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beardedjoel · 6 hours ago

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i cannot stress enough that prompt #15 on the first list is SOOOO smother coded, imagine on a hot summer night joel and blossom are up late and just yapping and looking up at the stars (blossom would def make a joke about how one of the constellations reminds her of joel) and then one thing after another he's fucking her raw and deep into the ground, when they're done blossom has grass stains on her dress or something (ALSO JULIE CONGRATS ON 5K YOU FUCKING DESERVE ILY)

thank you so much for sending this in and the kind words bby! beyond appreciate your patience from sending this in months ago 🤧 sorry for the delay! i had so so much fun writing this one though hehe because it really was very smother coded and it felt so natural for them. stargazing really does feel like something they'd do together often, especially after the way it goes for them here!

sea of stars — joel x f!reader

request: "stargazing that turns into sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! could be read as a standalone daddy joel if you really wanted to but it is rather smother-y and written with them in mind 😋

wc: 2.9k

warnings: dry (wet?) humping, piv, dirty talk, ddlg / daddy dom!joel + sub!reader

Sticky, thick air clings close to your skin, your hopes of beating the late night heat of summer by opening all the windows dashed as the house remains a stuffy, sweltering prison. You wished for air flow more than anything, a fan, and Joel promised he would do his best to find a working one for the two of you someday. You knew it was unlikely to ever materialize, but Joel would do his damndest to never give up on something that you’d so sweetly asked for.

“Can’t sleep, daddy,” you murmur, rubbing your burning, tired eyes and rolling over to face him. Despite the heat, your naked body gravitates towards him, your longing for him unable to be quelled by it and the layer of sweat that seems to permanently live on your skin. His arms find you, bringing you close, clammy limbs tangling together but neither of you caring, lethargic in your movements.

“I know, sweetheart. ‘M sorry,” he replies, stroking your hair soothingly. “It’s jus’ a heatwave, darlin’, these usually only last a few days. Should be out of it soon.”

You nod, still feeling pitiful, sighing and rolling onto your back as Joel’s arms retract, the both of you trying to cool off again. After a few silent beats, Joel sits up in bed, watching you blink listlessly at the ceiling.

“Alright, up. I’ve got an idea,” he says.

You clamber off the mattress half in a daze and he hands you a ball of thin fabric - your nightgown that had been discarded before you got in bed. Sheer and lovely and see through, you pull it over your head, the material thankfully feather light on your skin. Joel feels better knowing you’re covered up for what he has planned. It’s odd, how deep the possession runs, knowing that nobody else is within miles of this place, but still feeling that pull to keep you as only his to see. It didn’t hurt that you always looked almost too alluring in the clothing he picked out for you.

After tugging on a pair of briefs, Joel leads you outside, snatching a throw from the back of the couch as you pass. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you step past the threshold, the cooler air sweeter than anything as it caresses your skin.

“Few degrees makes all the difference, don’t it?” Joel says, and you quickly agree with a happy little hum. His hand on the small of your back, he guides you away from the cabin, stopping where a clearing of trees reveals the night sky to you, the moon only a tiny sliver shimmering in the distance, hardly providing any light. You strain your eyes slightly, comforted by the warmth radiating off of Joel reminding you he’s right there.

“Lay down,” he tells you, and you pause, wondering if he can see your face scrunched up in confusion as both of your eyes still adjust to the darkness. “Jus’ trust me,” he adds on at your hesitation, kissing the side of your head.

You lay down on your back, the cool grass beneath you making you smile as goosebumps briefly prickle your skin. You’d started to lose hope that it was possible to find relief in heat like this. Folding your hands over your stomach, you see Joel kneeling down next to you, hear him groan quietly as his knees crack on the way.

“Now tell me what you see, honey,” Joel says, settling next to you.

The obvious answer is right above you, twinkling dots littering the black sky. Their serene beauty transfixes you as you simply mutter, “Stars.”

“Mhm,” Joel confirms, propped up on his elbow to face you. “Pretty, ain’t they?” His fingers tease along your scalp, brushing backwards in rhythmic, soothing strokes. Lulled by his touch, you simply nod, letting the sea of stars swim in front of your eyes.

“You know any constellations?” he asks, laying onto his back to gaze at the sky with you.

“Mm, not really. Can you teach me?”

“Don’t know very many myself.” He pauses, scanning the sky for a few quiet moments. “Well I know that one there. ‘S the big dipper, but everyone knows it. Y’see the handle? An’ the big spoon part too?”

Joel’s hand envelops yours, guiding it to point towards the constellation. You squint, focusing your eyes to try and see it, but shake your head, making a contemplative little noise. “Kind of,” you say, twisting your lips to the side. “Wait… yeah, I see it, daddy! Right there…” You move your hand with his in a line, showing that you see the handle.

“You got it, princess.”

Both of your hands fall to the side, staying interlinked as you quietly observe the beauty floating above you, suspended in the clear sky. You’ve completely forgotten about the heat, the restlessness that had plagued you these last few hours. The air stays cool enough to take the edge off, your skin finally free from that grimy layer of sweat it seemed to carry at all hours during this heat wave.

“What’s that one?” you ask, finger pointing high into the night sky.

“I- I don’t know if that is one, darlin’,” Joel replies amusedly, trying to follow your eyeline. “We’ll get you a book on it, maybe, you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You give a bright smile at his offer while trying to make out more shapes in the twinkling expanse above. “What about that one?” you ask impatiently, pointing again. “It kind of looks like a face, maybe. Maybe it’s you,” you turn your head, giving him a cheeky grin as you laugh.

“Silly girl,” Joel chides you with a chuckle, reaching over to pinch your cheek for the teasing. “You know that daddy doesn’t know everything, right? Despite what it may seem.”

You giggle quietly, shaking your head. “You do know everything, daddy. Isn’t that one of the rules?”

“Knowin’ best f’you and knowin’ everything are very different, blossom,” he says playfully. “An’ especially when it comes to this… constellation stuff, I ain’t ever thought to learn them before, really. Sometimes it’s nice to just… look at ‘em. Thas’ been my philosophy, at least.”

“It is nice…” you mutter dazedly, feeling lulled by the serenity of the sky, the quiet noises of the forest surrounding you, the rustle of a soft but gladly received breeze blowing by.

“Feelin’ better?” Joel asks, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Mhm. Much better,” you reply, sounding more subdued. The heat had made it harder to keep your composure throughout the last few days, leaving you on edge and worried you would inadvertently snap at Joel, resulting in a punishment. It had been a while since he’d had to dole one out, but the memories of them alone makes your body feel flush with need.

You did hate getting them, yet craved the heated attention from him that came with it. You curl a little closer to him at the thought, rubbing your thighs together.

“I can cuddle you again, daddy,” you tell him, making Joel’s chest vibrate with a tiny chuckle.

“You didn’t want to cuddle your old man before?” You can practically hear the daring raise of his brows in his voice.

“Too hot,” you insist innocently, tucking your face near Joel’s armpit and poking him in the side. He makes a noise of agreement as he playfully swats you away. You’d noticed the same from him during this heatwave - the way his body wanted to gravitate towards yours as usual, but even your insatiable Joel had found it too stiflingly hot to give you what you both desired as often as normal.

Now, however…

His energy shifts, hand slithering down your back, making goosebumps crop up as you shiver. Even less than a few days without his touch has your nerves frazzled the second his hands are on you again, greedily making their way down to your ass, squeezing hard at the plush skin there.

A needy growl pulls up from Joel’s throat, leaning forward to press his lips to your ear, wrapping them around your ear lobe and suckling. Another wave of goosebumps trails over your entire body, a helpless cry whimpered out.

“Ain’t had enough of you these last few days…” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, raspy and heated. Your breath catches and you clench between your legs, your core moving towards his without thought, throwing a leg over his. His hand tightens on your ass, yanking you closer until you can feel the hard shape of his cock press into you. The thin fabric of both of your clothing does little to hinder either of you, and you start rolling your hips against him, whining.

“Poor baby is needy without her daddy filling her up constantly, isn’t she?” Joel taunts, his other arm slipping underneath you to grab your other ass cheek, now starting a steady, faster rhythm against him.

“Daddy…” you manage to whine breathlessly, your mind only focused on the feeling between the two of you, brain going fuzzy with need. He seems to grow harder, his cock desperate to break the confines of his clothing, to wear down the fabric of your dress with the way he’s moving you in earnest now. You gush between your legs, built up tension from the last few days that hadn’t been sated well enough coming back in full force.

The fabric of your dress pressed further between your legs starts to grow damp, catching on your poor clit and sending little waves of pleasure buzzing through you. You moan quietly, only forlorn little breaths that Joel eats up, fueling him to keep forcing you to rut into him.

“I w-want -” you try to speak, but the bulge in Joel’s briefs reaches deeper between your thighs, your entire body twitching.

His lips find your earlobe again, biting gently before turning to your neck and nibbling there. “What does my blossom need, hm? Use your words…”

You whine in response, thrusting inward at the same time Joel urges your hips forward, moaning louder. You pant, angling yourself to get off even easier on him, feeling an obscene amount of moisture seeping onto your dress, soft squelches filling the air as it leaks onto Joel’s briefs, too.

“Christ, baby, my little girl is a needy fuckin’ thing isn’t she,” Joel punches out in disbelief, losing control, his hips twitching harder into yours, chasing his pleasure.

“I-Inside…” you manage to choke out.

Joel tsks. “Not ‘till you give me one,” he demands. You immediately double down on the rocking of your hips, letting yourself get lost in it until your body is burning, so close to reaching that bliss. His cock leaks for you, adding to the wetness sticking to the clothing between you, sweat forming on your brow and neck and everywhere else now, too.

The climax hits you in a hurried burst, leaving just as quickly, not the release you’d been hoping for. You groan in frustration as you come down, clinging to Joel’s sweaty chest.

“Pl-please, daddy. I’ll do anything…” You beg him, your skin prickling and hot with frustration, the heat slowly making you irritable again.

“Anythin’? Ain’t no different from any other day, princess.” He teases, mocking you with that drip of condescension he does so well. It only riles you up further, and you move to untangle yourself from him to move into the position you know will give you the relief you need from him. Before you can get on your hands and knees, Joel grabs you by the waist, pulling you into where he still lays, your body fumbling into his solid chest as it clunks back to the ground. His lips press to your ear, your body tight to his as one arm holds you by the torso, the other near your neck. “Nuh-uh. You know you don’t get to decide how I take you. That ain’t how this works,” he grits out, ruthless.

Whimpering, that odd mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins, you smirk, struggling slightly in his hold to egg him on, your ass wriggling into his crotch. Joel clocks it immediately, moving to reach between you and tug down his briefs and tear your dress off where it already barely covers your ass.

“Gonna make me crazy, bein’ a little brat like that, baby. We both know that ain’t you. She’s a good girl. Right?” He presses his cock between your thighs, forcing it through to your entrance, teasing you when you remain silent. “Right?! Say it, sweetheart. Tell daddy you aren’t a brat.”

“I-I’m not…” Just the tip of his cock presses inward and you grit your teeth, holding back the pathetic, desperate begging you really want to spit out. “I’m not a brat, daddy, I promise. I just -”

“You need daddy’s cock, I know.” He interrupts you with a press inward of his hips at his words, sinking the thick length of himself inside of you. You squeal, the noise turning to a moan of relief as he slides in easily, your slickness already coating everything, including the way it’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“What are you then, if you ain’t a brat?” Joel sits perfectly still, his well practiced restraint palpable between the two of you. You want him to move, you need him to move, to fill that void you’d been missing for the last few days.

“I’m a g-good girl. I am… I am… I-I’m good, see?” You keep perfectly still with Joel for a long beat, letting him make the final call on whether or not you’ve been good enough. One of your hands grasps tightly into the grass to pour out your pent up frustration, nails digging into the earth.

Joel cranes his neck to kiss the side of your head. “That’s right. Thank you, blossom. Good girls get a reward from their daddy, too.”

You nod eagerly, and in a flash Joel’s body is on top of yours, forcing his cock to plunge deeper inside of you as you lay belly down. He yanks on your hips, bringing them upwards and begins to thrust steadily and surely into you. Your g-spot immediately feels the change in angle as he starts to press on it, your pussy pulsing around him, still sensitive from the last climax.

“Y-yes, yes…” you groan out, the top half of your torso still pressed into the ground going deeper into the grass with each bounce of your body on Joel’s thrusts. He smacks your ass and you yelp happily, heat radiating from there into pleasure at your core when he does it again.

“S-shit… baby, come for me. Want to hear you, want to feel you. Daddy a-ain’t gonna last…”

Something about his desperation pulls your insides taut, makes you clench harder around him. His hand reaches to your clit, rubbing urgently as he pounds into you. “Come, f-fuck, come, blossom. Now.”

His command, always your bidding, follows that same pattern now, sending you toppling over the edge. You come hard, your legs trembling, sinking lower to the ground so that you’re almost flat, your knees unable to hold you up. The pure abyss of pleasure rocks through you for those few, perfect moments as Joel pants above you as he pistons his hips faster. He suddenly yanks himself out of you, leaving you empty and trembling. You hear the squelch of your slickness in his hand, pumping his cock a few times before the hot splattering of his cum hits your back, soaking through your dress.

Joel sighs, collapsing next to you on his back, tucking himself back inside his briefs. “S-sorry, baby. I needed that too, I guess,” he says, sounding more sheepish than usual.

“I liked it,” you tease him, genuine in your words. You roll to your side, sitting up slightly and glancing down at your dress with a frown. Through the dark, your eyes more well adjusted now, you can see the stain smeared across the front of it. It isn’t the first time that grass stains have invaded your wardrobe from a passionate moment like this, but you like your dresses pristine for Joel, always worried about him getting it out for you. “My dress…” you lament.

