#What can I say there's nothing better than mixing up interests

[choerrysjubiles]

wasteurtime

pairing: virgin!sungchan x fem!reader

warning: smut! oral, protected sex, short? reader, slight corruption kink? Definite size kink and Sungchan’s eating cum

wc: 3k

a/n: not at all based on the song but I needed a title <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Weekends were for of daytime studying and nighttime parties. Finishing up whatever amount of work you needed done before rewarding yourself with the fraternity block's weekly parties. No matter how stressed or how close finals could get, most students at SM University found their way towards the weekly party hosted by someone or another.

Due to constant patrol, there have been plenty of saintly frat boys and sorority girls who donate their parents house for these parties. Which is where you find yourself.

Sitting on the counter of Wonbin's kitchen, you caught a familiar face. Jung Sungchan, one of SMU's top soccer players. You've seen him around campus, even seen him at Wonbin's parties before. But you've never really had the chance to talk to him, always kept a lingering eye on him, instead.

Friend of a friend is usually a weird relationship. He knows Wonbin and you know Wonbin, but Wonbin’s never tried inviting you both to the same event. No soccer games, no parties, no get togethers, no mundane events where your paths could cross. Almost suspicious.

You stayed on the counter, sipping your drink as he walked around. Spotting you, he walks up.

"Have you seen Wonbin?"

"Dunno." You say, "Saw him a minute ago, might be in the backyard."

"Thanks." He smiled before walking away.

You enjoyed watching Sungchan, he was tall and broad, muscular, he was a heartthrob to any student. Hearing from Wonbin, he was mostly just a goofy guy, nothing crazy or playboy about him. Just some college kid.

You hopped off the counter, passing your drink to some random guy walking by as you walked around. You were practically stone sober but this sounded far more fun than drinking your night blank.

You loosely followed Sungchan’s direction, trailing well behind him as he was on his hunt for Wonbin. You wouldn't say you were some voyeur but you enjoyed seeing what people were up to. You liked seeing their behaviors in different lights, whether they were alone or in public. Psychology could've been your calling.

Before you knew it, you lost Sungchan. He was far too serious in his endeavor for you to catch up. Failing to follow him, you began walking around the house, finding people in all sorts of positions. Again, you swear you’re not a voyeur.

You found a cheerleader getting non so secretly fingered on a sofa, you will definitely tell Wonbin about that. Finding two jocks make out behind some potted planet under the staircase. Not much was happening but some things were catching your interest. By the time you make your rounds and end up near the back door, you spot Sungchan again. Walking near him, you waved as you asked if he'd found Wonbin yet.

"No, it's okay, though.” He said, heading turning every few directions trying to find him.

He was tall. Far, far taller than you. His shoulders were huge, he was far larger than how he looked in the kitchen. You were able to get a better scope of him, finally closer to him in his largeness. Seeing his long legs, large hands, the way he slightly hunched over to talk to people.

"What's wrong?" You ask.

"Nothing, I can text him later, just plans for soccer and stuff."

"You should relax, this is a party." You say, "Here, let me get you a drink."

"You don't have to." He assures you.

"No way," You grab onto his hand, leading him to the kitchen, "let me help you."

You feel his hand tense a little as you drag him to the kitchen. Standing by the mixing table, he watched you prepare a drink.

"Don't make it strong." He leans down to tell you.

"I won't." You smiles at him.

You grabbed at the hidden mixers Wonbin stashed for friends, pouring it into Sungchan’s cup before letting him choose and pour his own alcohol. He added a dash more after a taste.

You two walked to an empty couch as he sipped him drink. He was slightly fidgeting but the more he drank the better he sat still.

"So does Wonbin hire you to come here are do you actually like drinking."

Sungchan bursted laughing, "I'm not a drinker but I don't hate parties."

"How do you know Wonbin?" He asked.

"We had some classes together, knew him before uni but we weren't close."

Sungchan nodded.

"Wonbin isn't on the sports team, is he?" You ask.

"Oh no, he's in sports medicine. Too scared to play out on the field."

You laughed, noticing Sungchan occasionally staring at you before moving his vision to his drink or to some people.

"Are you alright?"

"Can I kiss you?" Sungchan blurted out.

You blinked for a second, "Sure."

"I'm sorry, I- you're just really pretty."

"You can kiss me."

"I-"

"Is this too open of an area?" You lean in closer to Sungchan. "We can move somewhere more private."

"Can we?"

"C'mon." You take his hand and lead him upstairs.

The crowds of people were too dense and preoccupied to notice the two of you. You walked up the stairs into the off-limits zone of the party. Every party was like this, even on campus. Don’t go upstairs unless you’re with a brother. Don’t go upstairs at all for some houses.

Walking into a spare bedroom, you shut the door lightly.

"Should I lock the door?" You ask as Sungchan was looking around the room.

"Please."

You turn the lock before walking back to Sungchan.

You both sit on the bed, he's flushed looking anywhere but you as you're looking at him.

"You wanted to kiss me?"

Sungchan nervously grabbed your hand, "I did- I do!"

You feel your lips pull into a smirk as you lean in closer to him. He leans in and kisses you. His soft plush lips felt nice, tasting a bit of the alcohol from his solo cup he set down somewhere. Your free hand held his face, lips continuously melding together.

His hand moved from your hand to your arm, wrapping around it as he deepened your kiss. He was groaning as he tasted the alcohol on your tongue, you moved into his lap as he stretched his arms to your back.

Pulling away for a breath, Sungchan stared at you.

"You're really pretty."

"You're pretty, too."

Sungchan blushed more as you complimented him, “How?"

"You're flushed cheeks and rosy lips are adorable."

You held his chin as you looked at him, doing your best to keep his eyes on you.

"I've, uhm, I've never done this before."

You cocked your head to the side, caught off guard.

"Done what?"

"Anything beyond kissing a girl." Sungchan looks away, feeling vulnerable and shy.

"Really?" You asked.

"I-"

"You're even cuter than before."

"That's cute?" He scoffed.

"You think I'd make fun of you for being a cute, pure boy?"

Sungchan's eyes moved away from you.

"Did you wanna learn? I can teach you."

His cheeks stayed a red-pink color, he was thinking hard about this.

"Can you?" His eyes flicked to your face.

"I can show you anything you want, baby boy."

His dick twitched when you called him that, Sungchan was worried you could feel it. He knew you could feel his growing hard on.

You lean back in to kiss him, his hands holding you a little tighter, more comfortable being nervous around you. You continue kissing before you grind lightly on his bulge.

"Ah." He moaned.

"That wasn't too much was it?" You ask.

"No, just different."

He captures your lips again, leaning further down as you grind your pelvis into him. Your hand moves down to feel him, his jeans are rough but you can make a good outline of his dick.

"Ah." Sungchan moaned again.

"You're real sensitive."

"Can you-"

His eyes were desperate when looking at you, clouded and almost watery with pleasure.

"You're so hot." You blurt out.

You begin moving down, lifting his shirt off as you crawl between his legs, pushing him onto his elbows. You stare up at him as you undo his belt, slowly pulling it from his jeans before tossing it to the side. You carefully crawl up to undo his jeans. Sliding his pants down, you see just how tight he is in his briefs. A large outline of his dick trying to poke out. You pull his underwear down, pulling them past his knees so he can kick them off as you stare at his dick. Fuck, he's huge.

Sungchan stares at you as you begin pumping him in your hand. His dick stood up tall as you massage up and down his shaft. His moans were low but high, never feeling someone else touch him.

"You feel good?" You ask.

His eyes flicked to you, his mouth agape with light pants coming out of him, "Yes. So good."

You continued pumping him before leaning in closer to him, sitting between his thighs are you brought his head closer to your mouth and kissed his head.

"Ah." He gasped.

You licked his slit, tasting his precum, before wrapping your lips around him.

"Y/n." He moaned.

His voice was so desperate and sweet you began sinking lower onto him. Tongue pressing along his underside as you sucked down his shaft.

"Fuck." He groaned, watching you bob your head up and down his length.

Your hand jerked his base as you sucked up and down his length. Your jaw ached as you moved up to lick along his tip. Looking up at him, you felt him twitch in your hand.

"I'm gonna cum."

"Where?"

"Where, what?" He asked.

"Where do you wanna cum?" You asked, jerking him faster.

"Fuck, your face." He groaned, feeling your hand speed up around him.

Your grip became stronger as you reattached your mouth to him, sucking and bobbing until you felt him begin to cum. Pulling off, you closed your eyes as you felt his hot cum spray onto your face, it was mostly around your mouth and cheek thankfully away from your eyes.

"Holy shit." He moaned, falling backwards onto the bed.

"Did you feel good?" You asked, crawling up his body.

"That was so good." He was in a daze, staring up at the ceiling as he tried cooling down.

"Can I make you feel as good?" Sungchan asked, not wanting to be the only one cumming.

"Of course," You lay on your back, wiping some of his cum off of your face, "eat me out."

Sungchan moves, seeing you take your shirt off as he stared at your boobs. He used his shirt to wipe the rest of your face off as you undo your bra. He leaned down and kissed you, letting you fall back and relax on the bed. He licked along your mouth, tasting his cum that was still on your tongue as he moved down.

Kissing along your jaw and neck before moving down to kiss along your breasts. His hands perfectly cupping them as he played with your nipples. His hands stayed on your breasts as he kissed down your body, your hands wrapped around his wrists as he descended. Sungchan left licks and kisses along your stomach and hip bones, carefully undoing your pants and sliding them down with your underwear, almost gawking at your exposed body.

The first thing Sungchan noticed was just how small you looked. Your dripping pussy was right in front of him but all he could think is how small it looked. How is his dick supposed to fit in there, your mouth could barely stretch around his dick. Pulling your underwear off of your legs, you spread them for him to kneel into. He immediately begins licking at your core.

“Sungchan.”

“Am I doing good?”

“So good.” You sigh.

He flattened his tongue as he tried feeling how small everything was. Your entrance was small, your clit poked lightly against his tongue, barely noticeable. You were feeling euphoric while he was trying to map everything out. Sungchan continued licking at you, his flat tongue swiping against your clit so well. You were sure he had no idea how well he was doing, beginning to lap at your clit your hands moved to hold onto his head. Your back began to arch as your noises grew louder.

His hand moved down to touch your core, flicking at your clit. Feeling his hand against you to further comprehend the size difference.

“Good?” He asked.

“Keeping doing that.”

He leaned down, you couldn’t see it but his eyes were wide in fascination with how much pleasure you were feeling. Seeing your twitch and grip onto him was exciting. He was making a pretty girl feel good, he can only hope you can cum soon.

Out of curiosity, he pushed one finger into you. Just to feel and see if it’s possible. He kept his other hand on your clit as he watched his finger disappear into your core, feeling how tightly you clenched around him. Your moans grew louder, waking Sungchan from his fixation. He began lapping his tongue against your clit, before he knew it your legs stiffened as you clenched around him. It was a unique feeling, your walls clamping before fluttering against his finger.

Pulling it out, he noticed the thick trail of cum connecting you and him. He wrapped his lips around his finger, tasting your sweet essence before diving back in to drink from the source. He was careful to just suck from your entrance and not touch your clit. Seeing your ragged breathing and your back fall onto the bed, Sungchan felt accomplished.

“Sungchan, you’re really good at that.”

“I am?” He gleamed at you.

“So fucking good.”

You could barely move your legs as you stayed there.

“Nightstand, look for a condom.” You ordered.

“You know they’re there?” He asked.

“This is Wonbin’s place, of course they’re there.”

He opened the drawer and grabbed at a loose condom packet. You help roll it onto him as he’s twitching from the sensitivity. Sitting up, you and his shift into missionary.

“Can I-”

“Please fuck me.” You say.

“Yes, ma’am.” He says, aligning with your core.

Sungchan moved beween your legs, looking down at you he was amazed at the new angle. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes dripping in arousal, you looked so hot. He carefully aligned with your core, still not believing you could fit him. He carefully pushed his tip in, not wanting to hurt you but also seeing if this was even possible.

You laid in ecstasy as you felt him stretch you out.

“Sungchan.” You moan.

He pauses and asks of you’re okay.

“Keep going, you feel so good.”

Good? He’s so surprised that you feel good, he feels good but you? He’s barely comprehending how your pussy can stretch around him but also is feeling good?

He pushes in all the way before he feels you grabbing onto him. Holding him as you’re feeling so full and fucked out. Your walls are fluttering around him, you’ve never felt like this before and you need to feel him pound into you.

“Keep going.”

“Already?”

“Please, Sungchan.”

He slowly pulls out, about half way, until he begins pushing back in.

“All the way.”

He stopped. All the way?

He pulls more out, leaving only his tip in before pushing back into your core.

“Yes.” You drawl out.

“That feels good?”

You nod as he continues slowly pushing and pulling, carefully thrusting into you as your hand moves to circle your clit.

“You’re so fucking big, fuck me.” You moan.

He slowly leans down, wanting to kiss you again.

“Faster?”

“Yes.” You sigh.

He moves faster, slowly getting used to moving his hips this way. He looks at your face, seeing your lidded eyes and hand covering your mouth, heavily breathing as your other hand circles your clit. The sight is so erotic, seeing how much you want him, how you want him to move more, harder, faster. Sungchan begins moving faster, thrusting harder into you as he hears your moans grow louder.

He leans down and kisses your cheek, you move your hand to turn his head, capturing his lips. You feel his tongue poke out as he continues thrusting into you, you kiss and lick against him, wrapping your lips around his tongue as he blanks from the pleasure.

“You’re so good.” He moans. “You feel amazing.”

He pulls out less, opting to move faster and harder. His eyes close as he begins pumping into you harder, keeping a hand on your hip as he switches with your hand on your clit. Opening his eyes, he peers down to messily rub your clit.

“Sungchan.” It comes out far more high pitched than you expected.

His hips stutter as he cums into the condom, rubbing your clit harder. His long drawn out moan is melodic as your high hits you.

“Fuck.” You moan.

He almost falls on top of you, so overwhelmed by your pussy still clenching around him. He stays inside you for a minute, trying to find his breath as he calms down. Finally pulling out, he throws the condom away.

You stay like that for a minute, catching your breath as you feel the aftershocks from your orgasms. Slowly, you both relax and sit up to look around for your clothing. You want to make quick work, unsure of how long or loud you both were.

“Did you, uhm,” Sungchan starts, “did you wanna go on a date sometime, or just like hang out.”

You stare in surprise, “Yeah!” You nod your head, “That’d be really nice.”

You slowly redress, picking and handing each other different clothing you find as you both compose yourselves. He grabs his phone to exchange numbers with you, both of you sending a quick text to save each other’s contact.

[lonisaiou]

Oh god I've had a moment of epiphanie; probably the biggest reason why I've gotten so attached to oumota during my last re watch it's because last year I had watched She Ra and the Princesses of Power and was absolutely deranged about catradora for months to no end and decided that The Hero Archetype who only wanted to save their friends/The Villain Archetype who fully committed to the bit for the sake of survival despise them hating it is *cheffs kiss* *Great concept excellent writing* *Love this dynamic need to find more pairings like it*

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[toorusluvr]

just thinking about sylus… being lovey dovey with mc

CHARACTERS: sylus x f!reader (reader is the mc!)

CONTENT WARNINGS: unprotected sex + penetration sex + p in v + sylus calling the reader 'princess' 'baby' 'good girl' like once

NOTES FROM NIS: hi!! it's me again this time with another drabble written for sylus!! pls enjoy my thirst drabble for him sigh he's such a good husband material... reblogs, likes are very much appreciated!! anyway, if you're interested, please check out my haikyuu fic featuring iwaizumi hajime <333 u can check the fic out in my pinned post (for some reason, i can't paste the url here good lord why!!)

his larger frame hovering above you. both of you panting and moaning in sync, your lewd noises, mixed with the sound of his heavy balls slamming against your flesh filling the four walls of his spacious and luxurious bedroom.

sylus’s much larger hands pining your hands above of your hand, binding them with a tight grip. his expression showed that he was on edge of coming, not with your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice grip. fuck your pussy is driving him insane.

the 6’5 foot man inhaled the sight in front of him. your naked body on display, tits bouncing to each thrust he was giving you. your eyes shut closed, cute moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips every second of his cock fucking your insides. “what a fucking treat, sylus murmured under his breath. “such a beautiful girl for me, princess.”

slowly, he leaned down, minty breath fanning over your luscious lips. “open your eyes, princess. look at how tight your pussy is squeezing my cock, hm?” he removed one of his hands from binding your hand and down to squeeze your cheeks using his hand.

when you didn’t comply the first time, sylus again squeezed your cheeks harder this time. you knew better than to ignore him and his commands. slowly, you opened your eyes and saw his crazy gorgeous and sculpted face — a pair of crimson red eyes staring straight into your eyes. in a flicker of second, you saw his gaze softened when both of you locked eyes.

sylus’s grunt broke the momentary silence. the butterflies swirled in your tummy every time you have heard his sexy grunts. “fuck. you’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered against your lips before he inched closer to kiss you on the lips.

your back arched when his cock nudged into your sensitive spot, and you accidentally moaned into his mouth. the current position — your tits pressed against his front, his cock nestled deeper into your pussy, seemed so intimate. sylus wanted to be as close as he could to you.

