clicks, “I’m not askin’.”

“I didn’t—take,” you panic, licking nervously at your lips, “I—you don’t understand,” you know they can hear the shuffle of the half-empty pillow bottle in your coat pocket, clear as day, “please don’t kill me, god—”

The idea seemed more intriguing now than it ever has.

The two men share a look, clearly one they have passed along a million times before.

“Turn around,” the man demands, “keep your hands up,”

You follow instructions with minor hesitancy, hearing the footsteps grow closer before the hands spread around your waist and up your ribs and you catch the gentle woosh of longer hair against your cheek that ultimately belonged to the other man.

You’re not sure whyor where the courage takes hold – it was stupid, outnumbered and unskilled when it came to combat, you were fighting a losing battle.

Your elbow swings back into the other man’s ribs and he grunts, roughly grabbing you by the back of your neck before shoving you at the one wielding the revolver, “Screw this, I’ll just fuckin’ shoot ‘er,” the voice belonging to the one with the menacing scowl and hard gaze.

“Joel, slow your goddamn roll,” it was a tidbit of information that he shouldn’t have let slip, feeling the hand at your bicep as it twisted behind your back tightly, gasping at the sharp sting of pain.

“Kill first, take later,” Joel reminds the other man, “we’ve been over this, Tommy.”

Joel. Tommy.

Brothers, clearly.

The outbreak was still fresh in hindsight, only two years since the attacks on the city started. It was clear that some people thrived in environments like this, feeding off violence to achieve their goal.

You’d stumbled into the wrong hands, all of your luck having officially ran out.

You’re not sure why they decide to spare you, but they do.

Time passes — seconds that feel like hours, before the butt of a gun is making contact with the side of your head.

You’re out like a light, meeting the floor with an unkind thump that splits open the skin near your temple, blood pooling around the wound and along the dilapidated hardwood.

“She’s your responsibility,” Joel tells his brother, shoving the gun into his chest, “take care of it.”

—

There was no expectation of waking until it happened.

Everything felt fuzzy, light, more welcoming than you expected. You could feel the cool sheets under your skin, a hastily applied bandage to your head, but your hands were bound.

There was an uneasy feeling to the picture painted before you, the usual diluted blues and green and greys of the apocalypse replaced with something warm.

You moan slightly, shifting as you blink to collect yourself, immediately faced with one of the men from earlier with a different kind of concern etched on his face.

As far as you could tell, he was alone.

And much more docile.

“Oh, woah, little lady,” he says, all charm in his thick southern twang, “you took quite a spill earlier.”

You moan again, this time in response, “You—he…hit me.”

“Joel? Yeah, he ain’t much of a people person,” Tommy explains, “he left for a bit, though. I patched ‘ya up, gave you some meds to help with the pain,”

He notices your gaze drifting, like it was too hard to keep focus despite your valiant effort.

You nod in compliance.

You can feel the hand that settles between your thighs, a soft caress as Tommy checks gingerly at your wound, the press of his fingers digging into the supple flesh at the inside of your leg.

“I think you’ll be right as rain, probably best to keep you here for a couple days until we can let you go,” he admits, “seems a little negligent and unfair to force you outside to deal with infected in your condition.”

Tommy liked his trinkets, though.

Sweet, shiny things that peaked his interest.

There’s a softness to your features that has been long lost on many, just the subtle glint of weakness he needs.

“I’m so sleepy,” you slur tiredly, groaning softly as you turn to your side, feeling the hand shift from between your legs to graze up the curve of your ass and against your back.

It was a nice touch, comforting — warm, safe.

No part of you can recognize who the hand belongs to, not in this state of mind, the room swirling with faint orange from the setting sun — was it a bedroom?

Living room?

Or, it was a dream. The afterlife, even.

Maybe you had died and this was the sick way your body was deciding to cope, cared for by your captors.

But, nothing about Tommy outwardly screamed danger.

Not like the way Joel's bared teeth, scruffy beard and stench of blood had.