Joel’s lips pull up into a smirk. “Afraid the back ain’t any better.”

You giggle, flustered and still shy after all this time at the thought of what you and Joel do together after the moment passes. “You made a mess this time, daddy.”

His lips find yours, pressing a deep kiss to them. “Can’t help that it looks good on you. You want to go change?”

“Too tired now. Want to sleep.” You shake your head, blinking at the night sky again, studying the stars with heavier lids now. The cooler outside air, despite your recent activities making you sweat all over again, starts to dry it quickly, leaving you pleasantly comfortable and sated. Joel’s plan seemed to work wonders, this setup much better than it had been trying to fight for sleep inside the stuffy house. Your limbs feel lazy and heavy, body still humming from your climax, every part of you comforted when Joel moves to hold you.

He smiles softly, placated to see you so at ease now. Joel reaches for the throw blanket, unraveling it and setting it at the ready for when you inevitably start to get chilly in your sleep.

“You sleep then, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you.”

#julie's 5k celebration #julie's 5k celebration fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #fic: smother

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noxitsnox · 1 day ago

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hairdresser reader- headcanons

hyun-ju x fem!hairdresser reader

summary: hyun-ju needs a haircut

tags: fluff, hyun-ju is some what insecure, hyun-ju past in the military is mentioned like one time, light mention of transphobia, alternating povs ig, really bad english

a/n: i like the idea of this, i hate this. i wanna be more active tho, i won't have anymore exams or tests or anything until the 25 so 🤞🏻🤞🏻

@exactlyinfp

first thing you noticed about her is how hot she was, literally.

her hair are naturally soft and luminous, when she told you she doesn't use much products except shampoo and conditioner you didn't believe her.

she's a bit shy at first, but as the time went one she started to feel more comfortable.

you were used to talking with your clients, but, as much as you loved them, they couldn't compare to hyun-ju at all. talking with her was easy and even if you had just met her you felt like you've known her for ages.

she didn't want a drastic change, so you just fixed her bangs and trimmed the split ends.

as she was leaving you gave her your phone number to book her next appointement. and maybe get to really know each other, but you didn't say that.

hyun-ju too was extremely happy about the whole experience.

you were basically a ray of sunshine become human. she felt confortable with you, something that had never happen to any other saloon.

she wished she could have you as a friend, maybe more.

spending most of her life in the military she could never do much with her hair and ever since she was discharged she money have been tight so she learned how to do her own hair, going to get them professionally cut rarely, when she wanted to spoil herself. there was only one problem: she did not have a trusted hairdresser.

and while if this only happened every few months, finding a new an hairdresser really stressed her out. every saloon she liked was always either closed or booked for months or they were too expensive. and in general she hated going to new places, ever since she started transitioning she was always afraid the owner of the saloon would throw her out. it only happened once or twice but it still happened and it was extremely humiliating.

she found your shop by chance.

a flyer advertising your store ended up on her car. when she got home she tried to search for it online- she found the social media page with a few post of the hair they've done, but since it was a new opening there were no reviews yet. she wouldn't have risked it if it hadn't been for what they were offering to new customers: the first cut and blow-dry were free. and the place for near her home anyway.

---

the saloon was nice, it looked like it came out of a movie and the air smelled like caramel and vanilla. at the entrance there was a small counter with the cash register, behind it a young woman, hair covering her face as she wrote something down in a notebook. hyun-ju approched her with a kind smile and a small "hi".

"hello! how can i help?" now that she could look at her face hyun-ju had to admit that she was really pretty. "do you need to book an appointment?"

"i already have one actually... uhm should be under cho hyun-ju". the girl flipped through the pages of wht hyun-ju recognized being the notebook she was using before. "oh yeah here you are! well, hyun-ju you can go sit on that chair," she said pointing to the only available chair on the other side of the room. "i'll be to you right away!"

#cho hyunju x reader #cho hyun ju x reader #hyunju x reader #hyun ju x you #hyun ju x reader #cho hyun ju #cho hyunju #hyunju squid game #hyun ju #hyun ju squid game #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game season 2 #squid game x you #🦑:sg

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iamquiantrelle · 1 day ago

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THURAM'S NO. 1 ANGEL (chapter 1) ────iamquaintrelle

# pairing: marcus thuram x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# wc: 4.5k

# tags: @irishmanwhore @sucredreamer @coffeevacation @hopefulromantic1 @jessnotwiththemess

# summary: shanice carter-ricci didn't expect to become part-owner of inter milan at forty, but here she is - fresh off a divorce from her italian ex and ready to shake up serie a. she's got plans to bring some much-needed diversity and fresh energy to those stuffy executive boxes. what she doesn't plan on? getting tangled up with marcus thuram, the team's star striker who's fourteen years younger and infamous for his rotation of gorgeous girlfriends known as "thuram's angels." soon shanice is finding out that age ain't nothing but a number… and maybe it's time for this angel investor to shake up thuram's roster. masterlist.

# a/n: this will be a mini fic series with thirteen parts unless there's no engagement.

Shanice pulled her Hermes scarf tighter as she walked through the VIP entrance of San Siro. Even after six months, it still felt weird being part owner of Inter Milan. Like, how did her ex-husband's obsession become her fresh start at forty? The divorce from Alessandro had at least given her this, along with keeping her sanity intact.

The players' tunnel was empty and quiet since practice ended hours ago. As the new VP of Community Relations, she told herself she needed to know every inch of her investment. But honestly? She just loved how the place felt when no one was around.

That's when she heard it - deep laughter and rapid French echoing off the walls. Before she could place where it was coming from, she literally walked right into what felt like a wall of muscle in Inter training gear.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Marcus Thuram's face broke into that infamous grin of his as his hands steadied her shoulders. Behind him, three gorgeous women watched the scene unfold, all gorgeous in that Instagram-ready way. So these were the famous "Angels" everyone gossiped about.

"Mrs. Ricci," he said, recognition lighting his eyes. "I didn't expect to meet our new owner like this." His English was good, touched with just enough French to be straight up dangerous.

"Just Shanice now," she corrected him. "The divorce was finalized in June." Why the hell did she share that? There was just something about his open, playful expression that made you want to spill your whole life story.

"Ah, fresh starts," he nodded sagely, though his eyes danced with mischief. "I'm somewhat of an expert in those. New club, new city…" He gestured at the women behind him. "New friends."

One of the Angels - this tall drink of water with honey-blonde weave - cleared her throat like she was tired of waiting.

"Speaking of friends," Marcus said with an apologetic grin, "we have dinner reservations. But maybe we could discuss community outreach programs sometime? I have some ideas."

Shanice found herself nodding before she could stop herself. This man's charm should be illegal for real. "My office is always open to players."

"Good!" He was already backing away, the Angels falling into formation around him like they'd rehearsed it. "Though fair warning - I might try to convince you to sponsor a sneaker design competition for local kids."

She watched him disappear down the corridor, her daughters' voices already playing in her head. Thirteen-year-old Dream would absolutely lose it if she knew mom had just met her favorite player. And nine-year-old Heaven would've been all over his shoes, trying to figure out if they were some limited drop.

Pulling out her phone, Shanice added "look into sneaker comps?" to her notes. She tried to ignore how her skin was still buzzing where his hands had been.

She had way too much on her plate to be thinking about a fine as hell 27-year-old footballer with a rotating cast of girlfriends. Even if his smile could probably power all of Milan.

Shaking her head, Shanice continued down the tunnel, her heels clicking against the concrete. Football had always been Alessandro's thing, not hers. Every weekend for years, he'd take Dream and Heaven to the matches while she built her empire hosting events and securing those luxury brand deals. Not that she minded - somebody had to be the practical one, the hustler making things happen while he played football owner with his rich friends.

But now? Now she owned a piece of one of the biggest clubs in Europe. The irony wasn't lost on her. She might not know every player's stats like Dream did, or care about formation tactics like Alessandro had, but she knew business. She knew how to make things grow. And honestly? Serie A could use some diversity in the owner's boxes - not just on the pitch.

"Time to make some noise," she muttered to herself, running her hand along the tunnel wall. Dream had screamed for ten minutes straight when Shanice told her about the divorce settlement. Not because of the divorce - they'd all seen that coming - but because her mom now owned part of her favorite team. Heaven had just rolled her eyes in that way only a nine-year-old could and asked if this meant she could players’ shoe collections.

Back in her modeling days, Shanice never imagined she'd end up here. But that hustle had never left her blood, even after she'd transitioned from walking runways to running events. Her network was crazy - fashion houses, celebrities, influencers, business moguls - all on speed dial because they knew she could make magic happen. Alessandro might've laughed at her "little parties" at first, but he shut up real quick when her connections started bringing serious money and clout to his business ventures.

She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts. Maybe it was time to bring that same energy to Inter. These stuffy old Italian football clubs needed to wake up and realize the game was changing. Social media, fashion collabs, global branding - that's where the real money was. And with her connections? She could open doors these men in their expensive suits hadn't even thought to look for.

The image of Marcus Thuram's smile flashed through her mind again. She had to admit - at least the view at work was going to be nice. Real nice. Even if he was young enough to make her feel like a whole cougar for even thinking about it.

Her phone lit up with a message from Dream: "MOMMM did you see any players today? 👀"

Shanice grinned, deciding to torture her daughter a little. "Maybe. Just walked around the tunnel a bit."

"OMG WHO???"

"Nobody special. Just some tall guy. French, I think? Had a few girlfriends with him..."

"MARCUS?!?! YOU MET MARCUS THURAM AND YOU'RE JUST NOW TELLING ME?! I'm literally dying. Did he do the smile? You know the one. Heaven says you better have checked his shoes!"

Shanice laughed out loud in the empty tunnel. Trust her kids to have their priorities straight - Dream thirsting over that smile and Heaven focused on the sneaker game. Like mother, like daughters - she hadn't missed those Jordan 1s he was wearing either.

"You're supposed to be doing homework," she texted back. "And yes, he smiled. No, I didn't catalog his shoe collection. I was kind of busy being professional."

The string of crying emojis that followed made her shake her head. She'd created a monster when she agreed to let Alessandro take Dream to that Inter Milan match three years ago. Now her daughter's room looked like a shrine to them - posters, jerseys, the works. Heaven wasn't much better, except her wall was covered in pictures of players' rare sneaker collections that she'd printed out.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was her assistant reminding her about tomorrow's marketing meeting. Right. Back to reality. She had actual work to do, strategies to plan, a whole department to run. She couldn't be out here acting like her teenage daughter, getting flustered over a pretty smile and some designer kicks.

Even if that smile did make her forget she was supposed to be a whole grown woman with responsibilities.

"At least tell me if the Angels were as pretty in person as they look on Instagram!" Dream's next text popped up.

Shanice rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Dream. Do your homework."

But as she headed toward her office, she couldn't help but wonder exactly how one got an invitation to join Thuram's Angels. Not that she was interested. At all.

She was way too old for that drama.

Probably.

*********************************************

Shanice's office was her sanctuary in the chaos of training days. Up here in the executive level, she could see the players running drills on the practice field below. Not that watching was doing her any good right now - she'd been staring at the same sponsorship proposal for twenty minutes straight.

Her phone buzzed. Dream again, probably spamming her with more TikToks of Marcus's training highlights. Her teenager had been insufferable since finding out mom was technically her idol's boss. Heaven was slightly more chill about it, but only because she was more interested in his sneaker collection than his football skills.

But it wasn't Dream. It was an Inter Milan internal number.

Marcus? Why is he calling her?

"Shouldn't you be training right now?" Shanice answered, trying to keep her voice professional despite the smile tugging at her lips.

"Water break," Marcus's voice was warm through the speaker. "And I hear you have an excellent coffee machine in your office. Much better than the one in players' lounge."

"Are you really trying to schmooze the boss for better coffee when you should be hydrating?"

"I would never," he gasped in mock offense. "I'm trying to schmooze the boss for both better coffee AND funding for my sneaker competition. I'm an excellent multitasker."

She shouldn't find that as funny as she did. "Fine. After training tomorrow? And yes, the coffee is excellent."

"Perfect. I'll bring my presentation. You bring your coffee machine's A-game."

"Get back to practice," she said, but she was grinning like a fool.

"Yes, boss," he chuckled before hanging up.

Shanice leaned back in her chair, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. This was business. Just business. Even if his voice did things to her that should be classified as a cardiac event.

Her phone buzzed again - Dream for real this time. "Mom mom mom did you see Marcus's new training pics? His fit is actually insane!"

Shanice glanced down at the practice field, where she could just make out number 9 jogging back to rejoin his teammates.

Just. Business.

The rest of her day was a blur of meetings and calls - sponsorship negotiations, community program reviews, endless emails about jersey designs. She was good at this part. Numbers, strategies, making shit happen - that's what got her here, not knowing the difference between a free kick and a corner kick.

On her way out, she nearly ran into Simone Inzaghi, Inter's manager. He'd been trying to get her to actually watch a match from the owner's box instead of just handling the business side.

"Shanice! This Saturday, yes? You'll come?" His English was getting better, but his hopeful expression did most of the talking.

She adjusted her Birkin on her shoulder. "Still not a football fan, coach."

"I will change this," he declared, shaking his head with a laugh. "I will beg if needed."

"We'll see," she smiled, already knowing she wouldn't. She had enough football talk from her daughters - she didn't need to add live matches to the mix.

The drive home to her Lake Como villa was usually her decompression time. Twenty minutes of pure luxury car silence, winding along the lakeside, watching the sun set behind the mountains. But today, that peace was shattered by the sight of a familiar Maserati in her driveway.