“mhm, sylus, keep going, please,” you whined when he slowed down his pace as he whispered sweet nothings into your ears.

sylus groaned into your mouth, leaving one more deep kiss before he got up. the warmth of having his chest pressed close to you dissipated.

spreading your legs using his knees wider, sylus rammed his cock inside you. this time, faster and harder. your breath couldn’t keep up anymore so screams started taking over your moans.

sylus is such an attentive lover he would never say no to you. only if under some circumstances. other than that, he’s obliging whatever your request is.

his groans lulled your ears each time his cock hit your g-spot. you exchanged looks with him before glancing over where your bodies were connected. creamy white liquid coating his cock and onto your pussy. shit. you were so close to an overwhelming orgasm.

“fuck, sylus make me come please!” your voice a pitch higher before a cry followed afterwards.

sylus again leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth, biting on it before swirling it as if he was savouring the sweet taste. his cock still mercilessly ramming into you. his eyebrows twitched as your pussy squeezed him tighter. he was so close and so did you.

you felt that one tight knot swirling inside you, each second closer to an orgasm. it crashed hard and fast, just like how sylus was giving it to you. your breath stuttered, and you got instant chills from how hard and shattering the orgasm was.

sylus’s cum filling your insides, some of it seeping out. he was breathing heavily as he stared at you. “fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful that it hurts,” he whispered again before kissing you sweetly. his fingers caressing your face lovingly. you whined when his skin lightly brushed against your clit. it was so fucking sensitive.

“and you are so fucking handsome that it kills me to get jealous every time girls stare at you,” you muttered while giggling against his lips.

“i only have my eyes on you, sweetheart. no one else,” sylus’s loving gaze locked with yours as he made this promise with you for the nth time. he then placed your palm against his chest, squeezing it with his fingers.

you smiled lovingly and sylus fell in love with you all over again. he’s smitten and crazy in love with you but he doesn’t give a flying fuck over how cringe he sounds. he’s in love with you and he fucking loves you. he’d do everything for you and you only.

[vaguely-concerned]

I understand and agree with a lot of the frustrations about the shortcomings of Inquisition as a story. but sometimes when I hear people complain about the chosen one narrative in it I do want to just be like... you know it's a deconstruction of the concept more than anything, right. the inquisitor isn't actually chosen by anything except stumbling into the wrong (right?) room at the right (wrong?) time because they like, heard a noise or whatever. or if you think they are chosen, as many do in-universe, that's something you have to take on faith, the maker-or-whoever moves in mysterious ways indeed-style. the Inquisitor isn't actually a Destined Chosen One, they're a Just Some Guy in a fancy hat, self-delusions of grandeur to taste as you'd prefer.

a running thread that goes through all of the personal quests of the companions is the concept of a comforting lie vs. an uncomfortable truth, upholding old corrupt structures vs. disrupting them, and the role of faith in navigating that. (blackwall the warden vs. thom rainier the liar and murderer. hissrad vs. the iron bull, or is that the other way around? cassandra and the seekers -- do we tell the truth about what we find, even if it means dismantling the old order of the world? and so on.) and your inquisitor IS at the same time a comforting lie (a necessary one, in dark times? the game seems to ask) and an uncomfortable truth (we are the result of random fickle chance, no protective hand is held over the universe, it's on us to make a better world because the maker sure as hell won't lift a divine finger to help anyone, should he against all odds exist). faith wielded for political power... where's the point that it crosses the line into ugliness? is it before it even begins? what's the alternative? will anyone listen to the truth, if you tell it?

interesting how you also get a mix of companion agency in this -- you have characters like dorian who ALWAYS choose one side of the comforting lie vs. uncomfortable truth dichotomy. he will always make up his own mind to go back to tevinter and try to dismantle the corruption of the old system no matter what you say, or how you try to influence him. meanwhile iron bull is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum -- so psychologically trapped and mangled, caught in an impossible spiritual catch-22, that his sense of identity is left entirely to you and your mercy. you cannot change dorian in any way that matters; you can be his friend or not, support him or not, but he is whole no matter what. you are given incredible and potentially destructive-to-him power over bull's soul. it's really cool (and heartbreaking) to think about.

this is a game about how history will eat you even while you're still alive, and shape you into whatever image it pleases to serve it, and for all your incredible power right now you are powerless in the face of the gravitational force of time -- of more than time, of History. you won't recognize yourself in what History will make of you, because you belong to it now. you don't belong to yourself anymore and you never will again. the further you were from what it needs from you to begin with, the more you will find yourself distorted in its funhouse mirror. (why hello there inquisitor ameridan, same hat!)

and to me this is so much the core of what Dragon Age is about right from the Origins days -- how and by whom history gets written, the inherent unreliable narration of it all. I hope you like stories, Inquisitor. You are one now.

I do think it's probably still the weakest of the games narratively, and it's hampered by its structure and bloated systems. but I also find it disingenous to say that there's nothing deeper or actually interesting going on with it, thematically. if you're willing to engage with it there is Some Real Shit going on under the high fantasy-tinted surface.

[pomefioredove]

can i order a sugar cookie, #18, with frosting and dry fruit please 💕💕 love your work

coughs weakly

order #18, sugar with frosting, dry fruit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ intent to bite

summary: a miscommunication leads to sharing a small bed with lilia tropes: only one bed, first kiss characters: lilia additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, who is an adult, a lil suggestive

"Told you this was a bad idea," Grim mumbles.

"Why am I stuck with Sebek, anyway?! I should be with my hench-human!"

You hold a finger to your lips. So much for hoping Grim would mind his manners on this trip.

"We've been over this," Silver says, carrying a six or seven bags inside the house. "Malleus will take the first guest room, Lilia and the Prefect will take the second, because it has two beds. Sebek and I are sleeping in the lounge, where there's a dog bed for you."

"I'm no dog!"

"That's not-" Silver sighs, looking to you for help. You have nothing.

Then, there's breath on your neck and a voice in your ear. "Oh, don't look so glum. It'll be a fine bonding experience for you boys!"

You jolt, and Lilia giggles into your ear, the airy, cheerful sound almost as teasing as the prank.

Grim sighs. "I bet Sebek snores like a lawn mower..."

"And you don't?" you mutter, much to Lilia's delight.

"Khee hee. Personally, I'm tickled by this! The Zigvolt family is as welcoming as ever. Oh, Malleus, do you need help with that?"

The smaller fae leaves to hold the door open for Malleus, while Grim repeats "tickled??" in a grumble. Silver sighs again.

"It's been a long journey. We'll all feel better once we've slept,"

"This can't be right,"

You stand in the narrow doorway, overnight bag in hand. The guest room is dark, but you can still feel how small it is. There's no way two people can fit in here.

Lilia peers over your shoulder. "What's- ah. I see,"

Your eyes adjust to the darkness. There's only one. There's only one bed.

"Now, this is unfortunate. Our rooms must have been mixed up. And Malleus has already retired, poor thing..."

You look at him. "What are we going to do?"

"Do? Why, sleep, of course,"

"Where?"

Lilia smiles and pats your head, as if you were an adorable kitty cat rather than a very tired and disgruntled adult after a full day of travel.

"In bed, my dear. Unless you were planning on taking the bath,"

He slips under your arm and into the room, tossing his bag on the floor with no regard or interest for the clothes and trinkets that spill from it.

You follow, putting your own things away as he makes himself comfortable on the bed. "Well?"

"...You can't honestly act as if this is normal,"

Lilia giggles. "What are you so afraid of? I'm not going to eat you,"

You listen, if only a little, sitting at the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible. Why is this making you so nervous?

"I'm just not used to it. That's all,"

Shit excuse. He can tell, too, if that smirk of his is any indication.

"Ah, I see. You think, hope, perhaps? that I'm going to make a move on you, as the kids say,"

Your eyes widen and you stumble over yourself, trying to come up with a rebuttal, an excuse, a lie, anything at all.

His smirk sharpens. Literally- his fangs dig into his lower lip, and he sticks his tongue out at you.

"If you're going to be this tense all night, you won't get any sleep. I'll tell you what-" he says, sitting up. "I will graciously allow you one kiss to sate your curiosity. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Now that's just unfair. "That's- what makes you think I would-!"

You stumble some more, and he drinks in the sight of you, flustered and nervous and oh-so close to him.

Lilia lets you argue with yourself until you're spent.

"...Fine,"

He claps. "Very well. Come here, Prefect,"

You sigh, but cross the bed, anyway, feeling the soft, handmade quilt underhand. You can't believe you're going to do this in Sebek's house, of all places...

Curse this fae.

You sit before him, far more vulnerable than you would have liked.

"Very good. But you could come a little closer, don't you think?"

Again, you listen. You sit on his lap, straddling his thighs, much to his delight.

"Better," he mumbles, perhaps more to himself than to you, because then his hand is holding the back of your head and his mouth is on yours.

Lilia doesn't give you much, and you know that's his intention. The kiss is much too chaste for him, and much too slow for you, but passion and pace were never a part of the deal.

You let it go.

And with some reluctance, you part from him, warm and jittery. That wasn't enough, and he knows it.

"You look like you have something you want to ask," Lilia says, his fingers brushing over your neck, feeling the beating of your heart in your pulse.

"...No," you lie.

He smirks again, baring his fangs as if warning you of his intent to bite.

"Khee hee. Don't worry, desire is nothing to be ashamed of. And we all have our little secrets... I, for example, may have asked Malleus to switch rooms with us."

Despite what Silver had said, you can't imagine sleeping now.

[bamsara]

I'll ask, if it hasn't been already - regarding the tags on the fanfic poll:

What kinda things make you click out/give you the squick? I'm so curious 👀

rubs my hands together: could be a mix of things anywhere between character dynamics, personalities or even how the fic is formated

Btw for people who don't know what squicks are: 'Squicks' are just personal preferences that someone doesn't like. Nothing wrong with em it's just not your vibe. (Exp: Like how all my friends HATE tomatoes but I am tomato eater forever)

anyway long ramble list:

Can't read big blocks of text without breaks very well, and I dislike when characters (esp main characters that are talking in every chapter/scene) have bolded or italicized dialogue. I think it's fine for special reoccurring characters but it genuinely messes up with reading flow for me when it comes to taking in information if used too much

If I'm reading a fic specifically for a monogamous romantic paring, I don't care for the 'past lover interest reappears' trope or one of them currently has one, or the love triangle that results in one of them being like 'oh but i love them both i can't possibly choose!' *cough twilight cough* it just makes the relationship feel disgenuine and icky. zero stars. Any mention of a character's past relationship usually makes me just click out, just personally not here for that

-^^^ to go with this, big fan of the 'misunderstanding where someone thinks there's a love rivelry but the third person never had a chance.' Like to the main pairing there's only eyes for each other and that's all they care about, there's just some third person who's there and causing problems (either because someone in the pairing is jealous of the third person thinking they're gonna steal the other when it's not, or the third person thinks they're a love rival when in reality they're not even thought about) *cough Tyren cough*. I think there's a lotta comedy to have with this. Bonus points if it brings main pairing closer together

When characters have linear character development and recovery. I prefer my characters to realistically relapse and bit a little bit of a hypocrite as they develop from start of story to end. Failing and falling short and again makes the final result much more satisfying when they're healing

When characters use 'therapy speak' or otherwise react perfectly 'acceptable' to stressful situations. Again, I prefer realistic depictions of characters under stress, and work out becoming better under that stress rather than just One Big Thing Happen and suddenly they're never going to react negatively or lash out again because another character told them It Was Bad and To find Better Coping Mechanisms.

Unhappy endings. (Or open ended ones) Sorry for hurt/no comfort lovers but none of my fics will have unhappy endings. I like my stories to have people that go through absolute hell and still come out on the otherside

The ace in me doesn't care for fics where physical attraction is a large part of the ingredients that gets the pairing together. Not saying they can't admire each other when the sunlight hits them or wearing a nice outfit but just not a fan of reading about how 'sexy' a character is to another. Probably why I usually blast all my characters with the aspec beam

That's all I can think of off the top of my head but if someone had a more specific question I might be able to answer

[llxferim]

-"Choose" part 1

a/n: i had so much fun writing this oml, my wandanat obsession is getting out of hand. I'll post another fic today AND tomorrow :))

Part 2

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: When both Wanda and Natasha confess their feelings for you, you're torn between them. To make a choice, you decide to take each of them on a date. But it just leaves you even more uncertain than before. (Maybe part 1?)

Warnings: smut, 18+, no yn used, Wanda and nat are a tease, eventual smut, smut with plot. teasing, receiving oral (reader). fem!reader, flirting.

Word count: 5.6k (it's a big one so buckle up)

"Both of them?" Kate asks, her eyes widening in surprise as she steadies her aim with the bow. The target looms in the distance, a stark contrast against the backdrop of the training room. "Seriously? You've got two Avengers interested in you?"

She hands the bow back to you, the weight of it bringing you crashing back to reality. Your mind is still reeling, trying to process everything that happened. It's been a week of absolute chaos-Wanda's unexpected confession adds another layer to the situation that began when Natasha, asked you out right before a mission. A few days went by and both of them were acting as if nothing happened, waiting for your response.

You can still picture Nat’s casual shrug before she leaped out the window as if confessing to someone and then diving into danger was just another Tuesday for her.

"I have no idea what to do," you admit.

You draw back the bowstring, feeling the tension build in your muscles. The arrow flies, hitting the target with a satisfying thud that echoes through the room. The sound mirrors the way your heart has been pounding ever since this whole situation began.

"Here you are," Kate says, her tone a blend of amusement and disbelief, "taking down supervillains, and saving the world- regularly might I add—, but two incredibly attractive, badass women liking you, is what you're worried about?" There's a teasing to her voice.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache forming as you sink back into your chair. The weight of the situation settles on your shoulders. "I know!" you exclaim, the words coming out in a rush. "It's ridiculous. I mean, I'm just... me. I never expected any of this. Not Natasha, not Wanda, not any of it."

"Listen," Kate says before She nocks another arrow, her movements fluid. The arrow whistles through the air, striking the target dead center before she retracts the bow with a satisfied smirk. "What if you just... see how both of them are on a date? You know, get to know them outside of all the world-saving and villain-fighting?"

"Like, go out with both of them?" you ask, your brow furrowing as you give her a skeptical look. "I don't want to two-time them, Kate. They deserve better than that." "No, no, " Kate shakes her head. "I'm not saying that. Just go on a single date with them, then decide." She shrugs, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes.

You stare at her for a long moment, letting the idea sink in. It's outrageous, just simply crazy, and yet... "That's... a terrible idea," you finally admit, heaving a deep sigh as you push yourself up from your chair. Your muscles protest, reminding you of the intense training session you've just been through.

"Rude!" Kate exclaims. "Hey, where are you going?" she calls out as you start to walk away, her voice a mix of curiosity and surprise.

"To go try your stupid idea," you mutter, making sure your voice is just loud enough for her to hear. Which earns you laughter from her. You can't help but wonder what you're getting yourself into.

**

A few days later, still somewhat in disbelief, you found yourself seated across from Wanda at a cozy café.

Just days ago, she had been hurling bad guys around with mere flicks of her fingers. Now, here she sat, looking utterly charming as she sipped coffee from a strawberry-shaped mug.

Cute.

You catch yourself stealing glances at her over the top of your menu. Wanda's striking scarlet hair falls loosely around her face, soft strands brushing against her cheeks, hiding those captivating green eyes, the ones that you wish were on you right now. You find yourself wanting to reach out, to gently tuck her strands back to reveal her face completely.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, Wanda's gaze flicks upward, locking onto yours. "Enjoying the view, darling?" she teases, her voice low and playful, with just a hint of her Sokovian accent.

Your heart rate instantly kicks up a notch, and you can feel warmth blooming across your cheeks. "what? Can I not admire my date?" you reply, aiming for a light tone but hearing the slight tremor in your voice.

"didn't say that" she responds, a sultry smile playing on her lips as she leans in slightly. The movement is subtle, but it closes the distance between you just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Admire as much as you want, darling. I assure you, I'm not going anywhere." The air between you seems to thicken, charged with an electric tension that makes you acutely aware of every small movement, every shared glance. You can't help but wonder how the evening might progress, how close you might find yourselves as the night wears on.