No, Tommy was sanitary, preened and clean; a wolf dressed up in sheep’s clothing.

You can’t muster the care to worry about this now.

“Get some rest, darlin’,” he encourages, the touch moving to your hair now, curling the strands around his fingers gently.

You give into the medicine slowly creeping through your veins. Sleep overtakes you with little resistance. There is only darkness for a while, the absence of thought or feeling, until there’s the strange sensation you are being moved and manhandled.

Your limp body in someone’s arms, then in their lap, against their chest before you’re pressed into the mattress again but on your stomach, head carefully angled to avoid injury or irritation. Not that it mattered, your entire body was numb now.

It is a new kind of warmth that blankets you.

You can distantly hear a voice before you slip back into unconsciousness.

“... sweet little thing,” he says.

The passage of time feels endless.

The weight in the bed beside you comes and goes, the room filtering between light and dark, unsure how many days have passed. Occasionally you wake to drink water or take a few sparing bites of food, just enough to placate your angry stomach as you’re continuously fed meds to remain complacent.

It isn’t that you mind—you don’t. It was the best care you’ve had in months.

Actually, you don't ever remember being cared for like this.

There’s only ever one set of footsteps, no voices aside from one, and the constant looming feeling that he was around. You weren’t unsettled by it, rather comforted.

Tommy was being unbelievably kind despite your actions—he could have killed you outright, but instead, he was caring for you. You weren’t sure if his brother would be delighted at the idea, but he wasn’t here right now.

You can hear the faint chirp of crickets and a room blanketed in blue when the bed dips under the weight of someone sitting down again, and warm fingers brush across your cheek.

“Hey there,” Tommy’s voice sounds from behind you. “glad to see you awake.”

He sounds genuine.

You turn slightly to peer up at him, vision still hazy.

His eyes are crinkled with a slight smile, a thick mustache covering his upper lip. He’s stripped out of his jacket, clad in a shirt and jeans, and his touch still hasn't left you. Instead, it grows.

Explorative, you lie still.

There’s a wondrous edge to his gaze, his touch roaming the expanse of your body, clean of dirt and grime and suddenly you realize you’re dressed in fresh clothes, pants folded at the end of the bed. There was only a shirt and a thin pair of underwearing covering your body.

He had bathed you? Changed you?

Tommy notices the panic of the realization but soothes your worry with a touch that is gentle against your forehead, a much smaller bandage covering your head injury.

It’s weird, the faint glow that surrounds him.

Part of you wonders if this is still just a dream—maybe you’ve been dead for days.

His touch is so warm, guiding your legs apart as you gasp, his fingers resting over your core like they weren’t meant to be there.

“Wait,” you breath, thighs closing instinctively, “don’t—”

“Shhh,” Tommy soothes, the fingers of his opposite hand running along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he traces the flesh, “s’alright, you’re still lookin’ a little sleepy, sugar. Go on, you can rest,”

You’re only vaguely aware of how your bindings have changed, spread out at either end of the bedpost rather than bunched over your head, somehow feeling more restrictive than the latter.

Sleep was incredibly hard to fight, eyes fluttering through the growing curiosity of his touches, eventually slipping under the fabric of your panties.

“....well, look at that,” his voice is distant, but he’s met with a wet, warm heat as his fingers slide between your folds, watching as your lips part with the touch, “she loves me, don’t she?”

A soft mumble of a response in protest because it shouldn’t feel this good.

Tommy takes it in stride, the swift whip of his belt as it comes undone.

“Think I can make it quick,” Tommy says mutedly, feeling like you were underwater, “Joel should be back later, but I’ll treat your right, don’t worry,”

As the fabric goes, you come to, eyes widening as Tommy was already stripped of his jeans and underwear, cock hard and proud in his hand as he positioned himself between your legs, a gentle touch of his finger pressing inside of you.