"What the fuck, Alex?" she muttered, pulling her Porsche in beside it. They had a custody arrangement for a reason. Wednesday wasn't his day.

Sure enough, when she walked in, Alessandro was in her kitchen like he still owned the place, stirring something that smelled suspiciously good while Heaven played sous chef. Dream was sprawled on the kitchen island bench, scrolling through her phone like this was just another regular Wednesday night.

"Ooh! Mama's home!" Heaven squealed, abandoning her post to launch herself at Shanice.

She caught her baby girl, hugging and kissing her while pinning her ex with a look that could freeze the whole lake. "Alex, a moment please."

Alessandro had the nerve to look completely unbothered as he handed Heaven the wooden spoon. "Keep stirring the sauce, tesoro."

Shanice led him to her home office, shutting the door with maybe a little more force than necessary. The room was her space - all clean lines and modern art, not a single piece of football memorabilia in sight. Unlike the rest of the house, which had slowly been taken over by Dream's Inter Milan shrine.

"What are you doing here, Alex? It's not your day."

He leaned against her desk like he used to do when this was their house, not just hers. Still fine as hell in that tailored suit, still wearing that Rolex she'd given him for their tenth anniversary. Still irritating as fuck.

"The girls called. Said they missed my cooking." His accent got thicker when he was trying to charm his way out of trouble. "You know how Heaven loves my pasta alla vodka."

"They have phones. You have a phone. A heads up would've been nice."

"Ah, but then you might have said no." He flashed that smile that used to make her weak in the knees. Now it just made her want to throw something at him. "Besides, I heard through the grapevine that you met our new striker today. Thought you might want to... compare notes."

Shanice's eyes narrowed. "You're here because of Marcus Thuram?"

"I'm here because of pasta," he corrected, but his eyes were laughing at her. "But since you brought him up..."

"Don't start, Alex." She moved behind her desk, putting some space between them. "I had one conversation with him about community programs. That's it."

"Mhmm. And tomorrow you have coffee." He examined his nails like this was casual conversation. "In your office. Alone."

"How do you even-" She stopped herself. Of course he knew. Half the board was probably still loyal to him. "It's a business meeting."

"With the guy Dream has plastered all over her walls?" His smile turned knowing. "The one with the harem of models?"

"The Angels," she corrected automatically, then wanted to kick herself.

"Ah, so you know about that." He pushed off the desk, moving closer. "Listen, tesoro-"

"Don't 'tesoro' me. We're not married anymore."

"Fine. Listen, Shanice." He held up his hands in surrender, but his eyes were still dancing with amusement. "I just want you to be careful. Marcus is... how do you Americans say it? A player. On and off the field."

She felt her temper rising. "Are you seriously in my house, uninvited, trying to warn me about a man like I'm some teenage girl? I'm forty, Alex. I own half your shares in Inter. I think I can handle a meeting with a footballer."

"Of course you can," he said smoothly. "You can handle everything. Always could. Just..." He paused at the door. "Maybe wear something less..." He gestured vaguely at her outfit.

"Get the fuck out of my office."

"Mama!" Heaven's voice saved Alex from whatever Shanice was about to throw at him. "The sauce is bubbling!"

"We're not done," Shanice warned him as she brushed past.

His low chuckle followed her down the hall. "We never are, bella. We never are."

In the kitchen, Dream had finally looked up from her phone. "Did you really talk to Marcus again today?" Of course, that's what got her attention.

"She did," Alex answered before Shanice could, stirring the sauce Heaven had abandoned. "And she's having coffee with him tomorrow."

The shriek Dream let out could probably be heard all the way in Milan. "OH MY GOD MOM! You have to tell me everything! What was he wearing? Did you see his sneakers? Was he nice? Were the Angels there? Is he even hotter in person? Can you get me his autograph? Or better yet, can you–"

"Dream." Shanice cut off the stream of questions. "Homework. Now."

"But Mom-"

"Now."

Heaven giggled at her sister's dramatic sigh. "I just want to know if his shoes were limited edition."

"Both of you, homework. Alex-" She turned to her ex, who was now plating pasta like he belonged there. "Next time, call first."

"Of course," he said with that infuriating smile. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any... business meetings."

Shanice decided right then that she was absolutely wearing her tightest dress tomorrow. And those Louboutins that made her legs look like they went on for days.

Purely for business reasons, of course.

Shanice stood in front of her closet the next morning, eyeing her options like she was planning a battle strategy. And maybe she was. That Roland Mouret dress had been collecting dust since Milan Fashion Week - the black one that hugged every curve like it was painted on, with that strategic slit that made her legs look endless. Perfect for making a point to her ex-husband about exactly what she could and couldn't handle.

"That's the one," she muttered, pulling it out. The fabric alone probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, but that's what you got for twenty years of fashion industry connections. She paired it with those red-bottom stilettos that had their own insurance policy - six inches of "fuck you" to anyone who thought forty meant invisible.

Her reflection in the full-length mirror had her feeling satisfied. The dress did everything it was supposed to do - snatched her waist, highlighted those gym sessions she'd been religious about since the divorce, and made her ass look like it was advertising something exclusive. Her hair were swept up in a French roll showing off the diamond earrings Alex had gotten her for their fifteenth anniversary. Petty? Maybe. But she wore divorce well.

"Damn, Mom!" Dream's voice made her turn. Her daughter was standing in the doorway, already in her school uniform. "Is this what you're wearing to meet Marcus?"

"This is what I'm wearing to work," Shanice corrected, but she couldn't help smiling at Dream's knowing look. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"Can't you just admit you're trying to get his attention? I mean, I've seen the Angels, but they don't have anything on you in that dress."

"Everything’s packed?"

Dream rolled her eyes. "Yes, but-"

"Bus. Now."

But as she walked into Inter's offices two hours later, the click of her Louboutins echoing off marble floors, Shanice had to admit her daughter might have had a point. This wasn't just a work outfit. This was a statement.

She just wasn't sure who she was making it to.

Maria's eyes went wide when she walked in. "Ms. Carter, the coffee machine is ready and-" she paused, taking in the outfit "-Mr. Thuram called to confirm he'll be here after morning training."

"Perfect." Shanice tried to ignore the little flutter in her stomach at his name. "Any other messages?"

"Mr. Ricci called." Maria's expression was carefully neutral. "Twice."

Of course he did. "Any actual emergencies?"

"He said something about wanting to make sure you got his advice about appropriate business attire."

Shanice's laugh was sharp. "I bet he did." She strode into her office, the dress moving exactly like it was designed to. "Hold my calls unless it's about the sponsorship deal. Or Mr. Thuram," she added, because Maria would assume anyway.

Her office was ready - coffee machine prepped with those specialty beans, a view of the practice field below (not that she was looking), and enough actual work on her desk to remind herself why she was really here.

But when she caught her reflection in the window, all dangerous curves and boss energy, she had to smile. Alex always did hate it when she dressed like this for business meetings. Said it was distracting.

That was kind of the point.

The sound of cleats on marble made her pause in reviewing contracts. He was early. She could hear Maria's professional greeting, followed by that deep laugh that somehow managed to sound like trouble even through walls.

Shanice stood, smoothing down her dress.

Game time.

Marcus didn't even try to hide how his eyes traveled up from those Louboutins when Maria showed him in. She caught his muttered "good damn" before he switched to that media-ready smile.

"What was that?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he recovered smoothly, but his eyes were still taking in the dress like he was memorizing it. "Thanks for making time for me."

"Coffee?" She gestured to the machine, using the moment of turning away to hide her smile. That reaction had been worth every euro of this dress.

"Please." He settled into one of her visitor chairs like he owned it, all long legs and easy confidence.

"Should we be expecting any other visitors today?"

The question was casual, but he caught the underlying meaning. She'd seen the Angels in their usual spot during morning training.

"Just us," he replied, grabbing the cup from her.

"Your... friends are otherwise occupied?"

His chuckle was low and knowing. "They're... back at home." The way he said it made it clear 'home' was a loose concept.

Shanice pushed away thoughts about how weird it must be to just be cool with being one of many in a rotation. Not her business. Not her place to judge anybody's sex life, especially not when she had actual business to discuss.

"So," she sat behind her desk, crossing those Louboutin-clad legs deliberately. "Tell me about this sneaker competition for local kids."

Marcus set down his coffee and pulled out an iPad. But instead of launching into some formal presentation, he leaned forward with that infectious enthusiasm she was starting to realize wasn't just for show.

"Look, these kids in the local neighborhoods, they've got crazy talent. Not just for football - for design, for art. But nobody's giving them a platform." His French accent got thicker when he was excited, she noticed. "I want to do something that combines both. Get them designing custom football boots, have them pitch their ideas like it's Shark Tank or something."

"And the winners?"

"We produce their design. Limited edition. Split the profits with them and their schools." He grinned. "Plus they get to see a professional wear their creation in a match."

She had to admit, it was good. Combine Inter's community outreach with actual entrepreneurship opportunities, get some good PR, maybe even discover the next big thing in design...

"My daughter Heaven would lose her mind over this," she said without thinking.

His eyes lit up. "The sneakerhead? Dream mentioned her yesterday."

Shanice blinked. "When did you talk to Dream?"

"Instagram. She slid in my DMs like 'my mom's gonna be your boss now so we're basically family.'" He laughed at Shanice's mortified expression. "Don't worry, I kept it professional. Told her to focus on school and that her mom seems cool."

"Seems?"

"Well," he stood, and somehow the office felt smaller with him up. "That was before I saw you in this dress. Now I'm thinking 'cool' might be an understatement."

He was at the door before she could process that. "Think about the proposal? The kids would really appreciate it."

Shanice managed a nod, proud that her voice stayed steady. "I'll review the numbers."

"Looking forward to your decision." That smile again, the one that probably got him everything he wanted. "Boss."

The door clicked shut behind him. Shanice let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

So much for keeping it professional.

Saturday came too fast. Shanice had successfully avoided matches for months, but Dream and Heaven had formed an unholy alliance. Their combined powers of teenage begging and nine-year-old puppy eyes were apparently her kryptonite.

"You're an owner, Mom," Dream had argued. "You have to at least pretend to care about the actual games."

So here she was, in the owner's box, wearing weekend casual. Heaven was pressed against the glass, documenting every player's footwear choices in her little notebook. Dream was... well.

"OH MY GOD HE WAVED AT ME!"

Marcus had paused his warm-up routine to wave at Dream, who was now literally squealing and clutching Shanice's arm. Her daughter - usually so cool, so above it all - reduced to a giggling teenager. Which, fair enough, she was.

Shanice's eyes scanned the stands automatically. No Angels in sight. Interesting, since the gossip blogs always said they never missed a match, always in their usual section, always dressed like they were at fashion week instead of a football game-

Nope. She wasn't going to go there. That was the least of her worries. Besides, she wasn't about to become some cougar chasing after a 27-year-old footballer. What could he possibly do for her? He probably couldn't even satisfy a woman properly, especially not a woman like her who knew what she wanted and-

Marcus dropped into a stretch on the field below, and Shanice's brain short-circuited. Those thighs. That ass. The way his kit stretched across-

Well. Maybe he could do a little somethin' somethin'.

"Mom!" Heaven's voice snapped her out of it. "Are those the new Nike Zoom Mercurial Superfly 9 Elites he's wearing?"

"I have no idea what any of those words mean, baby."

But she knew exactly what those thighs meant, and it was trouble. Pure trouble.

The match kicked off, and Shanice tried to look interested in whatever was happening on the field. Heaven was still cataloging shoes, but now she was comparing them to some spreadsheet on her tablet. Dream was providing commentary that might as well have been in Chinese for all Shanice understood.

"Did you see that run? The way he just- Mom, are you even watching?"

She was watching something alright. Just maybe not the same thing Dream was excited about. Marcus moved like water on the field, all power and grace. The way his muscles flexed when he sprinted, the focus in his expression when he had the ball...

"Signora Ricci." A smooth voice interrupted her definitely-not-thirsting. One of the other board members - some old money type whose name she should probably remember. "So nice to finally see you at a match."

"Couldn't disappoint my girls," she smiled diplomatically. These men still weren't used to her being here, being part owner. Still called her Ricci even though she'd gone back to her maiden name.

"You've met our new striker, yes? Quite the acquisition."

Oh, she'd met him alright. Met those chocolate eyes and that devastating smile and that ass that should be illegal in those shorts-

"We had a meeting about his community outreach proposals," she said smoothly. "Very impressive."

"His proposals or his-" Dream's comment was cut off by Shanice's warning look.

The crowd suddenly roared. Shanice turned just in time to see Marcus breaking free, the ball at his feet. The defender didn't stand a chance. One move, two, and then-

GOAL.

The stadium erupted. Dream was screaming. Heaven had abandoned her shoe documentation to jump up and down. And Marcus... Marcus was running toward their end of the field, sliding on his knees in celebration.

He looked up at the owner's box. Straight at her.

And winked.

"Did you see that?" Dream squealed. "He winked at us!"

Sure, baby. At "us."

Shanice took a long sip of her champagne. She was going to need something stronger than this to survive the rest of this match.

Shanice was on her second glass of champagne when Marcus scored again. This time his celebration was all swagger - that signature dance that had Dream and her friends making TikToks for weeks. The stadium was going crazy, and even Heaven had abandoned her sneaker documentation to cheer.

"He's so good," Dream sighed dreamily. "Like, is there anything he can't do?"

Keep his shirt on, apparently. The heat had several players stripping down to their undershirts, and Marcus's clung to him like it was painted on. Those training sessions were clearly paying off because what the actual f-

"Mamma mia, he's really showing off today."