In an attempt to steady yourself, you take a long sip of your drink. The warmth of the coffee does little to calm the flutter in your stomach or slow your racing thoughts. "So," you begin, searching for a topic to keep the conversation flowing "what's been your favorite mission lately? Fury’s been giving us so many"

Wanda's lips curl into a smirk, her eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something deeper, more intense. "Honestly?" she replies, her tone carrying a playful challenge. "I'd have to say it was the one where I got to swoop in and save your ass." You can't help but chuckle, "Oh, come on. I didn't need saving," you protest lightly. "I was handling it perfectly fine."

"Sure you were," Wanda laughs. Her entire face lights up with the smile, and you find it impossible to look away. "But I'm glad I could step in. It gave me an excuse to play the hero for you."

Almost unconsciously, you lean closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull between you. "What if." you begin, your voice dropping to a near-whisper, "I told you I rather like the idea of you swooping in to save me more often?"

Wanda's expression shifts subtly, her gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment before meeting your eyes again. The look she gives you is charged with meaning. "I could arrange that," she murmurs, her voice taking on a softer, more intimate tone.

The world around you seems to fade into the background, the moment stretching out between you. The usual bustle of the cafe continues, but it feels distant and muted. All you can focus on is Wanda's way the soft lighting plays across her features, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth radiating from her presence. Every tiny detail draws you in deeper.

"so" you suggest, "should we plan our next mission together?" unable to hide the grin forming on your lips.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, the playful glimmer returning. "I like the sound of that." she says with a little smirk "Just us, no distractions" Your heart rate raises at her words "Just don't be surprised if I need saving again" you tease back.

Wanda leans in closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she replies, "I wouldn't dream of it, darling."

**

You and Wanda walked back to Stark Tower as the night fell. Despite Fury's announcement about tomorrow, and how he would personally murder whoever was late to the meeting— Wanda was in no rush. She'd insisted on ice cream, so you both enjoyed the treat while strolling towards the building.

after arriving at the tower, you and Wanda finally reach the floor your room was on, “you sure you can find your way?” Wanda said playful smile on her lips.

“with a guide like you? I’d get lost on purpose” you respond with a smirk, matching her playful tone. Her eyes sparkle a little at that, looking you up and down.

Wanda laughed softly, pulling you back into the elevator and pressing the button for her floor.

“flattery won’t get you everywhere, you know” she chuckles slightly as she steps out of the elevator and leads the way while clutching your hand in hers.

“I mean—” you tease as if you weren’t the one getting flutters in your stomach after touching her hand “—it helps” You give her a slight smirk.

She stops in front of a door, her door. And leans against the wall next to it.

“so what’s your plan? Charm your way through the tower?” she raised an eyebrow, her lingering tone flowing through the empty hallway.

“only to the rooms that matter,” you say, taking a deep breath, “oh yeah?” she said in amusement “What rooms would that be?” she teased. She knew what you meant, but she loved seeing you get all flustered because of her.

“yours is definitely on the list,” you say, closing whatever distance was left between you and her. “oh so there’s a list?” she chuckled in amusement. You couldn’t help but linger your eyes on her lips, you wanted to kiss her so badly.

You look back up, locking eyes with her, and you unconsciously lean forward, as if your body had a mind of its own. Wanda does the same, and your lips finally touch. Your hand slides up in her hair, her hands cup your face and you let out a relief sigh, you were starving for her.

You lean into the kiss, wanting more and more. But Wanda pulled away, You looked at her with a puzzled expression but before you could protest she covered your mouth with her hand and used the other to open the door.

You stumble into the room as Wanda locks the door “You’re such a mess for me” she teases as her lips finally reunite with yours, the lips  which you still couldn’t get enough of. “you know,” she breathes, pulling away from the kiss and locking her eyes with you, “I could read your mind the whole date, right?”

You look at her yet again with a frustrated expression, “What—“ you protest playfully “So you were just playing with me the whole time?” you let out a breath.

“more like teasing you” she chuckles lightly, the soft voice bringing your butterflies back. “you’re an asshole” you scoff, “you know you love me” she responds before leading you to the bedroom.

You sit down on the end of the bed, as Wanda crawls on top of you, not breaking the kiss. You feel hands tugging your shirt upwards, next thing you know it is on the floor along with your Bra.

You let out a frustrated sigh as Wanda pulls away once more. “You need to stop doing that,” She shoots you a teasing smirk and replies innocently, “but I like teasing you”

“shut up” you mumble out in a chuckle as she places kisses along your neck, getting lower. You feel hands sliding down your jeans, “you’re so wet for me, Darling—“ Wanda taunts, looking down at you in amusement, “and I haven’t even done anything yet”

Her hands rub over the soft fabric of your panties, gaining a moan from you which you immediately bite down. “don’t” she says, “I want to hear your voice” she whispers as she continues rubbing, while she sloppily kisses you, the muffled moans echoing in the room.

She takes off your pants, landing kisses down the way to your lower stomach, making you squirm. You try to close your thighs in an attempt to calm your throbbing but Wanda keeps them open.

“Keep your legs open for me, darling” she whispers, her kisses finally reaching your pussy. Causing you to squirm once again, feeling the vibration of her talking through your whole body.

“Wanda~” you moan in desperation. She wasted no time and took your panties off, leaving your pussy bare.

Just when you thought she was finished teasing you, her soft voice broke through the tension. “Say what you want me to do,” she murmured, a playful glint in her eyes.

“What—?” you stammered, caught off guard. The air was thick with anticipation. “tell me what you want me to do to you,” she pressed, her tone dripping with seduction. You could feel your heart racing, each word hanging in the air.

“fuck- just fuck me” Right after you finish the sentence, you feel two fingers shoved in your cunt. You let out a loud moan, caught completely off guard “fucking hell” You mutter out shaking, you could feel Wanda’s tongue making circles around your clit, sucking at it, eating you up, making you arch your back at the feeling.

You almost screamed in pleasure when she inserted the third finger. Your insides clenching around her fingers when she starts hitting the spot. Her tongue not leaving your clit.

Your legs shuddered at the feeling of her tongue against your heat. It almost made you lose consciousness right there due to your neediness.

You were overstimulated, and could barely make up any thoughts in your head. All you could do was moan at the pleasure that was getting too much to bear.

You were so close to cumming, “I’m gonna~” You close your eyes as you groan before Wanda pulled away, leaving you empty, depraved, and wanting more. “Wanda-?” you open your eyes just to see her wiping her lips with her tongue with a smirk, looking at you in amusement. “you’re so cute,” she says, “I was just about to finish” you reply in frustration, out of breath.

She chuckles as her lips reach yours, “but then I wouldn’t get to see your cute, frustrated face” she whispers as she kisses you before you can say anything else. You feel her knee press up against your pussy, making you whimper. Your hands go through her hair pulling her down, depraved for more. Her hand finally falls back down to your pulsating clit, making you flinch at the touch.

It just took a couple of minutes before you were going to cum again, you covered your face out of overstimulation, but that didn’t last long. “that won’t do..” you heard before feeling your hands being tugged, revealing your blushed face. “I want to see your face, darling, don’t hide from me” you hear Wanda’s voice, making you even more close to finishing. “I’m gonna~” you manage to stutter out, “I know, I know” Wanda shushes you, her fingers still rubbing your clit, faster and rougher, while her other fingers enter your cunt.

You let out a whimper before finally cumming, soaking her fingers completely. She slowly pulls them out, bringing them up to her mouth before licking the juice clean.

**

After you two settled into bed, cuddling closely, you felt her hands wrap around your waist. Honestly, you’d never seen her this clingy before, and it made you want to stay in bed with her forever. But Fury, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to schedule a meeting at 8 AM, so you reluctantly got up to prepare to go to sleep.

You leaned down to give her a soft kiss before sitting up. “I’m going to take a shower,” you said, but as you started to move, you felt her tugging you back.

“Why?” she asked, her tone playful.

“To clean up…?” you replied, confused.

“But then you’ll just get dirty again,” she countered, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” you questioned, but before you could process her words, she was on top of you again. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?” she teased, her Sokovian accent shining through.

“We can’t—” you stammered, your face burning. “We have a meeting tomorrow—”

“It’s 3 AM,” she said, glancing at the clock before locking her gaze back on yours, eyes sparkling with mischief. “We have time for a few more rounds,” she declared, a smirk dancing on her lips.

You could already feel how soaked your pussy was.

For her.

“A few more..?”

**

Needless to say, you were both late to the meeting, and Fury was not happy. He lectured you both for an hour, at one point you just zoned out, completely ignoring him.

As a ‘punishment,’ he put you on paperwork duty, with Nat. You noticed her reaction when you and Wanda walked in late, her eyes didn’t leave yours for a second, not paying any mind to the meeting. Which is why Fury assigned her with you.

Now, as you sat buried under an avalanche of paperwork, Nat was doing very little to help. Instead, she simply sat across from you, her intense green eyes fixed on your every move as you sorted through the endless files.

Frustration boiled over, and you slammed the file you were holding on the desk. “Nat, you’re seriously freaking me out. Stop staring and come help!” you exclaimed, spinning your chair to face her.

“Why did you two come in late, together?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing as she waited for an answer.

You knew you couldn’t lie to her, so you didn’t even try. “We.. went out yesterday…” you muttered, the words heavy in the air. Nat raised her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”

“I may have stayed over at her place,” you confessed, taking a deep breath as you felt the tension between you two thicken. “Now—can you come help me?”

Nat’s gaze didn’t waver, a mix of frustration and something else swirling in her expression. “You think that’s enough to make me help?” she challenged, a smirk teasing at the corners of her lips.

“Are you really going to make this harder?” you replied, heart racing under her scrutiny.

“Maybe I want to see just how far you’re willing to go,” she said, leaning back in her chair, a provocative glint in her eyes.

“Are you seriously going to make me beg?” you frown, and that earns you a faint smile from her.

“Maybe I will,” Nat replies, crossing her arms, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Please,” you say, putting on your best pleading expression. Her eyes light up with mischief.

“Hmmm… again,” she replies with a smirk, clearly enjoying this.

“Seriously?” you ask, exasperation creeping into your voice, but she just stays put, unwavering. With a resigned sigh, you try again. “Please, Tash.”

“Fine,” she finally relents, sitting up with a satisfied smirk. She walks towards you, the tension in the air thickening as she closes the distance between you.

“Now, let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the paperwork. You can feel her warmth radiating off her, sending a shiver down your spine. “You really thought you could handle this without me?”

“Well, I could have. Faster than you I’m sure, but you were distracting me” you respond with a playful scoff before sinking back into your chair.

You let out a small gasp when you feel Nat turning your chair around to face her. She is leaning over you, her hands on the armrest. With her hair cascading down her shoulders, she leaned closer. “was that a challenge?” she raised an eyebrow, her breath close to your ear.

“what are you suggesting” you ask, daring to meet her gaze. “let’s say i have an idea to make things.. more interesting” her voice full of mischief. “whoever has the least amount of paperwork left, until— let’s say” she glances at her watch, “5pm, wins.” she adds, “if you win, i’ll finish the rest of our paperwork” she says with a smirk.

“What if you win?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Natasha leans back slightly, a playful glint still in her eyes. “If I win, you go on a date with me, and— ofcourse finish the rest of the paperwork.”

Her boldness catches you off guard, but, honestly, what else were you expecting from her? you were planning to go on a date with her anyways.

“Fine, that seems fair,” you reply, though you quickly add, “but no distracting each other and no cheating!”

She shoots you a mischievous grin “no promises” she says, before heading back to her desk, flipping open the first file.

You spin your chair around, heart racing, and do the same, the challenge igniting a competitive spark between you.

**

the clock was ticking, it was 4:55, Nat had a little under 10 files left, and you were already on your last one. you glance over at her, but she seemed calm, which made you even more nervous than you already were.

you closed the last file with a satisfied grin, “i win, there’s only two minutes left. give up already tash” you say with a grin, but before you can even lean back in your chair the door opens and Fury’s assistant comes in with a handful of more paperwork, placing it on your desk, “Mr.Fury told me that he needs these done by tomorrow morning.” she says, looking at you.

**

You were completely dumbfounded. “What—no,” you stammer, but the assistant had already slipped out the door. Natasha stood up from her chair, that infuriating smirk dancing on her lips as she leaned casually against your desk. “What were you saying, love?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. your ears flushed, hearing her call you ‘love’ was doing something to you.

You glanced at the clock. 5 PM.

“fuck me..” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“That’s the plan,” you hear her say, a satisfied chuckle escaping her.

“You did this, didn’t you?” you ask, narrowing your gaze as you look up at her.

“Me? I would never!” she retorts, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she pretends to be offended.

“Not fair, Tash. So not fair,” you frown, already accepting your defeat.

**

Before you could get any more work in, Natasha had already dragged you away after convincing you, that you would finish them later tonight, but something told you you wouldn’t be getting any work done.

You were sitting in her car, you weren’t sure where Nat would take you out on a first date. In a restaurant? that’s just not her, at least not on the first date. The Movies? that would be too boring.

“We’re here, love” her voice pulls you right out of your thoughts, the word love leaving you red. “why do you keep calling me love?” you ask, opening the car door. “I like how you get flushed everytime” she smirks in amusement.

You roll your eyes, “where are we?” you finally ask, looking around. “heard you liked shooting” she says with a smile as she leads you in a door, her hand on your waist.

You step into a vibrant field, where a selection of paintball markers is laid out on a workbench, accompanied by a pile of paintballs nearby.

Turning back to Natasha, practically bouncing with excitement, you exclaim, “No way!” A playful grin spreads across your face as you tease, “Ooh, you’re so done!” With that, you quickly grab one of the markers and load it with a handful of paintballs.

Natasha chuckles, her smile brightening as she watches you. “You sure about that, love?” she asks, picking up her own marker and some paintballs.

“Oh, I’m absolutely sure! You’ll pay for cheating your way through this date, Tash.” An assistant offers you body armor, but you wave it off. “Ooh, playing tough?” Natasha taunts, mirroring your refusal.

The guy behind the counter clears his throat. “Alright, it’s just the two of you ladies. The rules are simple: no head shots, one shot is enough to win, but feel free to keep playing as long as you like. Stay in bounds, and most importantly, have fun!” His explanation fades into the background as you find yourself captivated by Natasha—her hair tied back, that mischievous grin on her face, the very one you swore you disliked.

“—when I start counting, run and hide. On the count of three, the game begins,” he continues, snapping you back to reality.

“One!” You and Natasha dart in opposite directions.

“Two!” You quickly hide behind a wooden wall.

“And three!” The game starts.

In an instant, you’re on the move, quietly circling around to the side where Natasha ran. This is exactly what you thought a date with Nat was going to be.

**

After playing for a while, Natasha won, but you managed to land few shots as well. By the time you were done, the darkness had settled around you, and you were both covered in paint, laughter echoing in the night as you walked back to her car.

“I was so close to winning, though!” you exclaim, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Sure you were,” Nat chuckles, opening the car door for you before sliding in beside you.

“No, but really! You just snuck up on me out of nowhere. Before that, I had the upper hand,” you insist, crossing your arms and turning to face her, a playful challenge in your eyes.

“Hmm,” she hums, locking her gaze onto yours, her expression turning serious as the air thickens with unspoken tension.

Then, she leans in, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from her, your heart racing in anticipation. Just as you think she’s about to kiss you, she pulls away with a teasing smirk, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“Not fair, Tash,” you say, trying to mask your disappointment, but the spark between you only intensifies.

Halfway through the car ride, it hits you. “Shit…” you sigh, sinking back into your seat. “I’ve got paperwork to finish.” The thought of working feels exhausting, especially after the fun you just had.

“I’ll help you out, love,” Nat offers, her voice soft and inviting. “It’s my fault you ended up with that much anyway.” She giggles, and the sound brings an involuntary smile to your lips.

God, you wanted to kiss her so badly. You quickly glance in her direction, meeting her gaze that sends your heart racing. First Wanda, now Natasha? Taking both of them out was supposed to help you figure things out, but instead, it only made everything more complicated.

“Really, you don’t have to,” you say, trying to sound casual, but the tension in the air hangs thick between you.

“Oh, but I want to,” she replies, her gaze steady and intent. The way she looks at you makes it hard to focus on anything else. It’s a challenge, an invitation.

You want to push her away and avoid the feelings, but instead, you find yourself leaning in slightly, drawn to her warmth. “You make it hard to concentrate,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” she replies, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I like it that way.”

The tension simmers between you, leaving you both caught in a moment that feels electric, as if one wrong move could change everything.