The stretch makes you gasp, the fullness even more apparent as he adds another finger, pushing deep. It’s too much, the intensity of it all as you gasp and squirm against the bed. It was akin to something your body craved but your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

It’s good, though—almost dizzyingly so. Tommy smirks; he knows it.

There’s a tightness in your chest that screams danger, but every time you open your mouth to protest, only a moan comes out.

“Fuck,” Tommy groans as he watches your eyes fall shut, finger working loudly inside of you against your squelching heat, “how am I supposed to wait with you so ready for me?”

He wasn’t. You could feel him shifting instead, hands spread out over your thighs as the head of his cock pushed between your folds—up, down, his face tilted to examine the sight before him, neglecting the tugs against your bindings in protest.

“Just watch,” he murmurs with a nod, barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna come on my cock before you even realize what’s happenin’, darlin’.”

“Tommy, please—” you choke, but everything else is a soft cry as he pushes inside of you.

His hips snap forward, filling you in one swift motion.

The stretch is intense and overwhelming, a gasp of pain ripping from your throat.

You nearly whimper at the sensation after, his hand twisting around to your back to push up, arching you off the mattress as he rocks his hips in a steady timing—so tender in his affections, now languid thrusts drawing out a heat in your core that you didn’t ask for but can’t fight against.

The fight was useless, no give to the fabric tied around your wrist, the weight of his body against you as his hands spread out on the sheets beside the pillow under your head, his head level with your own but his eyes focused on the way your cunt sucked his cock up to the base.

He looks up briefly, tears in your eyes as they flutter shut in continued exhaustion.

“Don’t pass out on me now,” he teases when your eyes threaten to close, hips snapping forward to knock you back into the waking world, “I want you here for this, darlin’.”

He shifts slightly and your head is thrown back with an involuntary moan, every thrust dragging against that sweet spot inside of you that makes the world go white around the edges.

He was right—he’s fucking right—and there’s no saving you from his cock as a full-body shiver invades you. You mumble something unintelligible, head throbbing with a dull pain.

“Look at you,” Tommy breathes and you force yourself to focus, unable to look away as his thumb dips between you both, teasing your clit with feather-light circles that make you tremble.

His touch is surprisingly kind, not indicative of his intentions or actions. He wants to make you feel good, he’s relying on it, actually. And you hate how it was working. Your walls clamp down tight on his cock as he grunts deep in his chest, pace increasing to an unrelenting speed that echoes through the room, skin on skin.

“God, please,” you moan, praying to an unknown, barely recognizing the needy pitch of your own voice. You tug at the fabric binding once more out of reflex, not even sure what you’d do if your hands were free.

He grins, low and predatory. “That’s it,” he says with a punctuating thrust, “Take it. All of it.”

His name is the only word left in your vocabulary for a moment, over and over and over again until he’s pulling out of you suddenly, hot streams of cum spreading out of your stomach and chest as he shoves your shirt up, the loss sudden and devastating despite your mind telling you otherwise.

Tommy slumps to your side after a moment, catching his own breath with a hand over his chest and his erection flagging between his thighs, biting your lip to stifle the quiet sobs as the realization of your situation had come into full-view.

No haze, no confusion, the medication wearing off. You were left with nothing but pain.

–

He’s sleeping beside you, has been for a while.

He redressed eventually, unsure as you had closed your eyes to feign sleep.

But, he looked so fucking peaceful.

He hadn’t bothered helping you much either, only slipping your underwear back on and shifting up the flimsy blanket to cover your shivering body, the cold biting at your skin—and you can feel the dried cum against your belly, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your skin.

You swallow the dryness in your mouth as you study him, the shadows under his eyes, the flutter of his lashes against his skin. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse on his face.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creak of floorboards outside the room, and you freeze.

It could only be one person.

“Tommy,” A voice booms in the distance, “Tommy!”

Tommy stirs beside you, groggy and unfocused, a slow realization dawning as he registers the call. It was Joel’s voice.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pushing up from the mattress.

By the panic on his face and the minimal calculation in your head—you should be dead.