Shanice didn't need to turn around to know that voice. "Don't you have your own box, Alex?"

"Can't a father watch with his daughters?" Alessandro dropped into the seat next to her, looking irritatingly handsome in his weekend casual Brunello Cucinelli. "Though I see you're watching... something else."

"The match," she said firmly. "I'm watching the match."

"Of course." His knowing smile made her want to dump her champagne on his designer sweater. "That's why you haven't blinked since Thuram took his shirt off."

Before she could respond, the final whistle blew. Inter 3, Juventus 1.

"Can we go down?" Dream was already gathering her things. "Please? Dad always takes us to meet the players after home games."

"I don't think-" Shanice started.

"Excellent idea," Alex cut in smoothly. "The owner should congratulate the team on their victory. Especially the man of the match."

Heaven's eyes lit up. "We can see the boots up close!"

Shanice was outnumbered. Again. "Fine. But ten minutes max."

The tunnel to the locker room was crowded with families and staff, the air thick with victory excitement and expensive perfume. Dream was practically vibrating with anticipation. Heaven had her notebook ready.

And then Marcus emerged, still glowing from the win, that undershirt still clinging to every muscle like it was doing the Lord's work. His eyes found their group immediately.

"The Carter-Ricci family!" His smile could power half of Milan. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"You were amazing!" Dream gushed. "Those goals were insane!"

"Can I see your boots?" Heaven was already crouching down with her notebook.

Alessandro's hand found the small of Shanice's back - a move that used to be possessive but now just felt like him marking his territory. "Incredible performance today. You must have been... inspired."

Marcus's eyes flicked to Alex's hand, then to Shanice's face. Something flashed in them - too quick to read. "Very inspired," he said, but he was looking straight at her. "Sometimes you just want to impress the right people, you know?"

Heaven was rattling off questions about his cleats. Dream was trying to casually get a selfie. Alex was doing that alpha male thing Italian men loved.

And Shanice?

Shanice was thinking about exactly what else those thighs could do.

"Yo! Big bro!"

A younger version of Marcus strode up, already changed into Juventus casual wear. The family resemblance was strong - same height, same build, same dangerous smile but instead of a cropped fade, he wore his hair in dreads.

"Little bro!" Marcus pulled him into one of those complicated handshakes that looked rehearsed. "Tough luck today."

"Whatever, you were showing off." Khephren's eyes landed on Shanice. "Who's this?"

"My new boss," Marcus said, and something in his tone made Shanice's skin tingle. "Shanice Carter, meet my brother Khephren."

"Damn, if I knew Inter's management looked like this, I might've signed with them instead." Khephren's grin earned him a solid smack to the chest from Marcus.

"My apologies," Marcus said to Shanice, but his eyes were laughing. "My little brother hasn't learned manners yet."

Alex cleared his throat loudly. "Girls, come on. Time to go."

Dream and Heaven reluctantly said their goodbyes, leaving Shanice standing there like an idiot, trying not to stare at Marcus's abs through that sweat-soaked shirt that was doing entirely too much.

"I should go too," she said, snapping out of it. This wasn't right. She needed to put up a wall between them right now. She was his boss, for fuck's sake.

She pivoted on her heel, but his hand caught her wrist. Warm. Strong. Trouble.

"The proposal - did you read it?"

"Yes."

"Great. Can we talk about it more? Go over the plan of action?"

"Sure, schedule with Maria for an appointment."

His face changed, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't want too many ears in this situation." He tilted his head toward where the board members and her ex were speaking in low voices. "Maybe dinner?"

"That's not–"

"My treat."

"Marcus. That would be inappropriate."

"Then a business lunch," he countered, "still my treat."

Shanice pulled her wrist from his grasp, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't miss how his eyes followed the movement, lingering just a beat too long.

"Do you think I'm dumb or something?"

"Far from that, Shanice." He straightened up, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. The move was sexy as hell but she kept her face neutral. "You're one of the smartest women I know."

"You don't know me."

"Yet," he added, and they stared at each other for what felt like forever.

"Whatever you think you're playing at, I'm not one of your little friends... or Angels for that matter. Like I said, schedule an appointment with Maria." She turned to leave again.

"So make a call?" His voice was low, just for her ears. Thank goodness no one else heard that.

She paused, glancing back. That smug look on his handsome ass face should've been illegal.

"I'll call you then. To set up the lunch," he said with absolute confidence.

Shanice just scoffed and continued down the tunnel, feeling his eyes on her the whole way.

That man was going to be the death of her career. Or just the death of her, period.

"Mom! Wait up!" Dream's voice echoed down the tunnel. "Why'd you leave so fast?"

Because your favorite player was looking at me like I was dessert, baby girl.

"Time to go home," Shanice said instead, fishing her car keys from her Bottega purse. "Where's your sister?"

"Still with Dad. He's taking us for gelato." Dream studied her face. "You should come."

"Pass." The last thing she needed was to sit across from Alex while he made smug comments about her "meeting" with Marcus.

"Is it because of Marcus?" Dream's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I saw how he was looking at you. And how you were looking at his-"

"Dream. Don't."

"I'm just saying, Mom. The Angels are pretty and all, but you're like... you're you. And he definitely noticed."

Shanice stopped walking. "Listen to me carefully. There is nothing between me and Marcus Thuram except a business relationship. He's your age, for God's sake."

"He's twenty-seven, Mom. That's not my age." Dream rolled her eyes. "And anyway, age is just a-"

"If you finish that sentence, you're grounded."

Dream threw up her hands. "Fine! But for the record? I wouldn't mind. It'd be kind of cool actually. Like, my mom and my favorite player? That's some Wattpad level plot twist."

"Go get your gelato," Shanice laughed, pulling her daughter in for a hug. "Love you."

"Love you too. Even if you're in denial."

Shanice watched Dream skip back to where Alex and Heaven were waiting, then headed for her car. Her phone buzzed before she even reached it.

Unknown number: Lunch tomorrow? For the proposal.

Her heart definitely didn't skip. Nope. Not at all.

Another buzz: This is Marcus, by the way. Your daughter gave me your number.

She was going to kill Dream.

Third buzz: For business purposes only, of course. 😏

That damn smirking emoji. She could see his face when he typed it, all cocky confidence and knowing looks.

Shanice: Schedule it with Maria.

Marcus: Come on, boss. Let me take you to lunch. Professional lunch. Very proper. Very appropriate.

Those three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

Marcus: Unless you're scared...

Oh, this little boy thought he could play with her?

Shanice: Fine. One lunch. Professional. And you're not getting my coffee ever again.

Marcus: We'll see 😈

She dropped her phone in her bag like it was burning her fingers. What the hell was she doing? This was beyond stupid. Beyond reckless.

But as she slid into her Porsche, all she could think about was that damn smirk and those abs and the way he'd said "yet."

She was so screwed.

........................tbd

#quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #marcus thuram #marcus thuram x oc #marcus thuram x black oc #marcus thuram x reader #marcus thuram fanfiction #marcus thuram fic

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gay-dorito-dust · 8 hours ago

Note

I read about Johnny with shy!reader (it’s so adorable) and it gave me an idea. Idk to write down HOW they met but Johnny has a huge crush on her pre-relationship and he keeps asking shy!reader out on a date but shy!reader keeps rejecting him. Until she finally accepts going on a date with him. Johnny family are curious why Johnny is acting strange in a good way. Shy!Reader superhero friends are being protective of her. Please feel free to pick any superhero friends of shy!reader

I couldn’t think of anyone other than like Remy (gambit) so he’s here bc I wanted him to be. This was too long.

‘Come on, just one date!’ Johnny exclaims as he looks at you with his brown eyes, the very eyes they made you suddenly unable to maintain eye contact as your gaze suddenly found your hands more interesting.

‘I don’t think so Johnny, it’s not right.’ You try telling him, wanting nothing more than to be his next conquest to be bragged about inappropriately behind your back for points with other disgusting men. You had to admit that Johnny was attractive but his cocky, arrogant personality kind of spoilt any possibility of ever wanting to date him in the first place, that and your friend Remy Lebeau didn’t necessarily take kindly to him nor his careless view on relationships.

‘You deserve someone who’s going to treasure you, respect you and believe in you, not whatever that Johnny boy does to his poor partners.’ He told you one day when you informed him of Johnny’s insistent need to take you out on a date. Remy didn’t like this one bit and would even keep a close eye on him whenever they were on missions together, not wanting you to be in pain when getting involved with a man as vain as the one and only Johnny Storm.

‘This reminds me of a story I’ve read somewhere about a prideful and vain man called Narcissus.’ You said.

Remy rose a brow. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He was so vain and so full of himself that after rejecting a nymph called Echo, he ended up falling in love with his own reflection and ended up dying as a result.’ You replied and Remy couldn’t help but laugh and clap a hand on your shoulder.

‘If only it could be that simple mon cherie, if only.’ Remy says through laughter and you couldn’t help but smile in response before remembering your current situation with Johnny, fiddling with your fingers out of habit. ‘If only.’ You whispered to yourself, hoping that Johnny would grow bored of you and move on.

However Johnny didn’t get bored of you and move on like you had hoped, if anything he only became persistent in asking you out, so much to the point where you were openly rejecting him at least three times a week because of it. You honestly didn’t see what was so special about you to warrant his attention, you were the complete opposite of Johnny in every possible way, you two just wouldn’t work out but for some reason Johnny was heavily insistent that you would.

Johnny frowns at your words. ‘You’ve been saying that for months.’

‘And yet that hasn’t stopped you from pestering me for a date.’ You muttered under your breath as your magic flickered in response to your conflicting emotions. Sure Johnny was handsome, that was a given, but his reputation as a playboy unfortunately proceeds him as you attempted to put distance between the two of you; you weren’t giving your heart to someone who wasn’t going to treasure it. ‘Besides I find it hard that you can’t get a date from anyone else.’ You continued and you swore you saw a flicker of hurt within his eyes after saying this.

‘But I don’t want to date anyone else,’ Johnny cried as he grabbed your hands, causing your magic to spark as his warmth enveloped them, ‘I want to date you, just tell me how I can make my dream a reality my little magician.’ He adds softly as his deep brown eyes searched your own for the answers he wanted more then anything.

‘Quit it with the playboy stuff, it drive good people and draws in the bad.’ You advised him before leaving Johnny standing there as your words echoed within his head, he was determined to get that date with you and if it meant quitting his old ways then he’ll gladly do it, for he had harboured a crush on you the moment you had saved him by using your magic the first day you met. Johnny didn’t care that you weren’t confident or loud, he loved you for who you were and didn’t want you to change in the slightest, however he thought that nothing would ever come to pass between the two of you and he had looked to get his mind off of you by hooking up with other people.

Which in retrospect wasn’t exactly going to earn him any favours in asking his crush out. It also didn’t help that your friend Remy was protective over you but he couldn’t blame the Cajun man, what he could hold against him though was all the threats the mutant had given him in how he wasn’t the man you needed in your life, given the fact that he played love like it was a toy and you weren’t a toy to be played with. Johnny didn’t like it when Remy Lebeau could read him like a book because he knew he was right, and he knew that Remy was only an older brother figure to you and nothing more but that didn’t stop him from getting jealous from how much time you spent with him regardless; another thing that he knew you weren’t at all attracted to.

So if Johnny needed to prove he could change to win your heart, then he’ll gladly change to prove that he could.

After a long gruelling month passes by before you shared a mission with Johnny and news that he had left the playboy lifestyle behind him felt like a dream, something too good to be reality as you didn’t expect him to actually listen to you. So when the mission was over you could already see Johnny making his way towards you but instead of a shit eating grin, he was smiling softly at you and you couldn’t help but find him beautiful in the moment, pretty even as his eyes never once left you at all.

‘Hey little magician, long time no see.’ He greets you and for once you didn’t feel as though you had to force the smile as you look at him.

‘You’ve changed, I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me.’ You replied, cutting to the chase as it was the only thing that was at the forefront of your mind, dying to be let out the moment you saw Johnny act unlike himself or at least the Johnny you were more well acquainted with. Johnny shrugged. ‘You were right, I was only drawing the wrong kind of people with how I was doing things and now I hope I can draw the person I’ve been wanting to for along while.’ He responded with a soft smile that made you feel as though he was alighting a fire within you.

‘And who would they be?’ You asked, although you were more than aware of the answer but you just wanted to hear it come from his mouth and actually believe him.

‘Preferably you and only you if you’re available on this Sunday at 7pm.’ Johnny says as he watches your reaction closely, uncaring of the unamused Remy in the background who was watching like a hawk, you were the only one that mattered and he wasn’t about to let the Cajun ruin all his hard work becuase he didn’t like him being near you. Now normally you would’ve shut him down and walked away but this time was different and you knew it in the way he looked at you, you knew it in the way that you were actually tempting the idea and that you were finding yourself answer before your brain could catch up.

‘Yeah I would love to.’ Was what left your mouth as the way Johnny’s eyes shone like beautiful jewels and Remy’s looks of disbelief was all you could remember from that day. Meanwhile Johnny was back wt the Baxter building, rushing to get himself cleaned up before frustrating himself over what he should wear for your date in hopes of winning you over even more.

Sue, Reed and Ben could only watch as Johnny was smiling like some lovesick fool, constantly looking at his phone every so often as though he was waiting for something before going back to trashing his room for the perfect outfit.

‘Is he okay? He didn’t hit his head did he?’ Ben asked.

‘Looks like Johnny got himself a date.’ Reed replies before squinting his eyes as he watched the aforementioned male once again look at his phone just as it let him know that he had gotten a text. ‘He’s never looked this genuinely happy to go on a date in a long, long time.’ He then adds.