**

You went back up to an empty office, everyone had clocked out, but you and Nat had to sit here and work.

You sigh as you plop down on your seat, “you know, we could have much more fun than just work, you know” she says, slowly walking towards you, turning around your chair, “you really like doing that, don’t you?” you chuckle, keeping your eyes locked on to hers.

“what kind of fun are we talking about, exactly?” you ask. of course you knew what she meant, but you wanted her to say it. you feel your pussy getting wetter and wetter, desperate for attention, throbbing for her.

“you know what i mean” she says, not breaking eye contact. “say it”

“oh, you don’t want to play that game, Love. trust me” she says in amusement. her calling you love was all you needed before you couldn’t hold it in anymore, you squeezed your legs shut, hoping to satisfy the urge down there.

Natasha notices that and forces your legs open with her knee. you look down at her knee before you feel a hand on your chin, making you look back up, “eyes on me, Love” she demands.

You feel your throbbing pussy, all you wanted to do was reach your hand down and— before you could, Nat grabbed both of your hands, gently, before grabbing a rope from a drawer and tying them behind your back.

Her knee going right back to keeping your legs open. “Nat. c’mon, please” you groan out, looking down at your now tied up hands—“nuh-uh, i said eyes on me.” You immediately look back at her.

that just made you even more wet, you could feel how soaked your panties were getting. you just wanted her—no, needed her to touch you. to completely destroy you.

“please~ just-“ you whimper out,

“look how much of a mess you are.” she looked at you in amusement, sliding her hand from your chest, down to your pants, “all for me.”

She kneels and pulls down your pants, revealing your completely soaked panties, before throwing them on the floor along with your pants.

“if you wanted me this badly, you should have told me, Love” she says, spreading your lips apart, causing a moan to escape your lips. “just stop- teasing, Tash” you breathe out.

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” she asks in the most innocent voice possible. as if she’s not in between your legs right now.

her tongue rubbing over your sore clit, then sliding down and into your cunt. you whimper as she increases the speed.

then she suddenly picks you up from the chair, and sits you down on the desk. her lips now on yours, sloppily kissing you before sliding back down, landing kisses along the way, before reaching your cunt once again.

but this time she doesn’t wait. she starts eating you out right away. her index and middle finger rubbing over your clit. “fuck.. oh fuck” you moan, not able to hold back anymore.

“Nat- slow~ah slow down” you finally stammer out. “at-at least untie my hands” you say, out of breath. it’s as if she’s lost, she doesn’t respond to anything. It doesn’t take long before you get the sensation, “i’m~ i’m gonna cum” you whimper out, as Natasha speeds up, the room filled up with your moans, you were hoping nobody else was staying overtime right now.

You groan out of pleasure, as you finally cum.

Nat gets up with a satisfied look. “Now, untie me, please” you point at your hands with your head, “i gotta finish this work”

“Oh, we’re nowhere near done, love,” she says, gently caressing your face.

“What? Natasha—no,” you stammer, still feeling a bit overstimulated and confused by the moment.

“but sure, i’ll untie you” she says completely ignoring you, as she grabs scissors and cuts the rope open. “Nat, i have way too much work due tomorrow morning, we really can’t” you start explaining, and attempt to jump down from the table, but she catches you and sits you back down.

“we have time for one more round” Her lips find their way to yours, that was all you needed, all your pussy needed to become even more desperate for Natasha.

“fine, make it quick” you moan out through the kiss, “oh, i don’t do quick, Love” she smirks, before pulling away. she opens the bottom drawer of your table, and pulls out something very familiar to you, a Purple vibrator. “what- how’d you even know that was there-?” you ask covering your face with your hands out of embarrassment.

“you really think i wouldn’t notice?” she chuckled. “my desk is right in-front of yours”

“let’s see how well this actually works” she smirked and looked at you before turning the Vibrator on, immediately putting it on your Clit, causing you to flinch. “fucking hell..” you groan out.

she grabs you by the chin and pulls you into a kiss, while she slowly turns up the amplitude, testing how long you’d last without breaking the kiss.

Soon after you pull away, taking a deep breath. “seems to be working well” she states, “what do you think, love?” she asks before turning up the amplitude even more, she knew what she was doing, she enjoyed seeing you be a mess, just for her.

you whimper out in pleasure, unable to answer her. “i asked you a question, it’s not polite to ignore me, love” she said before turning the vibrator off. you look up in frustration, “god you really enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

“i asked a question” she responded with a smirk. “it works wonders, now please turn it back on” you say it in a hurry,

"Since you asked so nicely," she said, her voice low and inviting as she leaned closer, her breath warm against your skin.

As she closed the distance, her lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like a feather grazing your skin. The gentle touch sent a shiver down your spine, then she turned more rough and out of nowhere, without a warning she turns the vibrator to the highest amplitude. making you scream both out of pleasure and surprise.

it didn’t take long for you to cum after that, she knew exactly which parts she needed to touch to make you feel good.

it was 2am after you finished. she cleaned you up, softly rubbing wipes over the places she left hickeys. giving you soft kisses along the way, as if she didn’t just make you levitate up to heaven out of pleasure.

you sat down to finish the work, but you fell asleep, not even the two cups of coffee you chugged were any help at all.

Nat carried you to your room and finished the rest of the paperwork herself.

[luveline]

id love a fic of aaron hotchner with a reader who struggles with feeling interesting or desirable!! i love your work sm you're lovely!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

The table grain is flaking off under your nail. Oh, ew, you think, lips turning down into a frown. You pick at your nail, wonder if that’s disgusting, and hide your hands under the table rather than continue to scratch it apart. 

The team are talking about their weekend plans. You’re not super hungry and these conversations tend to put you off either way; faced with the smallness of your own life outside of them, you waver in a tepid mix of jealousy and insecurity. There’s no point offering your plans. Compared to them, it’ll sound strange. 

Morgan’s buying a house. Reid’s going to a University for a private seminar given by one of the country’s leading geneticists. Hotch will be spending the weekend with his family, hopefully teaching Jack how to swim. It goes on and on and on. They all have interests and people and things to do, and you’ll be tucking yourself into bed to try and forget you don’t. 

Hotch glances at you again, the fourth time in as many minutes. You decide to pretend you’ve only noticed this time rather than having felt every look, turning your face subtly to his. 

You okay? he asks without speaking, his eyebrows raised a touch, his gaze searching. 

You smile easily. You’re practised in this. 

He reaches under the table for your thigh. Your breath catches, your face squared into hopeless unaffectedness as he rubs your knee. Things with him are achingly new, months and months of wanting and now weeks of getting to have it, but perhaps that’s why you’re feeling your inadequacy so harshly. Why does he want to touch you? Forget interesting, you aren’t interesting, and you certainly aren’t pretty. 

He gives your knee a gentle shake as he rubs your leg through your pants, as though saying, I’m here, or even cheer up.  

You smile down at your plate. I’m fine. 

“Time to turn in,” Hotch says, dropping his napkin onto his plate. 

Your head snaps up to look at him, worried you’ve pissed him off and missing the heat of his hand, but he’s holding his hand out toward you in such a way that you read him. Come with me.

“Me too,” you say. “I’m tired.” 

You’re not even halfway down the hall out of the hotel restaurant when he’s grabbing you from behind, a huge hug that surprises you into loud, loud laughter. “Hotch–”

“Try again.” 

“Aaron,” —he walks you a few dragging steps to an alcove, where he turns you, holding your waist— “this is brute force!” You laugh. 

“This is concern. What’s wrong?” 

He’s trying to be the cheerful one. It’s working, some, but it adds another layer to your self-doubt; your grumpy, sweetheart boyfriend is never not smiling when he’s alone with you. It doesn’t make any sense. 

“Nothing,” you say, laughing again as he squeezes your hip meanly. “It’s brute force!” 

“You’re a liar,” he says, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “My liar, but a liar. A bad one, considering.” 

“Yes, well, all the teasing is making it better, so thanks.” 

He kisses under your jaw. He feels encompassingly tall, and his affection makes you feel better no matter how much you’d wanted to be sullen. You lean heavily against the wall and let him kiss you, your hand coming up to his hair, fingers raking through the soft crop of inky hair at his neck. “You’re sulking,” he says between kisses, shivers at your back from his eager touching. 

“I’m boring.” 

“Where might you get that idea?” 

“I have nothing to do this weekend. When we get home, I have nothing to do but lie in bed.” 

“I wish that was my weekend.” He peels back. He doesn’t hold your face, but the way he looks at you has the same effect. So strange how he can make you feel cared for in such a simple action. “You can always come with me, hm? We’ll have the weekend together. Jack won’t mind.” 

“Thank you… it’s a nice offer.” You’ll take it. 

“But not the problem.” He’s standing close enough to get you in trouble should a teammate come from the restaurant after you. Still, he stays close, the very tips of his fingers pushing against the hem of your shirt to touch the naked small of your back. “Will you come over?” he asks in a murmur. 

“I’d love to,” you say honestly. “I just wish I was more interesting.” 

Your confession makes him frown. “In what world aren’t you?”

“This one.” 

“That’s not true. You’re interesting, you’re so smart. You’re lovely.” 

You turn your face from him, heart beating a sudden pitter patter. He turns you right back to him with a finger to your chin. 

“You’re everything,” he says. 

“But I feel so… nothing.” 

His frown intensifies. “How long have you been feeling like this, honey? You could’ve told me. I wish you’d told me, because–” He pinches your chin gently, encouraging you to meet his eyes, “I would’ve told you a long time ago that you’re not nothing, you couldn’t be. It’s easy to feel like you don’t know what you’re doing, at your age–”

“Careful.” 

“It’s true. You think you’re so old, but you have time.” 

“I’m not old,” you acquiesce. 

His hand moves to your cheek. “But you have so many frown lines.” 

“Alright, I’ve had enough of you, Hotchner. We’re done.” 

He raises his other hand to hold your face completely. “You are so, so amazing. You just need to recognise it in yourself.” 

You wait for him to kiss you, and then realise what he’s doing. “Maybe I'm amazing,” you say shyly. 

He kisses you on the lips, gentle, as though you were easily breakable. A little rougher when you smile, and rougher again when you touch his chest. “We’ll get caught,” he says, planting another quick one on you before pulling away. “Come on. Let’s get a head start on the weekend.” 

“We’ll definitely get caught,” you say. Sharing a room is always a stupid idea. 

“And what a shame it’ll be,” he says, taking your hand to rub your fingers affectionately as he leads you toward the elevators. 

[uusira]

Bucktommy Ι WC: 3400 Ι Christmas fic Ι cw: unintentional self-harm

I might have some kind of fixation with writing them drunk but well... I love seeing them messy and pathetic sue me 😞

also on ao3

"Bar fights on Christmas Eve. Why is this a thing?" Hen muttered.

Eddie adjusted his gloves, surveying the scene. "Maybe Santa didn’t bring what they wanted."

Chimney chuckled. "Or someone sang ‘Last Christmas’ one too many times."

Buck stayed quiet, his mind already churning with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. As they approached, a police officer waved them over.

"This one’s yours... I think," the officer said, jerking his thumb toward someone sitting on the curb. Buck’s stomach sank as soon as he recognized the messy mop of dark hair.

"Tommy?" Buck’s voice came out in disbelief.

Hen tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Oh no.”

Tommy looked up, his face marked with a bruise along his cheekbone and a faint cut near his eyebrow. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled and slightly damp as if someone had spilled a drink on him. Despite all of this, he grinned widely. "Heyyyyy! Look who’s here! Evan! No Buck!! My favorite ex!"

Chimney blinked, caught between disbelief and amusement. "Okay, Christmas just got interesting."

Buck groaned, already dreading whatever explanation was coming. "What happened?"

Tommy tried moving, the cuffs clinking as he gestured grandly. "Do you know how great you are, Evan? You’re like—like Santa, but with better arms!"

"Okay, he’s drunk," Eddie said, trying—and failing—to hide his amusement.

Hen smirked. "No kidding, detective."

The officer sighed. "Bar fight broke out. He didn’t throw any punches, but he got hit, refused medical attention, and wouldn’t leave when we asked. Kept insisting he was fine."

"I am fine," Tommy slurred, his voice betraying just how much he wasn’t. "They didn’t mean it. They were just… passionate about pool tables."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "They punched you in the face."

"And the ribs," Tommy added cheerfully. "But I didn’t hit back! Isn’t that the Christmas spirit?"

Chimney snorted, already enjoying this far more than he should. "You got sucker-punched, and your takeaway is holiday cheer?"

"Forgiveness is key, Howie," Tommy declared dramatically. He leaned back slightly, his cuffs clinking. "I’m basically a saint."

Hen crouched in front of him, tilting her head. "How much did you drink?"

Tommy squinted, holding up his fingers. "Two? Maybe four? Could be six. Math’s hard."

The officer crossed his arms, visibly irritated. "He was trying to mediate, but when things got heated, one of the guys turned on him. Said something about him 'looking smug'—whatever that means."

Tommy perked up. "I do look smug! It’s my default face."

"Congratulations," Buck muttered. "You got punched for your great personality."

Hen smirked. "To be fair, it’s a punchable face."

"Thanks, Hen. Love you too," Tommy shot back, swaying slightly. "But seriously, I didn’t even fight back. I just told them to calm down, and, bam, fist to the face. It was… educational."

Eddie crossed his arms. "You learned nothing."

"I learned not to stand too close to drunk strangers holding beer bottles," Tommy said wisely.

The officer announced. "Look, if you can take him off our hands, I’m willing to let him go. Just… keep him out of trouble."

Tommy perked up. "See? I’m very cooperative. Just ask—what’s your name again? Officer Friendly?"

Buck said shocked and unbelieving “Let him go? You said he didn’t even hit back! Why is he even cuffed?? Why didn’t you just let him leave?”

The officer shrugged. "He was being stubborn. Kept saying he was fine, didn’t need help, and that he was 'the spirit of Christmas.' You try reasoning with that."

Tommy nodded proudly. "I am the spirit of Christmas. Forgiveness, love, and mild head injuries."

Chimney shook his head, grinning. "Oh, this is gold. Someone should write this down."

Eddie crouched beside Tommy, examining his bruised face. "Doesn’t look like it’s broken, but you’ll need an ice pack.”

The officer muttered something under his breath while uncuffing him, and Eddie stood up to help Tommy stand.

"You’re lucky they didn’t haul you in," Eddie said, steadying him. "But seriously, you okay?"

Tommy waved a hand, swaying slightly. "Never better. Just a little… dented."

"Dented," Buck repeated, his jaw tightening as he noticed the way Tommy flinched when Eddie accidentally brushed his side. "We’re checking those ribs now.”

Tommy looked at him with an exaggerated pout. "Evan, you’re still bossy. I missed that."

Buck rolled his eyes, biting back the mix of worry and frustration bubbling inside him. "Let’s go."

Tommy suddenly leaned toward Buck, sniffing dramatically. "You smell good. Like cookies. Did you bake? You totally baked."

"Sit down, Tommy," Buck said, guiding him toward the ambulance. "And stop sniffing me."

"Can we keep him like this?" Hen asked. "He’s much more entertaining."

"Yeah, it’s like finding a unicorn," Eddie added. "Drunk, unfiltered Tommy. Never thought I’d see the day."

Once Tommy was helped into the ambulance, Buck followed close behind, his jaw tight with concern. Tommy sat on the gurney, looking dazed but still trying to joke.

"See? I’m fine. You’re overreacting. Classic Evan."

"Take your shirt off," Buck said, already pulling gloves on. "We need to check for bruising."

Tommy leaned back against the gurney, his grin widening lazily. "Oooh you are a medic now? If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for the whole Christmas emergency."

"Tommy, stop," Buck said, exasperated, his voice sharp with worry. "Just let me check."

Tommy shook his head, folding his arms defiantly. "Nope. Not letting you play doctor."

Hen stepped in, putting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. "Let the professionals handle this, Buck."

"I can handle it," Buck argued, his eyes fixed on Tommy. "He’s hurt."

Chimney appeared on Buck’s other side, smirking. "He’s always been stubborn. You’re not gonna win this one. Let us do our job."

Buck hesitated, his hands falling to his sides as Hen gently nudged him out of the way. She crouched in front of Tommy, her voice calm but commanding. "Alright, Tommy. You don’t get a choice. Shirt off, now."

Tommy sighed dramatically, wincing slightly as he pulled off his jacket and shirt. Underneath, dark bruises were spreading across his ribs and a faint red mark lingered along his shoulder.

Hen frowned. "That looks nasty. You’re definitely going to the hospital."

"It’s just a bruise," Tommy said with a wave of his hand. "Tough guy stuff, you know."

Chimney raised an eyebrow. "Tough guys don’t take punches like that without flinching. Which you did, by the way."