He was supposed to take care of the problem.

Instead, he’s treated you like a plaything. A toy.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch him. He puts on his boots with haphazard urgency, more worried about Joel finding him beside you rather than your obvious state of living.

He meets your eyes for half a second, but there’s nothing there—not pity, not guilt, nothing.

A coward, through and through.

He ducks out the door before you can respond, leaving it ajar enough that you hear Joel’s accusation cut through the silence.

“...always makin’ me clean up your fuckin’ mess,” He argues, “if you hadn’t left those bags out and let me shoot her then—”

“I know, I know,” comes Tommy’s reply, more distant now, but you can still hear him scrambling for an excuse. “Just hold on a sec!”

You can hear the heavy footsteps approach, “Just get the fuck outta here for a few hours before I kill you too,” he threatens, though it sounded empty.

A creeping fear begins to settle in as you realize this is it—this time, there’ll be no reprieve.

When he approaches, his shadow creeping through the door, you have no choice but to face him. Hands still bound, you were helpless.

“Rise and shine, little thief,” his voice carries.

Joel examines the room with careful eyes, taking note of the half-eaten food and dirtied rags. It doesn’t take a genius for him to realize his brother had dragged this out for a while. Joel was only gone a few days, but he’d been keeping you sustained and alive without needing to.

And against Joel’s instruction.

Joel shakes his head in silence before he’s pulling the gun out of his jeans, finger on the trigger and you don’t know why—but you beg.

“I–please, please,” you begin, your voice raw, “I don’t wanna die. Joel, please.”

He flinches at you using his name, stepping closer as he presses the barrel into your forehead and cocks the lever back, “I’ll do anything. I’ll help—I’ll be…be good. Tommy kept me alive for a reason, r—right? He could have killed me too.”

“He can’t,” Joel tells you, “my mistake for thinkin’ he could.”

You struggled against the bindings as you kick your feet, shoving the sheet away to reveal your state of undress, “He did a lot worse,” you snap at him, “you—your brother, you’re fucking monsters, no real men would do what he did.”

That has him lowering the gun just a fraction, like he’s considering it.

The shadows of doubt flicker over his eyes, and in that moment you see your chance.

“I can help. Steal—lay low,” you attempt to convince him, helplessness thick in your voice. “You don’t gotta kill me. I’ve just been trying to survive.”

“You think I believe a word comin’ outta your mouth?” Joel says, but now it feels more like he’s trying to convince himself, “Why were you stealin’ our meds? You got some camp you were takin’ ‘em back to?”

“No,” you reply quickly, insistent, “no—it was just me. I just—I needed something, anything to get rid of this feeling that I have all the time. It’s constant panic.”

Joel seems to pause, a silent deliberation. He eyes your figure, strung up and helpless. It was worse than just killing you outright.

“Or, let me go,” you plead, hoping desperation might unearth some small fragment of mercy. “I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. I swear.”

His jaw tightens, and you think he’s about to pull the trigger. Instead, he curses under his breath and lowers the gun entirely.

“You’re pathetic,” he spits, tossing the gun aside and opening his knife to cut at your bindings, “Get up.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging your arms over yourself for some semblance of modesty, unmoving on the bed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “I don’t trust you. You’re gonna prove yourself or die tryin’ to.”

He throws you your old pile of clothes folding on the table beside your bed, reeking up mildew.

“Get changed, now,” He demands, but doesn’t leave,

Fine. Whatever.

You shift to your knees and strip the top over your head, wincing at the throb of pain between your legs as Joel seems to freeze, spotting the mess dried on your stomach.

“You ain’t never shot a gun, have you?” Joel asks suddenly, “Killed anyone?”

You shake your head impishly.

“I’m good at being quiet, sneaking around,” you admit, aware of the way his eyes examine your breasts, the gentle curve as you pull the shirt over your head and toss it aside, “At least—I was.”

Letting you go was risky, but shooting you now seemed like a waste.

You had nothing to offer and Joel didn’t need that on his conscience.