‘Whatever it is, I hope it stays like this because it’s clear to see that he obviously likes whoever this mysterious person is.’ Sue shrugs as she watched her brother knowingly, she knew about you from how often Johnny came to her about the one who kept getting away, you really must’ve set him straight enough for Johnny to actually be serious and change for the better and she couldn’t help but want to meet you even more because of it.

‘I can hear you all you know.’ Johnny said as he adjusted the black tie that completed his suited attire, he looked smart and handsome, something he never did at family dinners at all but for you he’d pull out all the stops even if it meant being in a expensive suit that he’ll never wear again. ‘And they’re here so don’t be embarrassing me okay?’ He adds sarcastically as he pats Reed on the shoulder, nudges Ben and hugs Sue before rushing to meet you by the entrance, his smile never once faltering at all as it only seemed to grow bigger upon his face to the point it hurt him.

Johnny didn’t care as he was quick to usher you in, he didn’t care that Reed, Ben and Sue were just behind him watching you both because they were bound to find out about you sooner or later, especially his sister whom he went to the moment you told him to drop his playboy act for advice almost immediately. Johnny didn’t care about anything because you were standing before him looking as beautiful as ever.

‘Hey.’ He says.

‘Hi.’ You replied.

You both smiled widely at each other for a good minute or two, much to Sue’s delight, secretly happy to see her brother happy and in the presence of the person who made him that genuinely happy. ‘You going to invite your date in or stare at them a little while longer.’ Ben interiors the cute moment, causing Johnny to look at him unamused while you fiddled with your hands that sparked with magic.

‘Dude.’ Johnny said but Ben only shrugged his shoulders.

‘What Ben wanted to say,’ Reed stepped in as he offered you a welcoming smile as did Sue as she stood next to him, allowing Reed to put his hand on her waist to pull her into his side as her hand easily fell to his chest, ‘welcome to the family y/n.’

#johnny storm x y/n #johnny storm fluff #johnny storm x you #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm fanfiction #fantastic four x reader #fantastic four imagine #fantastic four imagines #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines

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reveriebae · 10 hours ago

Text

Miami's model

pairing(s) : Park Seonghwa x reader

word count : 5108

summary : You thought you could escape Seonghwa, but he always gets what he wants. And he wants you. He finds you, traps you, and teaches you a brutal, punishing lesson—one you’ll never forget. You’re his. Always.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Obsession, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, rough and punishing dynamics, choking, overstimulation, degradation, messy oral. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : I feel sick of using Y/N for the reader so I decided not to do it anymore, Oh! And also...I'm a sucker for blowjob scene these days lol. Actually, this one should be part of Songfic but...it's not. I wrote this the whole night and it's my favorite Seonghwa fic after love overdose, hope you guys like it🫶

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐 smut under the cut 🪐

The runway lights were blinding, flashing like a thousand hungry eyes as you strutted forward, heels clicking against the polished stage. The dress—thin as sin, clinging to every curve—was meant to steal attention. And it did.

Men watched. Women envied. Miami was full of people who wanted something from you—lust, admiration, jealousy. But none of them made your skin crawl like him.

It was a slow, creeping awareness. Like an animal sensing a predator before it sees him.

Your body moved on autopilot, hitting your final pose. But your pulse slammed against your ribs.

He was here.

You knew it before you even spotted him. That stare—heavy, possessive, taunting.

And then you saw him.

Seonghwa sat in the VIP section, drowning in dim, golden light, a glass of dark liquor cradled in his long fingers. He looked almost bored, lips barely curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not far from it. Like he’d been waiting.

Your throat went dry.

Miami was supposed to be your fresh start. New name, new hair, new city, new life. But he always found you.

You tore your eyes away, walking back down the runway, fingers trembling against the fabric of your dress. The second you were backstage, you grabbed your bag, slipping past models and designers, ignoring the bubbling chatter. Your driver was outside. You just had to make it to the car—

“Room 1803. Don’t make me come find you.”

The text made your breath hitch. The number was unknown, but you didn’t need a name.

Seonghwa.

The walls felt too tight, the air too thick. He’d given you an option, but you knew better. If you didn’t go to him, he would come to you. And that would be worse.

The hotel loomed over the city, its glass windows reflecting Miami’s neon skyline. Inside, the lobby pulsed with quiet luxury—crystal chandeliers, expensive cologne, the murmur of high-profile guests who had no idea you were walking straight into the lion’s den.

Room 1803.

Your heels barely made a sound against the plush carpet as you stepped into the elevator, your breath shallow. You could still turn back. You could walk right out, catch the next flight, disappear again.

But you knew how this would end.

Seonghwa didn’t give up. He never had.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Every step toward his door felt heavier, like gravity itself was dragging you down.

You knocked once. No answer. Your fingers curled into your palm. Maybe he was bluffing. Maybe he—

The door clicked open.

Seonghwa stood there, leaning against the frame, watching you the way a predator watches a trapped animal. Dark suit, silver rings, eyes that held every promise of ruin.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Good girl.”

The way he said it made something tighten in your stomach.

He stepped aside, letting you in. The suite was sleek, expensive, but the only thing you could focus on was the sound of the door locking behind you.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

Your throat felt tight. “I—”

“Three months.” He took a slow step forward. “That’s how long you lasted this time.”

He was close enough now that you could smell him—something deep, intoxicating, laced with the sharp burn of whiskey.

“I should be impressed,” he murmured, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up. “But I’m not.”

His grip tightened, just for a second—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control.

“Now,” Seonghwa whispered, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, “why don’t you tell me what you were running from, baby?”

As if he didn’t already know the answer.

Him.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Seonghwa’s fingers traced the line of your jaw, his touch deceptively soft, but his eyes—his eyes burned.

“I wasn’t running,” you murmured, even though you both knew it was a lie.

Seonghwa chuckled, low and dark. “You’re still a terrible liar, baby.” His fingers slid down, brushing over your collarbone, ghosting along the strap of your dress. “But go on, keep pretending.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His touch was light, teasing, but it carried a promise. A warning.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Three months,” he mused, like he was still processing it. “Three months without my hands on you. Without hearing you beg.”

Your stomach twisted. “I’m not—”

His fingers wrapped around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. Your breath hitched, and he tilted his head, watching you with something unreadable.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” Seonghwa murmured, thumb tracing circles against your pulse. “But don’t lie to me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The room felt too warm, the air too thick. He was too close, too overwhelming.

His grip loosened, but he didn’t step back. Instead, his other hand slid to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Tell me something, baby.” His voice was smooth, almost lazy. Deceptive. “Did you think about me while you were gone?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “No.”

His smirk was slow, lethal. “Then why are your thighs pressed together?”

Heat surged through you, betrayal flooding your veins. Because he was right.

Seonghwa leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. “You can fight me all you want,” he murmured, voice dropping into something dangerous. “But we both know how this ends.”

Your breath shuddered out of you. Because he was right about that, too.

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, like a loaded gun waiting to go off.

Seonghwa’s fingers lingered at your waist, a featherlight touch that still made you feel caged. He wasn’t touching you the way he wanted to—not yet.

Because he was patient. He always had been.

Your pulse hammered against your skin, betraying you, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m not playing your game.”

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound deep, knowing. Like he had already won.

“My game?” His thumb brushed over your hip, so subtly you almost thought you imagined it. “Sweetheart, you were the one who ran. That made it a game.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, just enough that his lips hovered near your jaw, not touching, just teasing. The air between you burned.

“I don’t chase things I don’t intend to catch,” he murmured.

A shiver ran through you, frustration and something far more dangerous curling in your stomach. You wanted to move, to push him away, to do something to break this unbearable tension.

But that’s exactly what he wanted.

Seonghwa was waiting—waiting for you to break first.

So you forced your expression into something calm, something indifferent. You let your lips curl into a smirk, tilting your chin slightly. If he wanted a game, you’d play.

You leaned in, just barely, your lips hovering near his jaw the same way he had done to you. “Then why haven’t you caught me yet?”

The change was instant. His grip tightened, his breath hitched—just for a second, but you felt it.

Then his fingers flexed against your waist, and his lips curled into something dark.

“Oh, baby.” His voice was smooth, a slow unraveling of control. “You think I haven’t?”

The air between you snapped.

But he didn’t kiss you. He didn’t move closer. He just stayed there, waiting.

Because the second you gave in? You’d never escape again.

The air felt thick, charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm cracks the sky apart.

Seonghwa still hadn’t touched you the way he wanted to. That was the worst part—the way he let the tension stretch, the way he made you feel like you had a choice, when you both knew the truth.

You weren’t free.

You never had been.

And yet, you still fought against the inevitable.

Your smirk didn’t waver. “If you think you’ve caught me, then why are we still here?”

His grip on your waist tightened—a silent warning.

You had no business taunting him like this, but the moment was slipping, your last sliver of control hanging by a thread. You had to use it.

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, almost as if he were amused. But the heat in his eyes told a different story.

“You want to pretend you have a choice?” His fingers ghosted along the edge of your dress, not lifting it, not moving past the barrier, but close enough that your breath stuttered. “Fine.”

He took a single step back.

It shouldn’t have felt like a slap. It shouldn’t have made your stomach drop.

But it did.

The space between you was small, insignificant, but it burned.

Seonghwa tilted his head, watching you with that same knowing smirk. Daring you.

“Go, then,” he said simply. “Leave.”

The challenge wrapped around your throat like a collar.

Because you knew what he was doing. Giving you the illusion of control, just to watch you crumble under the weight of it.

Your body screamed at you to move. To turn on your heel, walk out of the suite, disappear again. But you didn’t.

Seonghwa’s smirk deepened.

And that’s when you realized—this was what he had been waiting for.

Your silence was louder than any confession.

Seonghwa stepped forward again, slow, deliberate, reclaiming the space between you. His fingers traced your jaw, tilting your chin up.

“There you are,” he murmured, voice like silk and steel. “I was wondering how long you were going to pretend.”

Your stomach tightened. You had lost.

And he was going to make you feel every second of it.

Your breath stuttered, heart hammering against your ribs as Seonghwa leaned in—slow, deliberate, inescapable.

There was no space left between you now. No room to run.

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, his touch featherlight, but his grip at your waist? Firm. Claiming.

"You ran for three months," he murmured, lips ghosting over your cheek, just shy of pressing against your skin. "Tell me, baby, was it worth it?"

You didn't answer.

Because you didn’t know.

All that effort—changing your number, slipping through cities, never staying too long in one place. And for what? To end up right back here, in his hands, exactly where he always knew you’d be?

Your silence made him chuckle, dark and deep.

"That's what I thought."

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control now.

Your breath caught when he finally pressed his lips against your skin, just beneath your ear. Soft, warm, too much.

“You should’ve known better,” he murmured, dragging his lips lower, down the line of your neck. Like he had all the time in the world.

Your body betrayed you—the way your fingers clenched, the way your breath shuddered.

Seonghwa smirked against your skin. “You’re trembling,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Are you scared?”

Your pride flared, even as your body gave you away. “No.”

He chuckled again, low and knowing. “Liar.”

Before you could snap back, his hands slid lower—slow, unhurried, claiming every inch of skin as if reminding you that you belonged to him.

Your stomach tightened.

He wasn’t rushing.

Because Seonghwa never rushed when he had you exactly where he wanted.

“Say it, baby.” His voice was silk and sin, coaxing and commanding all at once. His fingers brushed the fabric of your dress, teasing, but still not giving you what you wanted.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to speak.

But Seonghwa just smirked.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, lips grazing your pulse. “I have all night.”

Seonghwa was taking his time.

It was deliberate—the way his lips hovered, the way his hands teased without giving in, the way he made you feel like you were the one unraveling first.

Because you were.

You could feel it—the slow, agonizing pull of control slipping from your fingers.

His lips pressed to the curve of your jaw, soft and warm, but his grip on your waist? Unyielding.

“You’re holding back.” His voice was smooth, velvet-dipped steel, pressing against every weak spot he had spent years memorizing.

His fingers traced the fabric of your dress, barely there, just enough to set your nerves on fire.

“Still pretending, baby?” His breath was hot against your skin. Mocking. Daring.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

But Seonghwa didn’t wait for your answer. He already knew it.

His lips trailed lower, down the column of your throat—a slow, sinful descent.

Your breath caught.

That was all it took.

Seonghwa smirked against your skin. “There it is.”

Your stomach tightened, twisted, burned.

The hand at your waist slid lower, tracing the curve of your hips, fingertips ghosting over the hem of your dress, but still not moving it.

“You’re so stubborn,” he murmured, lips pressing against your pulse. Feeling it race. Knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

You swallowed hard. “And you’re a—”

His teeth grazed your skin—just a tease, just enough to steal the rest of your words.

Your nails dug into his arms, but you weren’t pushing him away.

Seonghwa chuckled. “What was that, baby?”

You hated him. You hated how easily he could unravel you.

But more than that?

You hated that you wanted him to.

Seonghwa tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils were dark, heavy-lidded, drunk off your slow submission.

“Say it,” he murmured. A demand. A command.

Your pride fought it.

But your body had already answered.

His smirk deepened.

“You’re already mine.”

And then, finally—he kissed you.

The moment his lips claimed yours, the last thread of control snapped.

Seonghwa wasn’t gentle.

The kiss was deep, demanding, consuming—a punishment for every second you had spent away from him.

His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against him, no hesitation, no escape.

You gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t let you breathe. Didn’t let you think.

Because he knew—if you had a second to think, you’d remember why you ran.

So he kissed you harder.