"That’s because I’m cool under pressure," Tommy said with exaggerated flair.

Buck, standing nearby, crossed his arms tightly, his jaw set. "Cool under pressure doesn’t mean you don’t need help. You’re going to the hospital, Tommy."

Tommy tilted his head toward Buck, his smile turning genuine.

Buck didn’t wait for him to speak, his eyes flicking to the bruises before meeting Tommy’s gaze. "Let’s just get you taken care of."

Hen cleared her throat. "Alright, playtime’s over. Chim, get the monitor. We’re not taking chances with those ribs."

Tommy slumped back against the gurney, his grin faint but still there. "You guys really are like family. Dysfunctional, but family. Awesome."

As Hen and Chimney worked, Buck hovered nearby, his concern palpable. Tommy—even drunk—noticed, his voice softening. "Hey, Evan. I’m okay."

"You don’t look okay," Buck said, his voice clipped.

"But I will be," Tommy murmured. "Thanks… to you and all of you."

The ambulance hummed quietly as it crossed the dark streets, the faint sound of sirens cutting through the stillness. Buck sat on the bench across from Tommy, his eyes fixed on him as Hen drove and Chimney worked on notes up front. Tommy leaned back against the gurney, arms folded across his chest, his bruised face turned toward the ceiling.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Buck asked, breaking the silence.

Tommy tilted his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? Didn’t the officer give you the play-by-play? It’s pretty simple, guy punches me, I forgive him, everyone moves on."

Buck’s jaw tightened. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, you gotta be more specific, Evan," Tommy said, the grin widening. "I’ve had a lot of adventures tonight. Bar fights, karaoke, getting arrested… It’s been a full Christmas Eve."

Buck leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I mean why you were even there. Why were you drinking alone? Why did you let someone hit you and just—wave it off?"

Tommy shrugged, his expression still light. "Maybe I was spreading Christmas cheer. You know, turn the other cheek and all that."

"Tommy," Buck said, his voice sharper now, "this isn’t funny."

"Neither are you, but we all have our flaws," Tommy quipped, winking. "Come on, lighten up. It’s Christmas."

Buck’s patience frayed. "You’re covered in bruises and sitting in an ambulance, and you’re joking. Why can’t you just be serious now for five minutes?"

The grin on Tommy’s face faltered, and he turned his head away, looking at the far wall of the ambulance. His voice, when it came, was quieter. "Because serious didn’t help."

The tension in the small space grew, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Buck exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to rein in his frustration. His eyes drifted to Tommy again, and that’s when he noticed it—his eyes, red and puffy, like he’d been crying before the fight.

"Tommy…" Buck started, his voice softer. "Have you been—"

"Don’t," Tommy interrupted, his tone flat. "Just… don’t."

Buck fell silent, studying him closer. The faint hollows beneath Tommy’s cheekbones were more pronounced than he remembered, and the way his jacket hung slightly looser over his frame caught his attention. He wasn’t skinny, but he was leaner—more muscular, yes, but not in a healthy way. It looked like someone who’d been skipping meals and pushing too hard.

"You’re not eating enough," Buck said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Tommy glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t realize you were also a nutritionist now."

Buck’s concern only deepened. "You’re overworking yourself. You’ve always done that, but this—this is different."

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he looked away again, his voice barely audible. "I’m fine, Evan."

"No, you’re not," Buck shot back, but Tommy didn’t respond. He stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the window as the city lights blurred by.

After a long stretch of silence, Tommy murmured so quietly that Buck almost missed it. "I HATE Christmas. Stupid captain—‘You are taking Christmas off, Kinard.’ Stupid, stupid."

Buck glanced at him, startled by the soft admission. Tommy’s head lolled slightly to the side, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, but the slurred bitterness in his tone cut through the haze of drunkenness.

“Stupid Christmas. Stupid captain made me take it off. What else was I supposed to do?”

"Tommy…" Buck started, but Tommy didn’t look at him. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible and leaned back against the gurney, his expression shutting down entirely.

The ambulance fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the engine. Buck leaned back against the bench, his hands gripping his knees as he tried to process what Tommy had said—or what he didn’t say. He wanted to push, to get answers, but the look on Tommy’s face—the shut-down, closed-off expression—stopped him. For now, at least.

…

The fluorescent lights in the hospital room buzzed as the doctor stood at the foot of Tommy’s bed, flipping through his chart. Tommy sat up slightly, one hand rubbing his forehead as he squinted at the doctor. He was more coherent now, though his eyes still held a hint of fatigue.

“Here’s what we’re looking at,” the doctor began. “Bruised cheek bone, two stitches on the cut above your eyebrow, bruised ribs, and—” he paused, giving Tommy a pointed look, “—a mild concussion. Turns out you did hit your head during the fight. But with how drunk you were, it wasn’t immediately obvious if it was the alcohol or a concussion causing your symptoms.”

Tommy groaned, leaning back against the pillows. “Great. So I’m a walking disaster. Is that what you’re saying?”

The doctor didn’t smile. “I’m saying we’re keeping you overnight for observation. It’s standard with head injuries, and given your condition—”

“I’m fine,” Tommy interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I don’t need to stay here. I just need some water, maybe a snack, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You have a concussion and bruised ribs. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Debate? Come on,” Tommy said, his voice edging on pleading. “I’ve had worse. I’m a firefighter, I know what I’m saying. Just let me go home, and I’ll sleep it off.”

“You’re staying,” Buck’s voice cut through the room before the doctor could respond.

Tommy turned his head sharply, his tired eyes narrowing. “Why are you even here?” he snapped. “Just go. You got me checked in, that’s enough. Thank you very much!”

Buck didn’t flinch, didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he took a step closer, the tension in his face eased, despite the frustration still lingering in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re staying the night. End of discussion.”

Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing as the motion aggravated his bruised ribs. “Unbelievable. You think you can just waltz in here and—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted again. “You need to rest. Stop arguing.”

For a moment, Tommy just stared at him, his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t have the energy to keep up the fight. He let out a frustrated sigh, looking away. “Fine. Whatever.”

Buck nodded once, then turned toward the door. “I’m going to tell everyone your state and that you’re staying the night.”

That stopped Tommy cold. “Everyone?” His voice was sharper now, his head snapping back toward Buck.

Buck paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Everyone who needs to know.”

…

When Buck came back Tommy was lying back against the pillows, his face slightly turned to one side. His breathing was slow but uneven, like he was trying to stay awake despite the pull of exhaustion. Buck sat in the chair beside the bed, scrolling through his phone, his leg bouncing slightly in nervous habit.

Minutes passed, the quiet of the hospital only broken by the occasional beep from the monitor. Tommy stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at Buck, who hadn’t noticed he was awake. Tommy’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the familiar slope of his shoulders, the furrow of his brow as he focused on his screen. Finally, Tommy sighed, his voice soft and scratchy.

“Another Christmas at the hospital. Old habits die hard, huh?”

Buck’s head snapped up, startled. “Uh, you woke up.”

Tommy smiled faintly, shifting slightly on the bed. “Yeah, happens sometimes.”

Buck leaned forward, tucking his phone away. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Should I call the doctor?”

Tommy shook his head and immediately regretted it, wincing as pain shot through his temple. “Ow. Nope. Definitely no head shaking.”

Buck stood quickly, his concern sharpening. “You okay? Want me to get someone?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said, his voice sharp. He looked at Buck and gave a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks for staying, though. Uh… sorry about your shift.”

Buck moved to stand beside the bed, waving it off casually. “Bobby gave me the rest off. I’ll cover another shift later. It’s fine.”

Tommy winced again as he shifted to sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, sorry… you know you didn’t have to.”

Buck’s expression relaxed, but there was a weight to his gaze as he looked down at Tommy. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, without warning, Buck reached out, his hand brushing gently against Tommy’s bruised cheek.

Tommy froze, startled by the touch. His instinct was to lean back, but instead, he found himself leaning into Buck’s palm, almost without thinking. “Uh, what…”

“Tommy... you’re hurt,” Buck said, his voice quiet and firm.

Tommy blinked at him, then let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Duh.”

Buck didn’t move his hand, his thumb grazing just below the cut near Tommy’s eyebrow. “No, Tommy,” he said, his voice heavier now. “You’re hurt.”

The words landed with a weight that seemed to knock the air out of the room. Tommy stared up at him, his expression unreadable, until his eyes began to glisten. He blinked rapidly, turning his face slightly to avoid Buck’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

“You’re not,” Buck said, lowering his hand but not stepping away. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to push the emotion back down. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

Buck pulled the chair closer and sat down his eyes drifted to the bruises shadowing Tommy’s cheek and the faint red line where the stitches had been placed, “You don’t always have to handle it alone, you know. You can… let someone in. Let me in.”

For a long moment, Tommy didn’t respond. Then he exhaled slowly, leaning his head back against the pillow.

“I think I forgot how.” his voice quiet, almost fragile. It was the kind of admission that wasn’t meant to be heard aloud.

Buck’s chest tightened at the words. He gave a faint, sad smile. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Tommy’s gaze flicked toward him, a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe hope, but definitely vulnerability. It wasn’t a side of Tommy Buck had seen often, and it wasn’t one Tommy would have willingly shown under normal circumstances. But here, under the dim hospital lights, stripped of his usual defenses, he couldn’t hide.

Tommy shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of the hospital blanket, where Buck's hand rested. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he muttered, his tone lighter now, though the exhaustion still lingered.

Buck let out a small laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

Tommy smirked faintly at that, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Buck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because you need someone to be.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”

Buck’s response was immediate, no hesitation in it. “You do.”

For a moment, Tommy said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the faint glow of the city lights filtered through the blinds. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Buck straightened slightly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to be. I told you we’ll figure it out together.”

Tommy looked at him again, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, he nodded—just a small, almost imperceptible movement—and leaned his head back against the pillow once more.

Buck hesitated, then said quietly, “Uh… Merry Christmas…?”

The words seemed to break something loose in Tommy. He suddenly sat up, his movements sharp and panicked, a decision he regretted immediately. His face contorted in pain as he squeezed his eyes shut, a wince escaping his lips. “Shit,” he hissed, his hand instinctively clutching his side. “Shit, Evan, it’s Christmas!”

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the outburst. “Tommy—”

“You should be with your family, not in a hospital!” Tommy’s voice cracked slightly, and his hands trembled as he rubbed at his face. His breathing hitched, and for a moment, it looked like he was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t mean to— You shouldn’t be— God, this is all—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted softly, standing and taking a step closer to the bed.

Tommy shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You should be with your family. Or—hell, with the 118—they’re your family anyway.”

Buck sighed, ducking his head for a moment as he tried to steady himself. Then, with quiet determination, he moved closer, cupping Tommy’s face with both hands and gently forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Tommy,” he said firmly, his voice steady and filled with certainty. “Don’t you get it? I am exactly where I want to be.”

[yourheart-inmyhands]

My brain is acting up again 😭

Yan! Diluc, Zhongli (I swear I love this man) and Dottore having a conversation with their darling and out of nowhere they spill facts about how to hide a body or make it decompose faster.

If they ask how they know they just chuckle and continue their conversation.

They got it from Reddit fr 💀

- Weird anon ✨

ah i am also obsessed with death and decomposition, with a good mix of anatomy, though i try to avoid just finding random facts, i buy textbooks and research books about the topics to further my knowledge on the subjects :3c

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including obsessive behaviors, mentions of violence, lots of talk about death and facts about death, creepy behavior, as well as other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Diluc:

He finds it amusing at first, not really commenting on it and simply letting it be. Soon enough though he starts sharing facts of his own, making minor corrections or suggestions to the ones you bring up. Sometimes he even adds on to what you already have, changing the course of the conversation momentarily.

It’s not talked about often but Diluc is no longer allowed in Snezhnaya for a reason, he’s seen more than his fair share of bloodshed and has no problem offering you better suggestions than what you previously thought to be best. 

He makes a little game out of it, even going as far as to offer to test your claims. Diluc doesn’t see the harm in it, if anything he’s merely indulging in your interests, bonding with you over it. Strange as it is, he thinks it’s fun.

“Did you know the main reason why corpses smell so bad is because when people die, their bladder empties out?” Diluc chuckles at your question, the conversation shifting from possible dinner options to that of death was nothing new to him, yet it never failed to amuse him. “I did. Did you know it’s because when you die every muscle in your body relaxes, which means anything in your bowels is emptied out, no longer held back?” A bit of a tangent never hurts, especially not when it comes to a topic you seem so sporadically fascinated with. Diluc could sit here and watch you talk about this endlessly, the way your face suddenly lights up as you blurt out a random, off-topic fact. It was like seeing a kid walk into a candy store.

Zhongli:

Zhongli takes it a bit too seriously, often correcting you on common misconceptions or myths. He’s still lighthearted about it, but he doesn’t want his beloved darling to be in the wrong about this kind of thing.

He’d hate to see your spirit crushed by someone else, their offense to the sudden topic change springing up as a rebuttal. He’s simply protecting you this way, making sure that no one can challenge anything you say.

All his knowledge doesn’t come from nowhere though, so do keep that in mind should you ever try to challenge him on anything. Not only has he lived far longer than you, but he and his spear have seen, and done, many things

“Zhongli! Did you know that after death, your hair and fingers still grow for a short period of time?” Pausing mid-explanation, Zhongli processes what you said before smiling fondly at you. “No, my gem, they do not. It is actually the skin shrinking back from loss of moisture. That movement of the skin gives the appearance of the nails and hair growing.” Zhongli doesn’t falter even the slightest in his correction, merely stating it as if it were common knowledge, which it ought to be. This is a fairly common occurrence, with your little interruptions being met with either encouragement from Zhongli, or simply corrections.

Dottore:

He’s probably the worst to bring this up around as he likes to make a competition out of it, going back and forth about gruesome facts until one or the other caves.

Not only has Dottore learned a lot about death, but he’s been responsible for just as many. His knowledge far extends past the random facts you collect.

It’s not surprising that Dottore knows more than you, he never holds it against you though. Every time he wins a little bit of the banter between the two of you he sees it as a win for both of you. You get more facts and he gets to assert his position of higher power over you.

“Rigor mortis occurs 6-12 hours after a death but can last 18-36 hours before the body returns to being soft and floppy.” Dottore doesn’t even falter as you shift the conversation, easily following your lead. “Suffocation is more than just a painful way to die. Oftentimes victims of suffocations will try to free or save themselves to no avail as their limbs will cease function, this is because their brain is trying to preserve oxygen which leads to them being unable to free themself and dying.” The smile on his face is only a few inches wider than normal, his eyes twinkling with the same challenging shine that always comes through when you bring up death. If you weren’t well aware of his affections for you, you’d almost believe he loved talking about death more than he loved you.

[sacredsorceress]

may i request fluffy old man logan scenarios

yes, you most certainly may!

⋆｡°✩ dating old man! logan⋆｡°✩

ask box

old man! logan who in the beginning won’t even entertain the thought of you being anything more than acquaintances because of his age.

sure, he was far older than every woman (being 200 years old n’ all) but it was different when he at least looked the part- abs for days, energetic, full of life- now as he aged, logan not only felt the inadequacy of being with a much younger woman but wrong for being attracted to someone so young.

so wrong it’s right imo

I think you’d have to put in a lot of effort for him to see you as a potential romantic partner because of his insecurities.

Lots of batting your eyelashes, grazing his hand with yours, asking him about his day with great interest (maybe even a few not-so-sly compliments about how attractive you find him that would leave him choking on his drink)

“be careful what you say, kid”

“yeah? why’s that?” you’d edge, leaning in close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“you don’t wanna get mixed up with an old man like me.”

“I think that’s exactly what I want.”

honestly even if he clocked that you were attracted to him, it would take him time to realize that you genuinely liked him. you didn’t just want to hookup with an old guy- you wanted to learn about his life, make him laugh, patch his wounds. really, he could hardly believe that someone as beautiful and kind as you would be attracted to him. logan was convinced for a while that you had an ulterior motive.

with all the effort you put in to break down his walls, he’d slowly start developing feelings for you. at first, he thought he just cared about your wellbeing like he did anyone he at least knew the name of. but then, he’d start looking for you on the street- whipping his head around when another women brushed past him with your perfume.

logan knew he was well and truly fucked when you mentioned another guy’s name one day and his heart sank to his stomach. his jealousy got the better of him and he left the bar without a word. until that conversation he hadn’t realized how deeply (and romantically) he cared for you, but god was he relieved when you followed him out of the bar, into the rain and convinced logan how in love with him you were.

during one of charles’ more conscious moments, logan had recounted the story to him (in his words “to keep the guy happy” but we all know logan just needed to tell SOMEONE about his feelings for you) and oh my god the smile on charles’ face when he heard it.