Not that he really cared, but disposing of your body was more trouble than it was worth.

You recognize that same flicker of greed in Joel’s eyes that was prevalent in Tommy’s.

For Joel, it was more subdued and brought out by the sight that his brother had already staked a claim over you when he shouldn’t have, leaving Joel to clean up his mess.

He really didn’t appreciate that.

Luckily, Joel knew just how to fuck with Tommy; stealing his favorite toy.

He steps closer, a dangerous grin spreading across his face as you freeze, pausing your movements as you sit stripped down to your underwear before him.

“Didn’t even clean ya up, did he?” Joel mocks using the barrel of his revolver to motion at your chest, growing increasingly irritated at the situation before him.

“No, he didn’t,” you admit sheepishly, watching Joel’s free hand disappear behind your head until he could tip your neck back, exposing your bare chest as he gathered saliva in his mouth to dribble the spit over your chest.

You hated to admit it, but you were pliant.

Like putty in his hands.

“Clean it up,” he demanded.

Your eyes searched for mercy that would never come before dropping to your chest, the glistening mess trickling down to the waistband of your underwear. You stare back up at him nervously, but his face is stoic, unwavering.

You clear your throat softly and trial your fingers through the spit and drag it back up your chest, cleaning away the mess that Tommy had left, using the dirtied shirt to wipe yourself clean.

Before you can muster a response, he’s shoving two fingers past your lips, pressing against the back of your throat so hard that you choke, “He use this too?”

You shake your head impishly, lashes fluttering as he presses his fingers down against your tongue, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion. You sputter around his digits, tasting him and the salt of his palm.

Leaving his fingers in your mouth, he pulls you up to your feet with a matching furiosity to his previous actions that has you paw at his wrist for leverage, eventually releasing his fingers from your mouth with a pop and leaving you slack jawed and breathless.

You don’t have time to recover, though, before he’s pulling his knife out and slicing clean through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Joel,” it’s a moan this time, breathless.

He ignores you.

“Gonna show you what a real man does,” Joel says ominously.

His rough hands push you to the floor, knees hitting the wood with a painful thud as they knock against each other.

“I’ll let you live,” he says gruffly, his own pants unfastened until he can shove them down enough to free his cock, precome already beading at the tip and dripping down his shaft.

He’s hard—so fucking hard—and just the sight of him makes your stomach churn in anticipation and fear, made worse by the hand that grips into your hair, forcing your mouth open as he pushes past your lips with the head of his cock.

“But, it ain’t without you provin’ how much you wanna,”

You gag instantly and Joel tightens his grip against the back of your head. There’s little to no fight in you after the display of power, your breath hitching as he pulls his cock out suddenly, gasping for air before he’s guiding himself back into your mouth, a rough but steady rock of his hips as he holds your head between his palms, fearful that he could kill you like this.

A simple snap of your neck and it would be over.

You were a fool for thinking this would be an easy end for you.

But, at least Joel was upfront about his fucking intentions.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Joel seethes, snapping his hips twice and rough as you sputter around his cock, chin slick with your drool, “want you to remember this,”

There’s no choice other than to comply, quick and shallow breaths through your nose as Joel fucks your mouth with little care, the taste of him heady on your tongue as his cock forces down the cries in your throat.

He was making you earn this.

Making you work for the trust, freedom—your life.

He’s relentless, a predator through and through.

There was no haze keeping you compliant, only a faint throbbing at your head and the sight of a powerful man standing over you, fist in your hair as stared up the line of buttons that led to his face, a soft growl in his throat at the sight of his cock disappearing into your mouth, eyes rolling back slightly when he pressed too hard.

You knew there wasn’t much choice in the matter, but you weren’t sure how defiant you would be if things were different—it was clear that Joel and Tommy could survive, and in turn, they could keep you alive too—couldn’t they?