Your body responded before your mind could catch up—your hands in his hair, your hips pressing against him, your lips parting for him.

Seonghwa groaned, deep and low, swallowing every sound you made like it was something he had been starving for.

His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, and before you could protest, he lifted you—effortless, like you weighed nothing.

You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the nearest surface—the cool marble of the suite’s counter top.

Seonghwa never broke the kiss.

His fingers traced up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, higher—still teasing, still making you feel every damn second of it.

Your breath hitched.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, his lips kiss-swollen, his pupils blown.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Three months of running, just to end up right where you belong.”

Your body burned.

Because he was right.

Seonghwa leaned in again, his lips ghosting over yours, just barely not touching.

“Say it,” he whispered.

Your nails dug into his arms. “Say what?”

His smirk deepened. He wanted you to break.

He wanted you to admit it.

But you weren’t giving in that easily.

So you smirked back. “Make me.”

And that was all it took.

Seonghwa’s eyes darkened—and then, he ruined you.

The second the words left your mouth, everything changed.

Seonghwa didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t hold back.

Didn’t let you think for a single second that you had even a shred of control left.

His hand was at your throat in an instant—not tight, not choking, just there, just enough to make you feel the weight of his control.

His lips were on you again, but this time, there was no patience.

The kiss was deep, bruising, possessive—a warning and a punishment all at once.

You gasped, but he swallowed it, swallowed everything.

His grip at your waist tightened, fingers pressing deep into your skin as he pulled you forward, forcing your thighs to part around him.

The cold marble beneath you was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

His other hand trailed down your thigh—slow, teasing, just to spite you.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His voice was rough, breath warm against your lips. “You think you can still win this game?”

Your stomach tightened.

Because he was right—you had never been winning.

You had just been stalling.

And Seonghwa?

He was done playing.

His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

Dark. Hungry. Merciless.

“You ran.” His voice was low, steady, dangerous. “Now you take what you’re given.”

Your breath hitched.

His smirk was pure sin. “And I’m not feeling generous tonight.”

Then, he ruined you.

You barely had time to process his words before he made good on his promise.

Seonghwa grabbed your hips and yanked you closer, your body dragged effortlessly across the cold marble—like you weighed nothing, like you were his to move, to control, to break.

And you were.

Your legs trembled, wrapping around his waist on instinct, but he didn’t let you settle—no, that would be too easy.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place, forcing you to feel every second of anticipation, every unbearable moment of not getting what you wanted.

“You think you get to tease me?” His breath was hot against your skin, his tone dark and amused. Like he was enjoying this.

Like he was enjoying watching you fall apart for him.

His fingers traced the inside of your thigh—lazy, unhurried, just enough to drive you insane.

Your breath came in uneven gasps, body betraying you with every twitch, every involuntary movement that told him exactly how much you wanted it.

Seonghwa chuckled—low, deep, cruel.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his lips along the edge of your jaw. “Already so desperate.”

Your nails dug into his arms, frustration boiling over. “Then stop teasing and do something.”

His grip tightened instantly.

Your stomach flipped, heat flashing through your body at the shift in his expression—mocking amusement replaced with something darker.

Something lethal.

His fingers trailed higher, so close, so fucking close, but stopping just shy of where you needed him most.

Then, his voice dropped—a whisper of a promise.

“Oh, baby.” His lips ghosted over your ear. “You don’t get to make demands.”

Then, without warning—he gave you exactly what you wanted.

I’ll be all that you need, baby

Seonghwa’s voice, low and thick with dark amusement, echoed in your head even as he forced your legs further apart, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world.

"You're trembling," he murmured, dragging his lips down the length of your neck, feeling every shudder, every twitch. His fingers were slow, teasing, barely grazing where you needed him most—because he wanted to hear you beg.

And he would.

His grip tightened at your waist, fingers pressing deep, like he was staking his claim.

"Tell me, baby," he whispered, breath hot against your jaw, "was running worth it?"

You bit your lip, refusing to answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction—but he felt the way your body reacted, how it betrayed you.

Seonghwa chuckled. "That’s what I thought."

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside you—deep, rough, punishing.

A sharp gasp ripped from your throat, nails clawing at his shoulders, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust.

He didn’t want you to.

"Look at you," he murmured, watching your expression twist, half-lidded eyes filled with something desperate. "Three months of running, just to end up like this—spread out and soaking for me."

Your stomach clenched. It was humiliating. It was intoxicating. It was exactly what he wanted.

His pace was slow at first—deep, curling strokes meant to tease, to make you squirm.

Then, suddenly—he slammed his fingers inside you, rough and unrelenting, forcing a strangled cry from your lips.

"What's wrong, baby?" Seonghwa's smirk was pure sin, dark eyes locked onto your face, watching you unravel. "You wanted me to stop teasing, didn't you?"

His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles in contrast to the brutal pace of his fingers.

The heat in your stomach coiled tighter, your body twitching, back arching—but just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, he stopped.

Seonghwa pulled his fingers from you, slick and glistening, and pressed them against your lips.

"Lick."

The command was soft, but absolute.

You hesitated, glaring at him, but Seonghwa simply tilted his head, lips curving into something dark.

"You have two choices, baby," he murmured. "You do it yourself, or I make you."

Your lips parted slowly, hesitation warring with the heat curling in your gut—but Seonghwa had no patience left.

His fingers pressed forward, sliding past your lips, smearing your own slick onto your tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmured, watching as you swallowed around them, eyes hooded, pupils blown.

His thumb dragged down your chin, smearing the mess over your bottom lip before gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to his.

“You taste that, baby?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was nothing playful about the way his cock pressed against your thigh—hard, thick, twitching with need.

“You made this mess,” he murmured, pressing his knee between your legs, forcing them apart again. “Now, tell me—”

His fingers slipped free, but before you could gasp for breath, he was on you again.

This time, his lips weren’t soft, weren’t teasing—they were bruising, consuming, taking everything you had left to give.

His teeth sank into your bottom lip, just enough to make you whimper.

"You wanted to act like a brat," Seonghwa muttered against your mouth. "Now, take it like a good girl."

Then, without warning, he flipped you over.

Your hands slammed onto the cold marble, your dress bunched around your waist—bare, exposed, vulnerable.

Seonghwa stood behind you, silent for a moment, drinking in the sight like he was committing it to memory.

Then—a sharp slap to your ass.

You yelped, body jerking, but his palm was already smoothing over the sting, his other hand gripping your waist, holding you exactly where he wanted.

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, lips curving. “Running from me and now you’re dripping all over the counter?”

Heat flashed through you, a mix of humiliation and unbearable need.

Seonghwa groaned, fingers tracing the curve of your ass, spreading you open just enough to make your stomach twist.

“So messy.” His voice vwas thick, dark, hungry. “And all for me?”

You bit back a whimper, refusing to answer.

Seonghwa hummed. “Still stubborn, huh?”

His fingers trailed lower—too slow, too teasing.

Then, suddenly—he shoved them inside you again, rougher, deeper than before.

Your body jerked violently, a strangled moan ripping from your lips as your fingers curled against the marble, struggling to hold yourself up.

“Aw, baby,” Seonghwa cooed mockingly, fucking his fingers into you at a ruthless pace. “You’re already shaking.”

Your breath hitched, knees buckling, thighs quivering—but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

Didn’t let you breathe.

His free hand slid up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest to the counter.

Pinning you down.

“Where’s that attitude now, huh?” Seonghwa’s voice was all filthy amusement.

“You wanted me to stop teasing,” he murmured, leaning down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Now you’re gonna take every single thing I give you.”

Then, finally—he undid his belt.

The sharp clink of his belt sent a shiver down your spine.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the leather slid free, the soft sound of it snapping against itself making your stomach clench.

Seonghwa chuckled—low, dark, so fucking amused.

“You’re breathing so fast,” he murmured, dragging the belt over the curve of your ass, teasing you with the promise of something crueler.

You gritted your teeth, refusing to react—but he felt the way your body tensed, the way you shuddered at the anticipation.

His free hand pressed against your lower back, forcing you down further, the cold marble burning against your flushed skin.

“Breathe, baby.” His voice was soft, mocking. “Wouldn’t want you passing out before I’ve even started.”

Then—a sharp snap.

The first strike of the belt landed across your ass, white-hot and instant.

You gasped, fingers curling against the counter, but you didn’t make a sound—not yet.

Seonghwa hummed, pleased and unsatisfied all at once.

“Not enough?” he mused. “That’s fine. I can go harder.”

The next hit was brutal.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, your body jolting, but he didn’t stop—didn’t let you recover.

Two more. Faster. Harder. Overlapping.

By the time he dropped the belt, your ass was warm, aching, the sting spreading between your thighs in a way that made you feel even filthier.

And Seonghwa?

He fucking knew it.

“You’re shaking, baby.” His fingers traced the fresh marks, soothing, teasing, making you squirm.

He leaned down, lips at your ear, voice dripping with sin.

“Are you wet from that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, heat burning under your skin—but you didn’t answer.

Seonghwa laughed, low and breathless, like this was the best thing he’d ever fucking felt.

Then—his fingers dragged through your slick folds.

Testing. Confirming.

And then he groaned.

“Oh, you are,” he murmured, pressing his fingers inside you again—slow this time, deep, filthy.

You bit your lip, stifling a whimper, but he wasn’t having that.

His other hand slid under your jaw, gripping your chin, tilting your head back just enough for him to hear every sound.

Seonghwa stepped back, his cock slick, throbbing, still twitching with the need for more.

But instead of flipping you over again—he grabbed your chin, tilting your head up.

A slow smirk spread across his lips. “On your knees.”

Your breath hitched, legs weak, body trembling, but you sank to the floor anyway.

You barely had time to steady yourself before his fingers tangled into your hair, gripping tight, forcing you to look up at him.

He was so hard—flushed, leaking, thick.

Your thighs squeezed together, heat pooling in your stomach, but Seonghwa wasn’t in a giving mood yet.

He tapped the tip against your lips, smearing the mess there, watching as your tongue flicked out instinctively.

His grip tightened, voice dropping lower.

“Open.”

You obeyed immediately, lips parting just enough—but it wasn’t enough for him.

His other hand pressed against your jaw, forcing it wider, wider, until your mouth was open exactly how he wanted.

Then, he pushed in.

The first few inches slid across your tongue, hot, heavy, intoxicating.

Seonghwa groaned, head tilting back, his free hand resting on your cheek, feeling the way your mouth stretched around him.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, watching as you struggled to take more, as your throat fluttered around him.

But struggling wasn’t an excuse.

His grip tightened in your hair, holding you still—then, he shoved deeper.

Your eyes widened, throat tightening, a muffled gag slipping out as he bottomed out, cock hitting the back of your throat.

Seonghwa shuddered.

“That’s it,” he groaned, hips rolling forward just enough to feel you squirm.

Tears pricked your eyes, spit pooling, dripping down your chin, but you stayed still, hands gripping his thighs, waiting—waiting for him to use you.

And he did.

Seonghwa fucked your throat without mercy, each thrust forcing another choked moan out of you, your nails digging into his skin, your jaw aching, your body melting into submission.

“Messy fucking thing,” he murmured, watching the way you took it all—ruined, desperate, perfect.

Your lips hollowed, sucking harder, taking everything he gave you—and it drove him insane.

“Just like that, baby.” His voice was tight, strained, dangerously close to breaking.

His hips snapped forward one last time, holding you down, forcing you to take every last drop as he spilled into your mouth.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you still as he twitched against your tongue.

You swallowed, slow, teasing, showing him exactly how well you could behave.

Seonghwa let out a shaky breath, tilting your chin up, smearing the last traces of mess across your swollen lips.

His smirk was lazy, breathless.

“Good fucking girl.”

Then, without giving you a second to recover—he pulled you up, bent you over, and started all over again.

Your body was wrecked, trembling, burning, but Seonghwa didn’t give you a chance to recover.

Didn’t give you a second to breathe.

His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, spreading you open wide, forcing you to take everything.

His eyes were dark, wild, locked onto you like you were the only thing that existed.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching the way you writhed beneath him.

His pace was relentless—deep, punishing, unyielding.

Every thrust dragged another sound from your lips—moans, whimpers, broken cries.

And Seonghwa?

He was fucking obsessed.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, grinding into you, pushing even deeper, stretching you beyond what you thought possible.

“You wanted this.” His fingers wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, just holding.

Owning.

“You fucking begged for this.”

A sharp slap landed on your thigh, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through you.

You whimpered, eyes fluttering—but he didn’t let you close them.

“Look at me,” he growled, forcing your gaze to his.

His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, smearing the spit, the mess, the ruin.

“So fucking pretty when you’re broken, baby.”

Your body was beyond control, shaking, oversensitive, but he wasn’t done.

Seonghwa’s pace stuttered, hips slamming into you one last time before he buried himself deep—spilling inside you, groaning, shuddering as he claimed you all over again.

The room was silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing—and the faint, sticky mess between you.

Seonghwa let out a slow breath, fingers tracing your swollen lips, your damp hair, your ruined body.

His smirk was lazy, satisfied, still fucking smug.

“You’re not going anywhere, baby.”

He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours, soft, teasing.

“Mine. Always.”

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #smut #park seonghwa #seonghwa #seonghwa fic #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa smut #seonghwa scenarios

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bishovapls · 2 days ago

Text

Undercover - Part 1: It is all an act…

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff

Summary: This is a two-part story in which Wanda has been living at the compound for months, she is lonely, sad, and nursing a growing crush on a certain redheaded assassin. It doesn’t mean anything, of course, she’s just touch-starved… or so she tells herself. But when she and Natasha are sent on an undercover mission, posing as an engaged couple at a luxury resort, Wanda is faced with a new challenge. Can she keep her feelings in check, or will Natasha completely shatter her self-control?