“is she pretty?”

“is she- what? look. ask me another question and I’m getting your meds. stop pryin’.”

after the love confession in the rain, logan asked you on a proper date.

call him old-fashioned, but he insisted on picking you up from your place in the limo. logan would show up at your front door with wilted flowers (that he had picked up before his shift and left sitting in the passenger seat all day with no water) in hand.

"are those for me?" you asked.

"fuck.. yeah, I know it's not much-"

"they're gorgeous." you'd gush, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. "let me get them in some water and we can go."

logan would shove his hands in his pockets as you slipped into your house, peeking around the corner to check you out.

and yes, he would whistle to himself at what he saw and the disbelief that you wanted to go out with him.

anyway once you had started dating, I think he would find that he relies on you and your love to keep him going.

without you, logan had just concerned himself with surviving: keeping charles alive was his main priority and his jobs were just to make that possible. before you, he was nearly praying for the universe to let him go.

with you, he'd worry about- as he'd call it- "stupid shit."

he'd go to the grocery stores and actually read the labels because although he had been surviving on non-perishables, he wanted you to have nothing but the best.

"what the fuck is a GMO?"

If you tried to leave the house without saying goodbye, he'd whistle at you and motion you with his hand to come back.

"where'd'you think you're going?" he'd ask, pushing himself out of his seat with a groan. "c'mon, give me a spin."

when you went out to eat he'd pull the menu close to him, then away before he'd start spinning it in all sorts of directions just trying to get a glimpse of the options on the page.

"I can't read for shit-"

and before logan could even finish his sentence, nose still in your own menu, you'd be handing him an extra pair of reading glasses that you kept in your purse for him at all times.

"fuck you're good."

logan would be convinced that with his old age and body to match that he'd be gone soon. although he would never flat out say it, he would make an effort to show you how to take care of yourself so that when something did happen to him, he could go knowing that you would be okay.

He would teach you how to fix a leaky faucet with his arms wrapped around you and when you finally nailed it, he'd wrap his arm around you and kiss your forehead.

"Attagirl"

anyway I think old man! logan would lay awake at night regretting that you didn't get the younger, more fit, less damaged version of him but then you'd snuggle up into his side with a humm and he'd remind himself that it all led to you,.

thank you for the request nonnie!!

my ask box is always open to discuss more random headcanons for our favourite guys (i didnt even know i thought about old man! logan like this until right now)

[10byten]

Meeting Jaehyun’s friend

So here's part 2 of this publication ! The dinner with the rest of 127 and how you manage to charm them all over the course of one evening. I hope you’ll enjoy it. 💘

As soon as Jaehyun steps into the apartment, he’s hit by the most delicious smell teasing his senses. In the living room, a table filled with Italian dishes catches his eye. You’re standing in the kitchen, carefully spreading lemon glaze over a cake. He can’t resist. He slips an arm around your waist and pulls you close, hugging you from behind. You tilt your head slightly, giving him access to your neck, and he starts placing soft kisses along your skin.

“You’re incredible. What is all this?” “I wanted to do something nice for you… and make sure your friends eat well tonight.” He chuckles, looking at the food. “I’m worried they’ll start coming over too often after this.” You laugh, “Would that be such a bad thing?” In one swift move, he spins you around to face him, a playful glint in his eye. “Hmm, yeah, actually. That would be a problem. I wouldn’t get enough alone time with you.” He leans in, kissing you deeply, savoring your lips as if it’s been years instead of just a day apart. His hands wander lower.

“Mm-mm,” you murmur against his lips, breaking the moment, “your friends are literally going to be here in one minute.” “I’m starting to regret inviting them. Who even needs friends, anyway?” “That’s a great question. We could just pretend no one’s home. Let them get bored of ringing the bell.” Jaehyun groans dramatically, pressing his forehead against yours. “This is exactly why you’re dangerous. You’re always so perfect.”

Before he can pull you in for another kiss, the doorbell rings. You laugh softly, escaping his arms, leaving him pouting like a kid. He trails behind you as you open the door, his gaze still glued to you, stars in his eyes.

The night kicks off better than anyone could’ve imagined.

The boys are all immediately charmed. They compliment your cooking nonstop, their plates barely staying full for longer than a minute.

“I have to admit, I had my doubts when we got to the door earlier,” Haechan jokes. “For a second, I thought we’d open it to find Jaehyun standing there alone, and it’d finally be time to stage an intervention.” You raise an eyebrow, amused. “An intervention? For what?” “Well, we’ve heard a lot about you… like, a lot, and Jaehyun was so secretive about everything, we kinda started wondering if you were even real.”

“Oh, I see,” you tease. “Or maybe you’re all just crazy and have been talking to an empty chair this whole time.” The room erupts into laughter. Johnny raises his glass. “Damn, dude. Now I get it. She’s a keeper.”

Jaehyun grins, looking completely smitten. “You can bet I’m not letting her go.”

Yuta’s eyes light up when he realizes you know a bit of Japanese. You both slip into a quick conversation, leaving the rest of the group completely mesmerized.

“Uh, are we allowed to know what you two are saying?” Mark finally asks, looking between you and Yuta like he’s missing out on the most exclusive secret.

“Nothing all that exciting,” Taeyong replies for you, his tone a mix of intimidation and admiration as he glances at Jaehyun. “But, honestly? It’s impressive. Respect.”

Johnny leans back with a smirk, looking directly at you. “So let me get this straight—you cook, you’re funny, interesting, multilingual, and, no offense Jaehyun, you’re absolutely stunning. Are we sure he’s the one? I mean, if you ever start doubting or if things don’t work out, call me, yeah?”

You laugh, playing along. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the offer.”

Jaehyun shakes his head with a small laugh, his eyes softening as he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Not even a chance I’d let that happen,” he murmurs, his voice firm but full of affection.

When you stand to grab dessert, the guys erupt into dramatic gestures of approval toward Jaehyun—thumbs up, silent cheers, all of it. You giggle, shaking your head as Taeyong gets up to help you clear the plates, following you to the kitchen.

“That’s really sweet, but you didn’t have to,” you say as he starts collecting dishes. “It’s the least I can do. I know what it’s like handling a big table like that.”

You laugh, teasing him. “Yeah, I guess you’re kind of the dad of a huge family.” He nods, chuckling. “But I can’t cook half as well as you. Honestly, I think you’ve stolen everyone’s hearts—and their stomachs—tonight.”

“Hmm, not sure I’ve won Jungwoo over yet, though.” Taeyong laughs softly. “Well, before you, it was him sharing a room with Jaehyun. Just a little case of jealousy—it’ll pass, don’t worry.”

In the living room, the guys can’t stop talking about you.“Where’d you even find her?” Mark asks, clearly amazed. “And do they have more in stock?” Johnny leans back, grinning. “Honestly, I get why you hid her from us for so long. If it were me, I’d move her to some remote cabin in the woods and never let anyone else see her.” Doyoung, never missing an opportunity to tease, smirks. “Dude, I hope you know she’s way too good for you.” Jaehyun just rolls his eyes, grinning smugly. “I knew she’d blow you guys away.”

Haechan squints dramatically. “Unless she’s secretly, like, an assassin or something. You know, using you as a cover story.” Jaehyun smirks. “She can use me for whatever she wants.” “Yup, there it is. You’re done for. Completely whipped and hopelessly in love,” Yuta laughs, shaking his head.

Jaehyun blushes slightly, his confidence slipping for just a moment. It’s obvious to everyone in the room just how head over heels he is for you.

You and Taeyong return to the table, carrying the cake and a stack of plates. The moment Jungwoo takes his first bite, his eyes widen, and he practically lights up.

“This is amazing! You have to tell me the recipe,” he gushes, showering you with compliments.

You smile, feeling a wave of pride. “I’d be happy to make another one just for you, Jungwoo.”

And with that, you’ve officially won over the last holdout at the table. Taeyong gives you a knowing wink, as if to say, Told you so. You grin back, proud of yourself.

Jaehyun, watching the whole thing, can’t help but marvel at you. Seeing you charm his friends so effortlessly makes his heart swell. Somehow, he feels like he’s falling even deeper in love with you—if that’s even possible.

As everyone moves to the living room to settle down with some tea, Jaehyun puts on a vinyl, letting soft music fill the air while the conversation flows. The guys start shuffling around, competing to make space for you to sit next to them, but Jaehyun steps in, cutting through their suggestions.

“You’ll be just fine right here.” His tone leaves no room for debate as he grabs your hand, guiding you gently. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You settle in willingly, your arms sliding around his shoulders as his arm tightens protectively around your waist. His hand rests firmly on your hip, just above your thighs, his touch possessive but comforting.

You’re too wrapped up in the conversation with the guys to notice, but Jaehyun doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second. Watching you laugh, hearing your voice, and feeling you this close—it’s driving him crazy.

The self-control he’s been clinging to all night in front of his friends is wearing thin. His thoughts drift to everything he’s been wanting to do since he got home. He leans into your neck, burying his face in your hair as he breathes in your familiar scent, the one that he’s absolutely addicted to. A wave of desire hits him, and you feel his hand tighten on your hip as the muscles in his thighs tense beneath you.

You know what that means—your man wants you, and he’s done hiding it.

Yuta, who knows Jaehyun better than anyone, doesn’t miss a thing. He notices the shift in Jaehyun’s mood, how his mind has clearly left the room and wandered to other plans for the evening. With a knowing smirk, Yuta takes charge.

“I think it’s time we head out,” he says, signaling the end of the night.

Johnny takes your hand and kisses it lightly. “Dear Y/n, I speak for all of us when I say—please, don’t break our Jae. We’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

You smile at the heartfelt declaration, warmth spreading through you. Looking over at your boyfriend, you catch him walking toward you with that familiar look in his eyes. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing against you like a puppy craving attention.

All he’s waiting for is for the door to close so he can sweep you off to his room and make sure every bit of your focus is on him—and him only.

“I promise, I’ll do my best,” you tease, giving him a playful smile.

The guys thank you once more before heading out, leaving the two of you alone.

-

On the way back, the guys chat excitedly about you, sharing their individual impressions. They all gush about what they loved—how effortlessly you fit in with Jaehyun and how glad they feel that their friend found someone like you. There’s one, however, who stays quiet.

“Taeyong, what did you think of her?” Yuta asks, a playful curiosity in his voice.

“I agree with you guys,” Taeyong replies, his tone soft. “She’s... unique.” Guys keep talking on.

But Doyoung, ever observant, notices Taeyong’s distant expression—his eyes unfocused, as though lost in thought. He starts to wonder if maybe one of them has been a little more taken by you than the others.

For the rest of the night, and even the days that follow, Taeyong can’t get you out of his mind. He finds himself replaying your interactions. And in his head, the same words keep echoing: It’s just a crush. It’ll pass…

-

As soon as the door shuts, Jaehyun’s lips are on yours like he’s been starving for days. Between each kiss, he whispers, “Thank you, my love, for tonight.” When his lips trail down to your neck, you take the chance to reply.

“It was my pleasure. I really loved meeting the guys. I’m so happy you introduced me to them.” “Hmm, yeah, but now I’m worried they’ll want to see you way too often.” You laugh softly. “What, afraid you’ll have to share?”

That’s when he pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye, his expression darkening in the most delicious way. He presses you gently against the wall, his voice dropping. “I don’t share. Not when it comes to you. You’re mine. Completely.”

Your knees practically give out at the serious tone in his voice. Everything about him in this moment—his gaze, his touch, his entire presence—screams love and desire.

“I’m afraid you’ve made me selfish,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jawline. “And maybe a little too possessive.” You shiver at his words, at the heat they stir in you. “I’m sorry for that.” “Don’t be.” His voice is low and rough now. “But you’re gonna have to deal with it.”

“I think I can manage,” you whisper back, breathless. “Good,” he growls softly, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

In no time, he’s carrying you to the bedroom, intent on showing you exactly how grateful he is for tonight—and how much he adores every little thing about you.

-

[cheolslz]

maybe getting mad at your boyfriends over something petty wasn't the best idea.

pairing; 95line x fem!reader

genre; smut (minors dni)

w/c; 2.1k

a/n - based on this request. this is not proofread at all so ignore if any grammatical errors 😔 it's my first full fic so I'll appreciate any and every feedback!

smut warnings under the cut!

warnings; mentions of a creep at a club, poly, established relationship, dom!95line x sub! reader, degradation, petnames (babe, love, princess, cockslut), unprotected sex (don't do this), oral (m. receiving), double penetration, anal, creampie, slight chocking, fluff at the end. lmk if I missed anything!

It's 8pm. You haven't checked your phone all day. you were supposed to be off work 2 hours ago but your boss decided today would be the perfect day to ask you to do their monthly statistics compilation. 

As you make your way upstairs the tiredness of the long workday finally kicks in. you sigh when you reach the door, wanting nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home and your three boyfriends.

Hard days like this were guaranteed with a high profile job but you knew no matter what happens you’d always come home to the loves of your life.

As you open the door, the smell of your apartment fills your heart with a fuzzy warmth. You walk in and close the door behind you and it slowly hits you.

It's quiet.

Now living with 3 other people, there was always some form of noise in the house. Whether it be Jeonghan's tv show marathons, Joshua's guitar or Seungcheol listening to music, there was always some sound to fill the empty feeling in your ear.

A look around you can see that no one was at home. At first you assume Seungcheol was finally able to convince Jeonghan and Joshua to join the gym with him. You open your phone to see if any of them texted you their whereabouts.

[5:27]

Seungcheol : babe when are you off work?

Seungcheol : we were thinking of going to a movie 

Seungcheol : i know you said you weren't interested in this genre but we really want to watch it

Seungcheol : text us when ur done?

[6:07]

Jeonghan : babeee the movie is at 6:30 you’re supposed to be off work by now where are youuuu

[6:24]

Joshua : hey we’re at the movie okay?

Joshua : we came without you because you said you last week that you weren’t that interested in this

Joshua : we’ll see you in 3 hours <3

Oh. They went to see a movie. Without you.

They’re not wrong, you did say war centric and movies more than 2 hours weren’t your thing but, they could’ve waited right? It's not like it's only going to play at the theatre once. They could’ve easily waited for you and asked?

You're not the type of person to get mad about things like this. Usually you'd brush it off and move on but maybe it's the mixed frustration of work and your boss that you decide to make a phone call

“Hey are you free clubbing tonight?”

So, this was a really bad idea. It's 9pm, you're at a shady club and your friend ditched you to go hook up with someone. When you initially called chan he was constantly reassuring you that he’ll be with you all night because you need it.

His bad jokes and humour for a second did make you feel better but the minute you guys entered the club and he laid his eyes on this girl, it was game over.

You can't blame him, she was pretty as hell. If he wasn't rushing to get alone with her you would’ve asked her where her eyeshadow was from. Now you're alone at the bar, staring at the drink in your hand. Your phone keeps lighting up with notifications but you don't respond.

[8:50]

Seungcheol : babe where are you?

Seungcheol : we left early because the movie was boring you were right

Seungcheol : please respond to us

Seungcheol : i know you're mad at us im sorry

[2 missed calls from Seungcheol]

[1 missed call from Jeonghan]

[3 missed calls from Joshua]

[1 missed call from Seungcheol]

You feel bad. You should respond, you should let them know you’re safe but for this once you feel like proving something to them. What exactly are you proving? Well, you haven't really figured that out yet.

You're staring at your phone when a voice interrupts your thoughts

“Hey, what's someone like you doing here alone?”

You look at your side to see a tall man in all black. He has short bleached hair and a pretty face. You laugh off his comment, not wanting to interact with anyone right now.

“Im mark, i couldn't help but notice how pretty you are” he smiles and extends his hand which you accept with a smile. 

A few minutes of talking later, you start getting uncomfortable. Mark keeps trying to get you to leave with him even though you stated you had a boyfriend. He shrugs it off, his hand sliding to your waist and talking to you about how that doesn't matter.

You laugh nervously and excuse yourself to the bathroom, clutching your phone in your hands. You call the first person who shows up and he picks up in half a ring

“y/n? love where are you we’re worried sick”

“Seungcheol…im at levels bar please come pick me up there's someone making me uncomfortable”

You hear some shuffling in the background and Seungcheol reassures you that they're on their way. 

About 20 minutes later you get a text from Joshua saying they're outside. You have to convince them not to come into the club, not wanting the situation to escalate or get worse. You successfully sneak out of the club, thanking your luck that Mark was now occupied with some other girl.

As you spot your boyfriends, you see relief wash over them. They bombard you with questions and when you confirm you’re okay, they help you in the car and drive back. 

The air in the car is a little tense, no one clearly wants to bring up the topic of why you were at a club alone. Seungcheol had a rule you all followed - if there was something to talk about, you’d do it at home.