You nod gently to his earlier statement, focusing on him as your now free hands roam up under the fabric of his clothes and squeeze, thankful for the brief reprieve as his cock slide back toward the tip of your tongue and rests there, watching his face scrunch and contort as he comes without warning.

It’s thick spurts against your tongue that are blended with his low, guttural groans as he slowly loosens the grip on your hair and offers a low, “Know damn well what’s good for you—like that,” he notes casually.

You wipe hastily at your mouth with your open palm as your rise on shaky legs, eyeing him cautiously before he tuts with his tongue, pushing your hand away, “Ain’t done with you quite yet,”

There’s a split second where you think about making a break for it, eyeing the door with a flicker of hope, but Joel’s grip is tight and forceful, feeling the sharp tug as he pulls you into his lap, facing you toward the bar at the end of the bed, gripping it as he silently guides your hands there—for a moment, you think he’s going to tie you back up like Tommy had, but he doesn’t.

He takes a seat on the center of the mattress and shifts his jeans down and off, your back to him as he settles you between his legs, watching the discarded clothing fall to the floor as you hold your breath.

You can feel the hot press of a palm flat against your back, up your spine as it curves around your shoulder, “You’re gonna go to Tommy after I fuck you,” Joel explains, gripping his cock as he slides it between your folds and presses in slow, gasping at the thickness as it spreads you open, “and tell him how this is all mine,” his hand squeezes at your hip, guiding your back against his cock as you grip at the metal frame, feeling him shift slightly until he’s on his shins, pistoning his hips into you with fervor, “and I don’t,” thrust, a rough grunt following, “fuckin’—” you moan shakily, biting at the skin on your bicep to muffle the noise, “share.”

He’s relentless, really.

His grip is bruising, not holding back in his strength as he guides your hips down against his cock, feeling the sweat in his palms as he breathes heavily behind you.

“Maybe you were a damn blessing,” Joel says softly, maybe not even aware he’s said it aloud until he continues, “been prayin’ for one for a while,”

“I’m—” You croak, speaking weakly, “I’m not,”

“Dunno,” Joel argues, “ain’t religious either, to be honest,”

You laugh at that, though it was mostly just a soft noise that filters out of your nose as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, frustrated with how much pleasure he was bringing you despite his nature and intention, using you for whatever means he felt was necessary.

“Pussy like this,” He notes with amusement and a tinge of fondness, “goddamn miracle if you ask me.”

Then suddenly, his chest is at your back, hand wrapping around your neck as he pulls you back.

His other hand curls around the inside of your thigh, drifting close to your dripping, swollen cunt.

There isn’t much expectation in a return of pleasure until his fingers are moving against your clit in tandem with his quick thrusts, a begrudgingly welcomed touch as he groans against your shoulder, his teeth biting into the skin until you cry out.

“Difference between Tommy and I,” he states, guiding you over the edge of your orgasm as you shake, head falling back against his shoulder helplessly before he groans low, animalistic in your ear before you feel his grip tighten, hips stuttering as he came deep inside your cunt, “I claim what’s mine.”

Joel didn’t need your response—he just held you tighter, like something earned, a prize won, something no one else would touch again.

When the silence settles around you and you’ve dressed obediently under his command, the only thing stronger than his words was the way your body still remembered both of their touches.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #tommy miller x reader #gabriel luna #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #x reader #reader #the last of us fic #tlou fic #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #tw dark fic #my writing

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danidrabbles · 6 months ago

Text

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this.

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here.

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind.

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name.

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same.

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?”

He hums.

��And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.”

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it.

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?”

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.”

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle.

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far…

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air.

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small.

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this.

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better.

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment.

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat–

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here.

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.”

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared.

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.”

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

��Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are.

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile.

You respond in kind.

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed – like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago.

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination.

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day.

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week.

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support.

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters.

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front.

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts.

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–”

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply.

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.”

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely.

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.”

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.”

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place…

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.”

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you–

“Logan,” you breathe.

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth–

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your…

friends.

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.”

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you.

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.”

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed.

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

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