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Angst. Unresolved Sexual and Romantic tension (maybe it will be resolved?). Mentions of HYDRA and Red Room abuse (not detailed). Slow burn but also not? Eventual smut (part 2).

A/N: I have to be honest, I read a fic where Clarke and Lexa (from The 100) did an undercover relationship thing, and I could not stop thinking about WandaNat. The chances that this has already been done are very high, but once the idea got stuck in my head, I just had to write it.

Also, it’s Wanda’s birthday, so really, what better time to post a new fic, right? 🎉

Part 1 starts below the cut, you can also find the fic on AO3.

Part 1: It is all an act…

Part 1 summary: In this part we’re introduced to Wanda and the mission, getting a glimpse into her life at the compound, lonely, uncertain, and full of angst. As the mission begins, Natasha’s relentless teasing and flirtatious words start to wear Wanda down, making it harder for her to keep her emotions in check. (11k words).

------

Wanda wakes to the low hum of the compound’s ventilation system, the sound barely enough to fill the suffocating quiet. The early morning light seeps through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the ceiling, but she doesn’t move. She never sleeps past 4 a.m.…not since coming here.

At first, she convinced herself it was just the nightmares, the way they clawed at her mind the moment she let her guard down. But she knows it’s more than that. It’s the silence. The unbearable, oppressive silence of this place.

Before the compound, it had never been quiet. Her childhood had been filled with noise, gunfire rattling in the distance, bombs shaking the ground, men barking orders in sharp, guttural tones. Even in the cramped space of their tiny apartment, there was always something. Her mother humming an old lullaby. Her father murmuring to her mother in hushed voices late at night, trying to pretend the war wasn’t creeping closer. The distant rumble of tanks rolling through the streets.

And then, the war took them, and the streets of Sokovia became home. There, the noise was different, harsh voices echoing from alleyways, the clatter of market stalls, the distant hum of a radio playing somewhere unseen. And always, always, the sound of Pietro. His steady breathing beside her when they slept on the cold ground. The way he never truly stopped moving, even in sleep, shifting and mumbling in a way that had once annoyed her but now haunted her.

And then, there was HYDRA. That noise was something else entirely. Raw, agonising screams that never seemed to stop. The metallic clang of doors slamming shut, the hum of machinery, the harsh crackle of voices through speakers, detached, emotionless. The sharp, echoing ring of gunfire, and the inevitable silence that followed. Noise meant life. Noise meant she wasn’t alone.

But here, in the compound, the silence stretches endlessly around her. It presses in on her like a thick fog, making the space feel too big, too empty. She has settled into a routine now, though it feels more like existing than living. Most of her day is spent alone, save for training, time spent with Vision, and the team dinner in the evening. She clings to those fleeting moments of companionship, the rare times when she isn’t just a ghost moving through the compound. But she never asks for more.

She could. She knows that. She could walk up to any one of them and ask to spend time together. They would say yes. They always try to make her feel like she belongs. But Wanda has never quite accepted it.

Not when she was with HYDRA. Not when she let them twist her into something she barely recognises. Not when she invaded the minds of the very people who now sit at the same table as her, pretending not to remember what she did to them.

Each morning begins the same. Wanda wakes, stares at the ceiling for far too long, and fights the pull of exhaustion that never seems to fade. Eventually, with a slow exhale, she forces herself to move.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, presses her feet to the cool floor, and rubs the lingering haze of sleep from her eyes before making her way to the en-suite bathroom (an absurd luxury she’s never had before but one she’s quietly grateful for).

Her routine is quick, almost automatic. A hot shower to shake off the stiffness in her muscles. Brushing her teeth, tying her damp hair back, smoothing on a light layer of makeup, just enough to make her reflection look a little less pale. Then, as always, she pulls on her gym clothes before heading to breakfast.

Pepper had filled her wardrobe the day after she arrived, an entire collection of carefully chosen clothes in soft fabrics and expensive cuts. Anything she could ever need, neatly folded, waiting for her. But most of it remains untouched. She hasn’t left the compound in four months and hasn’t needed dresses or heels or anything that belongs to a life outside these walls. So she lives in gym clothes, in sweatpants, or in pyjamas. The elegant wardrobe remains pristine, tags still attached, but she’s thankful for it nonetheless.

Despite most of the Avengers being early risers, the compound still feels eerily empty when Wanda makes her way downstairs around five. The kitchen and common area are silent, the kind of heavy quiet that makes the space feel even larger than it already is.

As she steps inside, FRIDAY flicks on the lights and starts the kettle without being asked. Wanda appreciates it, just enough warmth and movement to make the silence feel less oppressive. She moves on autopilot, pouring herself a cup of tea and wrapping her hands around it, letting the heat seep into her fingers. She lingers there for a while, staring out at the darkened landscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, listening to the faint hum of the compound waking up around her. Eventually, she grabs a piece of toast and some fruit, something small just to get her through training.

The next step in her routine is always the same, back to her room, book in hand, waiting for 7 a.m. That’s when the world finally stretches beyond the suffocating silence, when she gets her first taste of human interaction for the day. She never knows who will be training her until she arrives, but it doesn’t matter. Any interaction is better than none.

Steve is patient but firm, guiding her through endurance drills with quiet encouragement, always pushing but never breaking. Tony, in his own chaotic way, has taken an interest in refining the precision of her powers, integrating tech into her combat style, occasionally dragging Vision in as an extra set of hands.

Training with Natasha, however, is something else entirely. It’s an exercise in control, not just of her abilities, but of herself. Natasha is always a step ahead, sharp and calculating, teaching Wanda not just how to react but how to anticipate,

Every session is a battle of wills, Wanda fighting to keep up, to match Natasha’s effortless precision, to ignore the teasing smirks and pointed remarks that make her pulse stutter. She tries not to let the warmth rise to her cheeks when Natasha watches her with that assessing gaze, sharp and unreadable, or worse, when she smiles, slow and knowing, like she can see the effect she has on her.

And when Natasha has her pinned, bodies pressed too close on the mat, Wanda has to will herself to stay focused, to steady her breathing, to pretend the heat crawling up her spine is from exertion and not from the way Natasha’s breath ghosts against her skin. Because Natasha is everything she is not. She moves with an effortless confidence, like she belongs in every space she enters, like she owns the very ground beneath her feet.

It’s infuriating.

It’s fascinating.

It’s distracting.

It’s fucking hot.

Wanda had known Natasha was beautiful from the moment she first laid eyes on her. It was an undeniable fact, something that struck her immediately but had remained distant, nothing more than an objective observation. But the more time they spent together, the harder it became to not notice. The teasing smirks, the taunting little “keep up, Maximoff” whenever Wanda stumbled, the way Natasha would pin her to the mat with a smirk that made it impossible to think; it all chipped away at the fragile barrier Wanda had built between admiration and something dangerously close to desire.

She had tried to convince herself it was just the physicality of it all. Training with Natasha meant constant contact, fingers brushing against skin, bodies pressed together in a fight for dominance. Wanda wasn’t used to that. She had spent years isolated, first in HYDRA’s cold, unfeeling grasp and then in the uncertain limbo of joining the Avengers. Between the two, there had been very little warmth, and even less female company.

That had to be the reason why she felt Natasha’s presence so much, why it lingered even after they had stepped away from each other. And if she sometimes whispered her name with her fingers buried inside herself during her post-workout shower? Well, it wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t feelings. It was just proximity, just touch-starvation. That was all.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Wanda has always known exactly who she is. Even with her past, there was never a moment of doubt, never a struggle to understand herself, she has liked women for as long as she can remember. It isn’t complicated, isn’t something she wrestles with. It’s simply a fact, an unshakable truth woven into the fabric of her being.

But she hasn’t shared this with the Avengers. Not because she’s ashamed, she isn’t. It’s just easier this way. There are two reasons for it, the first being the most obvious: she doesn’t know how they’ll react. Not that she thinks they would care, not really, but she’s spent too much of her life being treated differently. She doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to see her as anything but Wanda, and so she keeps it to herself.

The second reason, though…that one is a little more complicated. If Natasha knew, then suddenly, Natasha would know. And with that knowledge, every sparring session, every moment where Wanda’s chest heaved beneath the weight of Natasha’s body pinning her down would take on an entirely different meaning to the widow. No longer would she just see exertion, no longer would it just be an effect of training. And Wanda can’t have that.

Luckily for Wanda, everyone seems to think she’s involved with Vision. It’s not true, of course, but she doesn’t bother fully correcting them, she neither confirms nor denies them. She spends a lot of time with him, not because there’s anything romantic between them, but because he’s a source of comfort in a place that often feels too big and too empty. He’s not human, but he’s more than just a machine, even if Natasha jokingly calls him a "toaster," (Wanda can’t help but crease with laughter every single time).

Vision listens to her in a way no one else does. He asks her how she’s feeling, genuinely wants to know what’s on her mind, even discusses things that have nothing to do with the Avengers or their missions. He doesn’t rush her, doesn’t pressure her to speak when she’s not ready. When the weight of everything gets too much, he’s the one who offers her a quiet hug, his arms steady and warm in a way that feels safe.

Wanda can see why people would think there’s something more between them. It’s easy to mistake the closeness, the time they spend together. But she’s never tried to shut down the rumours. It’s simpler this way…let them believe it, let them see what they want to see.

By the time evening rolls around, Wanda’s favourite part of the day has arrived. The quiet of the compound transforms into the low hum of voices, and for a few precious hours, she feels like she’s part of something, like she belongs. Dinner is always when the team gathers, the chatter filling the air, and for the briefest moment, she forgets the weight of the silence that usually follows her around.

Wanda started cooking for the team about a month in, after realising that they survived mostly on takeout. She couldn’t sit back and watch any longer. She wasn’t going to let her skills go to waste, especially when she knew the food she made could bring something different to the table.

But when the meal is over, when the laughter fades, and the hum of conversation dies down, everyone goes their separate ways. Even Vision leaves to work with Tony in his lab. Slowly, the room empties until she’s the only one left, the only one still sitting at the table, feeling the weight of silence press in.

She tells herself she doesn’t mind. She’s gotten used to it. The quiet, the stillness, the space where once there was chatter, warmth, and comfort. It’s a routine now. She’s fine. Really.

That’s why it was so damn shocking when, after months of her routine staying exactly the same, she was called to the meeting room by FRIDAY. Her heart leapt into her throat as soon as she heard the request, and a cold sweat began to bead at the back of her neck. The first thought that spiralled through her mind was simple, yet terrifying: They’re getting rid of me.

Her pace was fast, and she could feel the tension in her chest tighten with each step she took. Her hands instinctively clenched at her sides, trying to keep her nerves in check. She tried to calm herself, but the fear gnawed at her.

When she stepped into the meeting room, though, the confusion hit her like a punch to the gut. Director Fury, Maria Hill, and Natasha were already there, waiting. Wanda’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it.

What is going on? Why is Natasha here? What could this be about? She had no answers, just a thousand questions flooding her brain.

Fury gestured to the seat across from Natasha. "Please sit, Maximoff," he said, his authoritative voice smooth but carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.

Wanda nodded quickly, her heart pounding in her throat, and made her way to the seat. As she lowered herself onto the chair, her gaze inadvertently met Natasha’s, and she gave a nervous, tight smile. But Natasha’s response was a smirk, like she knew exactly what this was about, like they were already one step ahead of her.

“What’s going on?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady, but her nerves made her sound smaller than she’d hoped.

Fury spoke again, his eyes never leaving her. “I need you for a mission.”

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. Shock hit her so hard it felt like the air left her lungs entirely. A mission? Me? Her hands twisted nervously on the table, her fingers twitching as if trying to find something to grip, something solid. She had barely been training for a few months, and her powers still felt like they were slipping through her fingers half the time. She didn’t trust them, didn’t trust herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stumbled out. “W...what? Me? No I—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Natasha cut in, her voice soft but reassuring as she reached across the table. Her hand gently covered Wanda’s, stilling the nervous fidgeting of her fingers. The warmth of Natasha’s touch grounded her for just a moment, and she dared to look up at her. Natasha’s smile was small, almost knowing. “You can do this,” Natasha said, her tone strangely gentle, her eyes steady. “Just hear them out.”

Wanda nodded quickly, swallowing her anxiety, but still felt the uncertainty cling to her like a second skin. She turned back to Fury and Maria, who were both watching her with expectant eyes.

Fury continued, his voice unwavering. “We need you to go undercover. Now, I know you haven’t been training long, but this isn’t a combat mission. It’s an intel mission.”

Wanda’s eyes went wide, her mouth hanging slightly open. The shock had her frozen, still trying to process the words. The thought of doing anything that involved her out in the field made her stomach churn. She was still so new to all of this. She had barely scraped the surface of what it meant to be an Avenger, let alone take on an undercover mission. She opened her mouth again, but no sound came out.

Maria, noticing Wanda’s silence, continued in Fury’s place, her voice firm but kind. “We’ve been tracking a few HYDRA agents. They’re known for their involvement in the arms-dealing ring. Recently, they booked a stay at a high-profile luxury villa. It could be nothing, maybe they’re just on holiday. But we suspect it’s a front for something else.” She leaned forward slightly. “It’s your job to get into their room and extract any data they have. We need to know what they are doing, when and why.”

Wanda sat there, her mind blank. Her body stiffened, her heart hammering in her chest. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The fear gnawed at her. This wasn’t just some undercover mission to steal a few papers or gather some information. This was about HYDRA. The people who had controlled her once. People who still haunted her nightmares. The idea of putting herself in the middle of that terrified her.