Once the car is parked, the four of you silently walk to your door. Jeonghan opens the door and lets all of you in. you take off your shoes and go sit on the couch, preparing yourself for whatever they’d ask you.

“Well? You want us to start?”

“I'm sorry” you say immediately, looking at the floor beneath you. You hear someone walking towards you.

A soft hand trails your face and lifts your chin to look up. Seungcheol has a small smile playing on his lips when he asks “what are you sorry for?”

“For getting mad at you guys and going to the club. I should've just told you i was mad at you” Seungcheol gives you a satisfied grin, his hand still forcing you to look at them standing over you

“We were worried sick, you know? You really almost gave us a heart attack” Joshua sighs looking at you. You give him a sad smile

“I'll make it up to you” you say and Jeonghan laughs loud, his voice echoing through the room

“Trust me you will” he says and walks over to you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he smashes his lips onto yours. He makes you lean back on the couch as he hovers over you, his lips moving in sync with yours as his tongue explores your mouth.

you feel the couch sink beside you and before you can see who it is, Joshua pulls you onto his lap, His firm body pressed on your back. You whimper as you feel his cock straining against his pants on your lower back. 

It doesn't take long before they’ve helped you out of your clothes and all four of you are naked. Jeonghan goes to the bedroom to grab a bottle of lube.

You turn your face to kiss Joshua, slowly grinding your ass on his cock as Seungcheol sucks on your neck. His hands fondle your breasts, squeezing the pinching your nipple to hear those oh so sweet sounds you make. your moans muffled by Joshua's mouth.

You moan into Joshua's mouth as you feel Seungcheol trail his kisses down to your breasts and suck on them. 

Jeonghan walks back in and tosses the bottle to Joshua. Joshua pours some on his fingers and circles your rim

“Gonna take me properly love?” Joshua whispers in your ear and you nod, unable to form coherent sentences. Joshua slowly aligns his cock with your rim and pushes in. The stretch hurts at first but the pain fuzes into a cloud of pleasure for you.

As Joshua slowly lowers you on him, Seungcheol aligns himself with your cunt. Unlike Joshua, Seungcheol isn't soft in the bedroom.

He knows exactly how to push you far enough for it to feel best, so he waits until you're fully lowered on Joshua's lap and he slams his entire length inside you. 

His tip his your cervix perfectly, knocking the wind out of your lungs. 

“F-fuck.. So..fu-full” you moan out.

You take a moment to regain your breath, back arched on Joshua as groans in your ear. 

Jeonghan, clearly feeling a bit left out, tangles his hands in your hair and pulls your face off of Joshua's neck. He slaps his cock against your cheek and lips as he smiles down at you

“Open up” he commands.

As you open your mouth and suck Jeonghan's tip, Seungcheol takes the initiative to move. He slowly drags his cock out and thrusts his full length into you again making you moan on Jeonghan. The movement makes Joshua hit deeper in you. 

Both of them start moving inside you. Seungcheol and him have a mismatched pace making you see stars as you suck Jeonghan harder. 

Jeonghan holds the back of your neck and thrusts into your mouth, making you take him deeper as tears well in your eyes. He throws his head back and fucks your mouth.

The room is filled with groaning and skin slapping as Jeonghan hits the back of your throat with each move.

“Such a pretty fucking cockslut. You like us filling you up like this huh?” Seungcheol grunts and moves his hips faster. You try to respond but the cloud of lust fills your mind as you feel yourself reaching your edge.

Joshua, the ever observant slides his hand down to your clit and slowly rubs his thumb against it. The sensation makes you moan against Jeonghans cock, the vibrations making him moan your name. 

After a few more thrusts you feel his movements stutter as he fucks your face. 

“Want me to cum in your mouth princess?” he groans as you slip him out of your mouth to answer

“P-please Jeonghan..ne-need it”

 Your pretty face begging for him is all he needs before he cums in your throat with a final thrust, painting it white. He pulls out and watches you swallow with a satisfied grin before collapsing on the couch next to Joshua.

The other 2 are not too far behind to follow, their movements becoming more erratic as they reach their highs. Joshua cums with a loud groan and throws his head back on the couch.

His hands keep moving on your clit as he comes down his high, his breathing heavy and inconsistent. 

“Gonna fill you up so well you wont even fucking think about pullling this shit again” Seungcheol curses and his hand wraps around your neck. The slight cut in air with the stimulation on your clit makes you fall off the edge as you cum on Seungcheol’s cock, his orgasm following yours.

Your releases mix together inside you as he rides out his high. You lay back on Joshua as he and Seungcheol slowly pull out. The emptiness and the feeling of their cum spilling out of you makes you whimper. Your thighs sticky with your mixed releases.

You slowly feel yourself coming down from that cloud as Joshua pats your shoulder

“You okay? Did we go too hard on you love?” he asks with slight concern in his voice but you shake your head no. They could never hurt you. 

The three of them help you get up and take a shower, laying out clean warm clothes for you and helping you lay on the bed. Jeonghan lays down next to you and pulls you into a warm hug. 

“Don't do that again okay? You really had us worried” he whispers in your hair.

“Im sorry, i shouldn't have disappeared over something so small”

you say quietly but the 3 of them hear it, they always do. 

Seungcheol presses a kiss to your forehead as Joshua rubs your back.

“We love you, don't forget that okay?”

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |9|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Nine: Struck by Cupid's Knife

Summary: After working up the courage, Tara asks you to spend Cupid’s birthday with her, but neither of you could have predicted the results.

Warning(s): Swearing (I think), arguing, Tara wearing The Skirt™️, innuendos, miscommunication/shit communication and mentions of masochism.

Notes: Reader’s a thirsty son of a bitch.

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

You're sprawled on Tara's couch, one hand absently scratching behind Dookie's ears while the other reaches for your water. The cat purrs contentedly in your lap, a rare sight according to literally everyone who's ever met the notoriously selective feline. On screen, Leatherface is doing what Leatherface does best – terrorizing unsuspecting teenagers with questionable decision-making skills.

"You know," you muse, "for someone who claims to hate slashers, you sure own a lot of them."

Tara throws chips at your head. It misses spectacularly and lands on Dookie, who gives her the most withering look a cat can muster. "I never said I hate slashers. I said modern slashers lack the psychological complexity of—"

"—of 'Prom Night,' yes, we've all heard the dissertation," you interrupt, earning yourself another chip projectile. This one actually hits its mark. "Which, by the way, is absolutely not better than 'Sleepaway Camp.'"

"Oh my god, are you seriously starting this again?" Tara pauses the movie, turning to face you fully. "Angela Baker is iconic, sure, but—"

"But nothing! The psychological implications alone—"

"The psychological implications of a movie that ends with—"

You both start talking over each other, your voices rising with practiced familiarity of an argument you've had dozens of times before. Dookie lifts his head to watch the verbal tennis match, tail twitching with mild interest.

"Okay, okay," Tara finally concedes, though her tone suggests this is far from over. "We can agree to disagree. For now. But only because I'm starving and we still haven't decided on dinner."

"Indian?" you suggest innocently, already knowing the response you'll get.

Her eyes narrow. "You know damn well what happened last time."

"You mean when you insisted you could handle the spice level and then spent three hours complaining about heartburn?"

"I did not complain for three hours."

"You literally texted me at 3 AM to tell me your esophagus was staging a coup."

She throws her hands up in exasperation. "Fine! What's your brilliant suggestion then?"

You pretend to think about it, even though you both know exactly where this is heading. "Well, there's this place I know. Makes great burgers, killer onion rings, milkshakes that'll change your life…"

"You mean the same place we always go?"

"If it ain't broke, princess."

The nickname slips out before you can catch it, an old habit you can't seem to shake. Tara's expression does something complicated – a mix of annoyance, fondness, and something else you're not quite ready to analyze.

"Speaking of things that aren't broken," she starts, then stops, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "There's this Valentine's party next week…"

You focus very intently on Dookie's fur, suddenly finding the pattern fascinating. "Oh yeah? Sounds fun."

"Yeah, it's at Chad's place. You could… I mean, if you wanted…" She trails off, then quickly adds, "But you probably have plans."

"Actually," you say, still not looking up, "I was just gonna stay in. The new season of 'Yellowjackets' dropped and—"

"Oh." There's something in her voice that makes you finally look up. "That… that sounds good too."

A moment passes, filled only by the sound of Dookie's purring and the paused image of Leatherface on the TV.

"You could join," you offer, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them. "If you wanted. Instead of the party."

Tara's face brightens for a split second before she schools it into careful neutrality. "What happened to your sacred solo binge-watching ritual?"

"Well, Dookie's already broken that rule," you gesture to the cat who's now fully asleep in your lap. "Besides, someone needs to be there to judge my commentary."

"Your commentary definitely needs supervision," she agrees, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But what about Chad's party? You sure you don't want to…" she waves her hand vaguely.

You raise an eyebrow. "Want to what?"

"Nothing," she says quickly. "Just… you know. Meet people. Or whatever."

"Careful, Carpenter. That almost sounded like jealousy."

"You wish," she scoffs, but there's a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I just don't want you blaming me when you miss out on finding your soulmate at a frat party."

"Right, because nothing says true love like keg stands and questionable punch."

She throws more chips at you, but she's smiling now. "Shut up and watch the movie, dork."

You press play, and Leatherface resumes his rampage. But you can't help noticing how Tara seems more relaxed now, how she's shifted slightly closer on the couch. Dookie stretches in your lap, completely unbothered by the chainsaw sounds from the TV, and you think maybe this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Even if Tara is completely wrong about "Prom Night.

—

Valentine's Day arrives with all the subtlety of a horror movie jump scare. You're pacing your apartment, pretending you haven't spent the last hour deciding what to wear for what's supposedly just another movie night. Dookie, who somehow managed to sneak into your place during Tara's last visit and never left, watches you with judgmental eyes from his perch on your bookshelf.

"Don't give me that look," you mutter, adjusting your shirt for the hundredth time. "This is completely normal behavior."

Dookie blinks slowly, unconvinced.

Your phone buzzes with a text, and you definitely don't lunge for it like a teenager waiting for their crush to call.

Tara (6:45 PM): omw Tara (6:45 PM): with snacks Tara (6:46 PM): and NO you cannot veto my candy choices this time

You smile despite yourself, typing back a quick response.

Dork (6:46 PM): If you brought those weird swedish fish again, we're going to have words

When the knock finally comes, you open the door to find Tara wearing a skirt that makes your brain short-circuit. It's not even particularly revealing – just a simple black pleated number that hits just above her knees – but something about the way it moves when she walks past you makes your mouth go dry.

"Earth to Y/N," Tara waves a hand in front of your face. "You gonna let me in or just stand there having a stroke?"

You snap out of it, closing the door perhaps a bit too quickly. "Sorry, just… wondering if I should be concerned about what's in that suspiciously large grocery bag."

"Liar," she smirks, dropping said bag on your coffee table. "But I'll let it slide because I'm feeling generous."

Meanwhile, in a group chat you're blissfully unaware of:

CORE 4 & CO.

Mindy: TARA CARPENTER Mindy: YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE THE HOUSE IN THAT SKIRT Mindy: TO GO WATCH TV Mindy: WITH YOUR “NEMESIS”

Sammy: Let her live, Mindy

Chad: anyone else find it sus that they're both skipping the party? 👀

Mindy: "skipping the party to watch yellowjackets" sure jan

Tara: i can see these messages you know

Mindy: EXACTLY Mindy: WE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING

Chad: yeah wearing The Skirt™️

Tara: it's just a skirt omg Tara: and don't you all have better things to do??

Mindy: than watch you attempt to seduce your nemesis? Mindy: absolutely not

Sammy: I'm turning off notifications Sammy: have fun sis Sammy: and remember to text me if you end up staying the night

Tara: SAM

Back in your apartment, you're trying very hard to focus on setting up the TV and not on how Tara's legs look when she's curled up on your couch. It's just a skirt. You've seen skirts before. This should not be affecting you like this.

"You know," Tara's voice breaks through your internal crisis, "for someone who was so excited about this show, you're spending a lot of time staring at everything but the screen."

"I'm not—" you start to protest, but she cuts you off with a knowing look.

"The remote's upside down."

You look down. The remote is, indeed, upside down in your hands. "I'm trying a new technique," you deadpan, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping up your neck.

"Uh-huh." She shifts on the couch, the movement causing her skirt to—nope, you're not looking. You're absolutely not looking. "You know, we could still go to Chad's party if you're having second thoughts."

There's something in her tone – a careful casualness that doesn't quite mask the uncertainty underneath. You finally look at her properly, taking in the way she's trying to appear nonchalant while picking at a loose thread on your couch cushion.

"And miss the chance to prove how superior 'Sleepaway Camp' is to your precious 'Prom Night'? Not a chance, Carpenter."

The relief that flashes across her face is brief but unmistakable. "Oh my god, you're still on that? You know what, just for that, I'm eating all the good candy."

"Bold of you to assume any of your candy choices qualify as 'good.'"

She throws a Swedish Fish at your head. You catch it with your mouth, surprising both of you.

"…Okay, that was actually impressive," she admits.

"I have hidden depths," you say solemnly, finally settling onto the couch beside her. "Now shut up and watch the show. I have theories about Lottie that will blow your mind."

As the opening credits roll, you're hyper-aware of every inch of space between you, of how her skirt brushes against your leg when she reaches for the snacks, of how this feels simultaneously like nothing and everything has changed.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket – probably Henry asking how your "not-date" is going – but you ignore it. Right now, all that matters is this moment: Tara's commentary about the show's color grading, the way she unconsciously leans into you during the tenser scenes, and how maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you both want to be.

The thing about watching TV with Tara Carpenter is that she can't sit still to save her life. She's constantly shifting, readjusting, finding new ways to accidentally-but-maybe-not-accidentally end up closer to you. It's maddening in the best possible way.

"That's not how decomposition works," she critiques, reaching across you for the popcorn. Her skirt rides up slightly with the movement, and you suddenly find the ceiling fascinating. "The timeline is completely unrealistic."

"Sorry, I didn't realize I was sitting next to a forensics expert," you quip, trying to ignore how she hasn't fully moved back to her original position. "Please, enlighten us with your extensive knowledge of body disposal."

She turns to face you, and you immediately regret your life choices because now she's even closer, her eyes sparkling with that dangerous mix of challenge and amusement that always spells trouble.

"Well, considering the ambient temperature and soil composition—"

"Is this the part where I should be concerned about your search history?"

"Please," she scoffs, but there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Like yours is any better, Miss 'I-need-to-research-medieval-torture-devices-for-academic-purposes.'"

"That was one time!"

"The FBI agent watching your browser history probably needs therapy."

You're about to retort when she shifts again, and suddenly her leg is pressed against yours. All coherent thoughts evacuate your brain without so much as a goodbye note.

"You okay there?" she asks, and there's something in her tone that suggests she knows exactly what she's doing. "You seem a little… distracted."

Two can play at this game.

"Just thinking about proper body disposal techniques," you say innocently, stretching your arm across the back of the couch. Not quite around her shoulders, but the implication is there. "You know, for academic purposes."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that your way of threatening to murder me? Because I've got to say, your technique needs work."

"If I was going to murder you, Carpenter, you'd never see it coming."

"Promises, promises."

The air between you crackles with something that definitely isn't just friendly banter anymore. On screen, someone is probably being dramatically eviscerated, but you couldn't care less because Tara is looking at you with that half-smile that makes your stomach do Olympic-level gymnastics.

Your phone buzzes again, breaking the moment. This time, it's a series of texts from Henry:

Henry (8:15 PM): so how's the not-date going?? Henry (8:15 PM): has anyone been murdered yet Henry (8:16 PM): either literally or metaphorically Henry (8:16 PM): also tony says hi and wants to know if you've kissed her yet

"Something important?" Tara asks, and you quickly lock your phone before she can see the messages.

"Just Henry being Henry," you say, silently plotting your best friend's demise. "Probably asking if we've murdered each other yet."

"Night's still young," she shrugs, but she's still got that look in her eyes that makes you want to either kiss her or start an argument about horror movie tropes. Possibly both.

"Speaking of murder," you say instead, because you're a master of deflection, "want to hear my theory about why 'Sleepaway Camp' is actually a groundbreaking commentary on—"

She groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "Oh my god, you're actually the worst."

"That's not what you said when I brought you soup when you caught the flu."

"That was before I knew you'd use it as ammunition in your endless crusade against good taste in movies."

"Bold words from someone wearing a skirt that's clearly meant to be a distraction from your terrible opinions."

The words are out before your brain can stop them. Tara goes very still, and for a moment you think you've miscalculated spectacularly. But then she looks at you with an expression that's somewhere between amusement and challenge.

"Is it working?"

Your mouth goes dry. "What?"

"The distraction," she says, and you swear she moves even closer. "Is it working?"

You're saved from having to answer by Dookie, who chooses this exact moment to jump between you, apparently deciding he's been ignored for far too long. The cat gives you both a look that clearly says "I've had enough of your nonsense."

"Traitor," you mutter to the cat, who responds by making himself comfortable across both your laps, effectively creating a furry barrier between you and Tara.

Tara laughs, scratching behind Dookie's ears. "My hero," she coos to the cat. "Saving me from another lecture about Angela Baker's psychological complexity."

"You're both against me," you declare dramatically. "I'm being ganged up on in my own home."

"Cry about it," she suggests sweetly, but she's leaning against your shoulder now, and Dookie is purring, and maybe being ganged up on isn't the worst thing in the world.

—

"I cannot believe you're still defending this," you say, watching in horror as Tara drowns her mac and cheese in a truly concerning amount of hot sauce. "This is actually painful to witness."

"You're being dramatic," she retorts, adding what appears to be her entire body weight in ketchup to the already crime-scene-worthy pasta. "Some of us actually like flavor."

"Flavor? That's—" you're interrupted by the doorbell, which is probably for the best because you were about to launch into a dissertation about the difference between flavor and masochism.

"I'll get it," Tara says, but you're already standing up.

"Absolutely not. I've seen enough horror movies to know the cute girl who answers the door always dies first."

The word 'cute' slips out before you can catch it, and you practically sprint to the door to avoid seeing her reaction. This proves to be a tactical error when you open it to find possibly the most conventionally attractive pizza delivery guy you've ever seen, complete with the kind of jawline that belongs on a CW show.

"Hey," he says, then looks past you to where Tara has appeared behind your shoulder. His entire demeanor shifts, voice dropping an octave. "Hey."

You resist the urge to close the door in his face.

"That'll be twenty-four fifty," he says to Tara, completely ignoring your existence. "Though I could make it free if you'd let me take you out sometime."

Something hot and uncomfortable coils in your stomach. You reach for your wallet, but Tara beats you to it, pulling out cash from her pocket.

"Here's thirty," she says, a slight flush creeping up her neck. "Keep the change."

"You sure I can't convince you?" He flashes a smile that probably works wonders at frat parties. "I make a mean pasta. No ketchup required."

Your head snaps up at that. He must have overheard your earlier conversation, which means he's been standing here long enough to eavesdrop, which means—

"She likes her pasta exactly how she likes it," you say, perhaps a bit sharper than necessary, taking the pizza from his hands. "Thanks for the delivery."

You close the door before he can respond, turning to find Tara looking at you with an expression that makes your heart do something complicated in your chest. The flush on her neck has spread to her cheeks.

"So," she says, voice carefully neutral but eyes dancing with something that looks suspiciously like amusement. "No ketchup required, huh?"

"Don't start," you mutter, carrying the pizza to the kitchen. "And don't even think about putting hot sauce on this. I saw you wincing earlier from your mac and cheese."

"My tongue is fine," she protests, following you. "Besides, maybe I like the burn."

"Your masochistic tendencies are concerning, Carpenter."

She hops up onto your counter, legs swinging slightly in that stupid perfect skirt. "Says the person who just went full guard dog on the pizza guy."

"I did not—" you start, then catch the look on her face. "I was just… concerned about food temperature maintenance."

"Uh-huh." She's full-on grinning now, cheeks still tinged pink. "And I suppose the death glare was just about proper pizza handling protocols?"

"You know what?" You grab a slice, pointedly avoiding her gaze. "I preferred it when you were defending your crimes against pasta."

"Speaking of which…" She reaches for the bottle of hot sauce she apparently manifested from thin air.

"Absolutely not." You snatch it away, holding it above your head. "I'm not listening to you complain about tongue burn all night again."

"Bold of you to assume I need your permission," she says, sliding off the counter and stepping closer. Much closer. Close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

Your breath catches. She reaches up, ostensibly for the hot sauce, but her hand lands on your wrist instead. Neither of you moves.

"Tara," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Your mac and cheese is getting cold."

She laughs, the sound soft and close, and you think maybe this is better than any Valentine's party could ever be. Even if she is completely wrong about pasta condiments.

"You're impossible," she says, but she's smiling, and she hasn't moved away, and maybe—

Dookie chooses this exact moment to knock over the entire box of pizza.

"Traitor," you both say in unison, then look at each other and burst out laughing.

The moment breaks, but something else settles in its place – something warm and comfortable and maybe a little bit inevitable. Like the way Tara's hand is still on your wrist, or how she's looking at you with that half-smile that makes your heart skip beats.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, screen lighting up with a notification. Tara glances at it reflexively, and something in her expression shifts – subtle enough that someone who doesn't know her as well as you do might miss it, but you've spent months cataloging her micro-expressions during horror movie marathons.

"Charlotte?" she says, and there's something in her voice that makes your stomach drop. "Didn't realize you two were still talking."

You reach for your phone, but Tara's already turning away, suddenly very interested in reorganizing the scattered pizza toppings on her plate. "It's not—"

"No, it's fine," she cuts you off, but her shoulders are tense in that way they get when she's trying too hard to seem casual. "I mean, obviously you can talk to whoever you want."

"Tara."

"I just thought after what happened at New Year's—"

"Nothing happened at New Year's," you say, perhaps a bit too quickly. "We just talked."

She lets out a laugh that doesn't sound like a laugh at all. "Right. Because that's totally why you disappeared for an hour and came back looking like—"

"Like what?" There's an edge to your voice now, the playful atmosphere from earlier evaporating like morning dew. "Come on, Carpenter. Say what you really mean."

She finally looks at you, and there's something raw in her expression that makes your chest ache. "Like you'd rather be anywhere else. With anyone else."

"That's not—" you start, but she's on a roll now.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have…" she trails off, pushing her plate away. "This was stupid. I should go."

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" You follow her as she starts gathering her things. "Over a text message you didn't even read?"

"This isn't about the text," she says, but she won't meet your eyes. "This is about you always having one foot out the door."

"Me?" You can't help the incredulous laugh that escapes. "That's rich coming from someone who can't even admit why she really skipped Chad's party tonight."

She freezes, one hand on her bag. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." Your heart is pounding, words spilling out before you can stop them. "You're not the only one who's allowed to be scared, Tara."

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Dookie seems to be holding his breath, watching from his perch on the bookshelf with unblinking eyes.

"I'm not scared," she says finally, but her voice wavers slightly.

"No?" You step closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. "Then why are you running?"

She looks up at you then, and there's something in her eyes that makes your breath catch – a mix of vulnerability and defiance that's so uniquely Tara it makes your heart hurt.

"Because you let her kiss you," she whispers, and the words hang in the air between you like smoke. "At New Year's. You let her kiss you, and then you came back and acted like nothing happened, and I—"

"She didn't kiss me," you interrupt softly. "I stopped her."

Tara blinks. "What?"

"She tried, yeah. But I stopped her." You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. "Because apparently I'm pathetically gone for someone who puts ketchup in her mac and cheese and thinks 'Prom Night' is better than 'Sleepaway Camp.'"

A beat passes. Then another. Tara's still holding her bag, but her grip has loosened.

"Pathetically?" she repeats, and there's a hint of something in her voice that might be hope.

"Absolutely tragic levels," you confirm, taking another step closer. "It's embarrassing, really. I can't even enjoy pizza delivery without getting jealous."

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "That was pretty embarrassing."

"Says the person who wore The Skirt™️ to watch Yellowjackets."

She flushes, but she's not running anymore. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Tara," you say softly, "I notice everything about you. It's kind of the problem."

She looks at you for a long moment, then slowly sets her bag down. "You really stopped her?"

"Of course I did." You reach out, tentatively tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Some of us don't have terrible taste in everything."

She laughs, the sound watery but real. "Just in movies, right?"

"And pasta condiments," you agree, and when she smiles, it feels like coming home.

The moment stretches between you like taffy, sweet and fragile. Tara's looking at you with those eyes that always make you forget how to breathe properly, and you're close enough to count her freckles, to see the way her pulse flutters in her throat. Her hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with a certainty that makes your heart stutter.

You could kiss her. You should kiss her. Everything in you is screaming to close that final distance.

Instead, you step back.

The hurt that flashes across her face is gone so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. Almost.

"I can't," you whisper, and the words taste like ash in your mouth. "Not like this."

"Like what?" Her voice is carefully neutral, but you can see her walls going up, brick by careful brick. "With me?"

"That's not—" You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. "You're upset about Charlotte, and the pizza guy, and—"

"Don't." She pulls her hand away, and the loss of contact feels like a physical ache. "Don't you dare try to explain away what just happened."

"I'm trying to protect—"

"Me?" She laughs, but it's a hollow sound that doesn't reach her eyes. "From what, exactly? From making my own decisions? From wanting something that apparently terrifies you?"

"That's not fair."

"No?" She takes a step back, and somehow that small distance feels like miles. "Then what is this, really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you're the one with one foot out the door."

The words hit like a slap, echoing your earlier accusation back at you. "Tara—"

"You know what the worst part is?" She's gathering her things again, movements sharp and jerky. "For a second there, I actually thought… God, I'm such an idiot."

"You're not—"

"Save it." She's not looking at you anymore, focused intently on collecting her scattered belongings. "I get it, okay? You're not ready, or you're scared, or whatever excuse you want to use. But don't pretend this is about protecting me."

You want to stop her. Want to explain that you're terrified of ruining this, of losing her, of what happens when the Valentine's Day magic wears off and she realizes you're not worth all this trouble. Want to tell her that you've never been good at keeping the things you love.

Instead, you watch her shrug on her jacket, that stupid perfect skirt swishing with the movement.

"Tara, please—"

"I should go," she says, and her voice is steady even though her hands are shaking slightly. "Before I say something we'll both regret."

Dookie watches from his perch as she heads for the door, tail twitching like he's judging your life choices. You don't blame him.

She pauses at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob. For a moment, you think she might turn around, might give you another chance to fix this. But then her shoulders straighten, and you know what's coming before she says it.

"For the record?" Her voice is quiet but clear. "You're wrong. About everything"

The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a slam would have. You stand there in the silence, surrounded by half-eaten pizza and the lingering scent of her perfume, thinking about all the ways hearts break in horror movies versus real life.

-------

A/N: I feel like a cartoon villain. It's nice.

[woozinhos]

reenacting a steamy book with wonwoo and then at the end he asked "is it better than your book?"

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in a book. You didn't even notice Wonwoo walking into the room until he stood in front of you, looking at the cover of the book with a smirk on his face.

"What's that you're reading?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly tried to hide the book, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Uh, nothing," you said, avoiding his gaze. "Just a book."

Wonwoo chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Just a book, huh?" he said, plucking the book from your hands. "Looks like a steamy romance novel to me."

You felt your face grow even hotter as Wonwoo flipped through the pages of the book, his eyes scanning the words.

"Seems like a pretty... detailed read," he said, his voice low and husky. "I didn't know you were into this kind of thing."

He sat down next to you on the couch, holding the book open in front of him. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement as Wonwoo continued to read the book.

"You've been holding out on me," he said, his eyes still fixed on the pages. "This is some pretty explicit stuff. I didn't know you were such a fan of these types of scenes."

He glanced over at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"But you know what? I think I can help make your book dreams come true."

Wonwoo found a page in the book that seemed to catch his interest, and his smirk grew wider.

"I think we should try this one," he said, turning the book to show you the page. "It looks like it could be fun."

You glanced at the page, feeling a rush of heat at the thought of recreating the scene with Wonwoo. It was definitely a... risqué one. Wonwoo cleared his throat and began to read from the page.

"She was pinned against the wall, his body pressed flush against hers. He nipped at her earlobe, his hands roaming over her body as he whispered dirty words in her ear."

He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Sound familiar?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Wonwoo continued reading, his voice taking on a sultry tone.

"He slid his hand under her skirt, his fingers tracing a path up her thigh. She gasped as he nibbled on her neck, his other hand tangling in her hair."

He paused again, his gaze darkening as he looked at you.

"You like it so far?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You nodded, your heart racing as you listened to him read. You could feel the heat building between your legs as he continued to describe the scene in explicit detail.

"He lifted her up, pinning her against the wall as he captured her lips in a hungry kiss," Wonwoo read, his voice dripping with desire. "She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm."

Wonwoo set the book aside and looked at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

"I think we should definitely recreate this," he said, his voice husky. "What do you say?"

He reached out to run a hand up your thigh, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of desire at his touch. You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," you said, your heart pounding in your chest. "Let's do it."

Wonwoo smirked, his eyes darkening with lust. He leaned in closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I knew you'd be into it," he whispered, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. "Let's take this to the bedroom, shall we?"

You nodded again, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as Wonwoo led you to the bedroom. Once inside, he pushed you up against the wall, his body pressing against yours. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist.

Wonwoo was relentless as he recreated the scene from the book. His hands roamed over your body, his lips and teeth marking your skin with bites and kisses. He pinned you against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours as he nipped at your earlobe and whispered dirty words in your ear. He hoisted you up, holding you against the wall as he ground his hips against yours. You moaned in response, feeling the heat building between your legs as he repeated every action described in the book. Wonwoo moved to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin as his hands roamed lower. He pushed your shirt up, his fingers tracing patterns over your stomach and up to your breasts.

He captured one of your nipples between his lips, teasing it with his tongue as he continued to hold you against the wall. His hips ground against yours, creating delicious friction that sent shivers of pleasure down your spine. Wonwoo pushed you harder against the wall, your body bent over as your ass pressed against his groin. He gripped your hips, holding you in place as he ground against you from behind.

"Just like in the book, right?" he growled, his voice low and rough. "You like being bent over like this, don't you?"

Wonwoo quickly pulled your clothes off, his hands moving with a practiced ease. He stood behind you, his body pressed against yours as he took in the sight of your bare skin.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, his hands roaming over your curves. "I could do this all day."

Wonwoo chuckled darkly as he teased you, slapping his hard length against your pussy.

"Someone's eager," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "You want me that bad, huh?"

You moaned at the sensation, feeling the heat building between your legs even more. You tried to grind back against him, desperate for more contact. Wonwoo chuckled again, enjoying your neediness. He ran his hands up your thighs, spreading your legs apart slightly.

"Patience," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I'll give you what you want, but you have to be good for me."

Wonwoo continued to tease you, slowly pushing just the tip of his cock into your entrance. He relished in the way your body reacted, the way you squirmed and moaned beneath him.

"You want more, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "You want me to fill you up completely, but I'm going to take my time."

Wonwoo continued to tease you, his cock sliding up and down your slit as he held your hips in place. He was driving you crazy with desire, but he refused to give in to your pleas.

"You're so wet for me," he said, his voice thick with lust. "I love seeing you like this, so desperate and needy."

Wonwoo finally relented, thrusting into you hard and deep. He let out a groan as he filled you up completely, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"You feel so good," he growled, starting to move inside you. "You're so tight and perfect."

He started to move faster, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust. He was relentless, pounding into you from behind as he hit all the right spots.

"You're taking me so well," he panted, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. "You were made for this, weren't you?"

Wonwoo wrapped his hand around your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your neck. He watched the way your ass met his hips, the sight of you bent over and taking him so willingly driving him wild.

"You look so good like this," he groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "So good for me, letting me take you however I want."

Wonwoo leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"Is this like the book scene?" he asked, his voice rough with desire. "Is this everything you wanted?"

You nodded, unable to form words as Wonwoo continued to pound into you from behind. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through your body, and you were completely lost in the sensations.

"Good," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

Wonwoo's moans filled the room as he continued to thrust into you, his hips snapping against yours with a primal need. He slapped your ass again, the sound of his hand connecting with your skin echoing through the room.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice possessive. "All mine to do with as I please."

Wonwoo's pace became more frantic, his thrusts becoming harder and faster as he chased his own release. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, the sensation building deep in his core.

"I'm going to come," he panted, his fingers digging into your hips. "And I'm going to fill you up until you're dripping with me."

Wonwoo let out a guttural moan as he came, his body shuddering with pleasure as he released deep inside you. He held onto you tightly, his grip almost bruising as he rode out his orgasm. He stayed like that for a moment, his body pressed against yours as he tried to catch his breath. He gently kissed the back of your neck before slowly pulling out of you. Wonwoo gently turned you around, his hands cupping your face as he looked at you with a satisfied smile.

"You did so well," he said, his voice low and tender. "You're amazing."

He pulled you close, holding you against his chest as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Wonwoo looked at you with a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Was I better than the book?"