She could barely get the words out, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Natasha’s hand, still resting on hers, gave a slight squeeze. Wanda looked up at her, but Natasha didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. There was understanding in her eyes, and something else too, something like quiet confidence.

Maria’s voice brought Wanda back to the present, though the weight of the conversation was still pressing heavily on her chest. “Look, Wanda. We know this is a lot. We need someone who can get close without raising suspicion. You’ve been training, and you’ve got the skills to do this.”

Her stomach twisted, and her heartbeat quickened as she fought to steady her breath. Her eyes flickered to Natasha, who was sitting so effortlessly across the table, cool, collected, confident…everything Wanda was not. Natasha’s gaze met hers, unreadable but steady. Wanda swallowed hard. She felt small in comparison, like she was standing at the edge of a cliff and didn’t know how to climb down.

“Why can’t Natasha do it?” she blurted out, her voice trembling before she could stop herself. “She’s the best for this. She’s... experienced. She’s—”

Fury cut her off, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Natasha is doing it,” he said with finality, his voice as steady as ever. “You’ll be going with her. As a newly engaged couple, for cover.”

Wanda felt the air leave her lungs in a rush. Her chest tightened, and the room felt like it was closing in around her. She almost couldn’t breathe, her mind reeling with the shock of it all. The thought of having to pretend to be Natasha’s fiancée sent a rush of panic through her. The idea of getting that close to Natasha, of acting like they were something they weren’t, it was suffocating.

"Why... uh, doesn't Clint, Tony, Steve, or anyone else, really do it with her?" she asked, her voice higher than she wanted it to be, the words tumbling out too quickly. "They have way more experience than I do."

Maria rolled her eyes at Wanda’s questioning, clearly losing patience. “Because it’s a gay resort, Wanda,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The cover only works with you. You’re the one who fits.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath Wanda’s feet as Maria’s words sank in. Wanda had never felt more out of her depth in her entire life. “What if I can’t do this?” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking as the weight of the situation hit her full force. “What if I mess it up? I…I’m not ready. I can’t.

Natasha’s expression softened, but there was no pity in it, only quiet confidence. Natasha’s eyes met hers, and Wanda could see the silent understanding in them. Natasha knew how hard this was for Wanda, how out of her depth she felt. But there was no doubt in Natasha’s gaze, she was ready. Natasha believed in her.

“You can do this,” Natasha said softly, her voice steady and full of assurance. “Just follow my lead. We’ll be fine.”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The fear was choking her, suffocating her, and for a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. Her mind was racing, spinning in a million different directions, but none of them made sense.

She wasn’t ready for this mission but she knew she had no choice. Taking a shaky breath, Wanda finally nodded, her throat tight. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she whispered, though the words felt foreign on her tongue. She could barely get them out. “I’ll try. I’ll—” Her voice faltered, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

For all her doubts, for all her insecurities, the mission was real. There was no backing out now. She couldn’t let the fear swallow her whole, no matter how badly she wanted to retreat to a safer place. This was her chance to start doing good, and she was definitely going to take it.

------

Three days later, Wanda and Natasha found themselves at the entrance of a luxury resort, stepping out of the sleek black car that had been arranged for them. The moment they stood in front of the grand doors, Wanda felt the weight of their cover press against her, every step feeling heavier than the last.

Their outfits screamed expensive, carefully selected, flawlessly put together and their luggage was no different. Bespoke suitcases, gleaming and pristine, made them look like two wealthy tourists with no care in the world. To top it all off, the oversised engagement rings on their fingers caught the sunlight, drawing attention with every movement.

Natasha walked ahead, confident and poised, her posture perfect as she approached the check-in desk. Wanda followed closely behind, trying to match her step, though she felt like a clumsy shadow beside the seasoned widow.

As Natasha stepped up to the counter, she reached for Wanda’s hand, intertwining their fingers with a practised ease. Wanda’s pulse skipped as Natasha’s touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. Natasha was in full control, her smile wide, her voice smooth as she slipped into her persona.

“Room for Jones?” Natasha said, her tone warm and inviting, a hint of playfulness in her words. She was already playing the role, perfectly.

The woman behind the counter looked up with an immediate smile. “Ah, our newly engaged couple! Welcome to you both,” she said, beaming at them with a sincerity that made Wanda’s stomach twist.

Natasha returned the smile, her eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous charm. She pulled Wanda’s hand toward her, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. Wanda’s heart raced, the kiss lingering far too long, and it took everything in her to stay calm. She could feel the warmth of Natasha’s lips against her skin, the gentle pressure that had her pulse skipping erratically.

“Thank you so much,” Natasha said brightly, turning her gaze to Wanda, her smile widening. “Kate and I are so excited to be here! The reviews and photos of this place look amazing.” Natasha’s words flowed so naturally, the excitement in her tone convincing enough to make anyone believe this was just another vacation for a happy couple.

“I know I’m biased,” the woman behind the counter continued, her smile broadening even further, “but this place is great. You two will have a lovely time. Your room is 412, fourth floor.”

“Thanks!” Natasha said, her voice smooth and casual, never faltering, as though she had done this a hundred times. Wanda’s gaze flicked over to her, but Natasha was already looking back at the attendant, nodding gratefully.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but all she could manage was a smile. She felt utterly paralysed by the weight of it all, the fake ring, the fake smiles, the fake love she was supposed to be selling to the world.

A porter stepped forward to take their luggage, interrupting Wanda’s spiralling thoughts. Natasha led the way toward the customer elevator, pulling Wanda along with her, still holding her hand firmly.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and Natasha stepped inside without hesitation. Wanda hesitated for a moment, taking in the sprawling lobby around them, the high-end furnishings, the wealthy guests milling about, the buzz of luxury and relaxation that seemed so foreign to her. She stepped in, the doors closing behind them.

“So… Kate,” Natasha said with a teasing smirk, leaning against the elevator wall, her eyes scanning Wanda. “What do you think about this place?”

Wanda chuckled softly, a little breathless. “Well, Natalia,” Wanda replied with a playful grin, trying to mask her discomfort, “it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, the smile on her lips growing more amused. “Really?” she asked, her tone light but with that underlying edge of amusement that Wanda couldn’t help but notice.

“Yeah, didn't get much time for luxurious holidays while I was at HYDRA,” Wanda whispered, her voice cracking slightly, though she pushed through it. “Everything’s so… perfect here.” She glanced at Natasha, the words laced with more than just observation. Every time Natasha looked at her with that easy confidence, she was reminded just how far out of her depth she was. How unprepared she felt for this, pretending to be Natasha’s partner, in public, in a place like this.

Their names and personas had been meticulously chosen to ensure they fit the cover. Natasha had become Natalia Jones, a US national, energetic, a fitness enthusiast, and a lawyer, an easy character for her to slip into, almost second nature. Wanda, on the other hand, was Katarina “Kate” Novák, a book reviewer from Slovakia. Close enough to Sokovia for the accent to make sense, but far enough removed to avoid suspicion.

Natasha stepped closer, her gaze lingering on Wanda for a moment longer than was necessary. The flicker of something unspoken passed between them, but Wanda couldn’t place it. Seemingly without warning, the elevator dinged softly as they reached their floor, and Natasha stepped out first, glancing over her shoulder with that quiet expectation in her eyes.

She held her hand out to Wanda, a simple gesture that made Wanda’s heart stutter in her chest. For a split second, she forgot everything, forgot the mission, forgot her nerves, and everything that was at stake. All she could focus on was the warmth of Natasha’s fingers, so close, so easy.

This is just an act, she reminded herself, forcing her fingers to straighten, to reach out, to accept. Natasha wasn’t offering her hand because she wanted her to take it. She was doing it because it was part of the cover, to sell the illusion that they were a couple. Nothing more.

Her heart was still racing, and she tried to force a smile, masking the nerves that threatened to spill over. "Right," she murmured under her breath, making sure nothing seemed off. She needed to act like she belonged in this world, like she belonged with Natasha.

They made their way into the suite, and Wanda stopped just inside the door, taking it all in. It was huge, bigger than anything she’d ever seen, bigger than the rooms in the compound, even. The bed was massive, easily the size of a small kingdom, and the suite was filled with plush sofas, flat-screen TVs, and a walk-in wardrobe that seemed to stretch on forever.

And then it hit her. Her stomach lurched. There was only one bed. Of course there was. They were supposed to be engaged, pretending to be in love. She could feel her pulse quicken as she stared at the bed.

As Natasha casually threw herself onto the side of the bed closest to the door, Wanda froze. Before Wanda could even react, Natasha spoke, her voice casual. "I assume it’s okay for me to take this side, right? I just like being close to the door.”

Wanda blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. “Oh... uh, yeah, you can have the bed?” She phrased it as a question, her voice uncertain, unsure. She wanted to add something, to make it clear that she didn’t mind sleeping on the couch hell, she’d sleep on the floor if she had to, but the words wouldn’t come.

Natasha chuckled, leaning back against the pillows as if the entire situation were no big deal. "You can stay with me. This bed is huge, and it’s so comfy.” before her voice dropped into that familiar teasing tone. “And I promise I won’t bite,” she said with a smirk, “… unless you want me to.”

Wanda’s heart leapt into her throat, hammering against her ribcage so violently that she was sure Natasha could hear it. She felt her face flush, her breath catching in her chest. The silence hung heavy between them, and Wanda stood there, frozen, unable to form a single word. She couldn’t look away from Natasha’s relaxed form on the bed, from the casual way she sprawled out, as if this were just another day, another mission. To Natasha, it is.

Natasha’s voice broke through her thoughts again. "Oh, come on, Maximoff. You’re not sleeping on the sofa. Come here, before I make you.”

Wanda felt a strange kind of relief, but it was mixed with panic. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed her things, walking slowly over to the other side of the bed. “Thank you…” Wanda said quietly, her voice soft, almost lost in the air between them.

“No problem,” Natasha said, her smile was soft, almost unreadable, before she stood up and made her way toward the bathroom. "I’ll be quick," she said casually, her voice smooth as she disappeared behind the door. Wanda nodded, even though Natasha couldn’t see her, and forced herself to focus on unpacking some of her things.

It was already late, and the fatigue from the long journey was starting to settle in, making her feel heavy-limbed and disconnected from her thoughts. As Natasha showered, Wanda forced herself to take slow, measured breaths. I can do this, Wanda told herself. I can sleep in the same bed, be normal. Friends share beds. it. Is. fine.”

She thought she had her panic under wraps, until the bathroom door opened again, and Natasha walked out. Wanda’s breath hitched in her throat as she tried not to react. Natasha emerged wearing a small pair of pyjama shorts and a loose, baggy top, her damp hair still clinging to the sides of her face as she absently dried it with a towel. It wasn’t the kind of outfit Natasha usually wore, there were no tight black clothes, no leather, no sleek, dangerous allure. Instead, it was something... softer, something that felt so domestic, so real in a way that made Wanda’s heart stumble in her chest.

She’d seen Natasha in skin-tight clothes a hundred times, but this... this was different. And the sight of her, looking so effortlessly relaxed, so human, made Wanda’s mouth dry. Her thoughts scattered, and a heat flooded her body, quickly moving from her cheeks all the way down to her core.

Wanda’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. Get yourself together, Maximoff. Wanda bit down on her lip, forcing herself to look away, to focus on anything else. You do not like her like that. You don’t. It is just the room…the dim lighting, the lingering warmth of the shower still clinging to the air. It is the mission, the forced intimacy, the way we have to play pretend. That’s all it is.

It isn’t Natasha. It isn’t the way she moves, effortlessly graceful even in something as simple as drying her hair. It isn’t the way water is trickling down her throat, catching the hollow of her collarbone before disappearing beneath the oversized shirt. It isn’t the damp strands clinging to her skin, the scent of soap and something undeniably Natasha filling the air.

No, it isn't any of that....Except….fuck….It is.

She couldn’t even lie to herself anymore. It took one day, one day with Natasha and she had already thrown out her excuses, one day, and she knew she was absolutely fucked. This was a crush and she was going to go down with it.

Natasha slipped into the bed, the soft rustle of the sheets breaking through Wanda’s thoughts. Wanda grabbed her things and rushed for the bathroom, barely keeping herself composed as she made her way towards the door. The second she was out of the room, she let out a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The door closed behind her, and she leaned against it for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, her pulse still racing.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not for Natasha’s proximity, not for this situation, not for the way her heart refused to listen to reason. Wanda shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away as she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower letting the hot water wash over her, desperate to clear the fog from her brain.

The shower did wonders for Wanda, washing away most of the tension and calming her nerves, though the heat still lingered under her skin. She managed to get herself out of the bathroom and into the bedroom without any further incidents. As she entered the room, she found Natasha lying on her side of the bed, her eyes focused on the screen of her phone. She seemed utterly at ease, scrolling through something without a care in the world.

She slipped under the covers quickly, keeping her eyes trained on the bed as she turned away from Natasha and faced the wall. Wanda had hated the quiet of the compound, and she had to be honest, the gentle rhythm of Natasha’s breathing, the soft rustle of the sheets as she moved, it was oddly comforting. It made the stillness less suffocating.

It reminded her of the nights she’d spent with Pietro, just the two of them, sharing the space without words, with the quiet comfort of simply being together. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the ache that spread through her chest at the memory. This felt like being home, it felt like she had someone again. This was dangerous.

Just as she began to drift off, her exhaustion pulling her under, Natasha shifted in the bed, settling fully. Despite the enormous size of the bed, Wanda could feel Natasha’s presence like a weight on her back, almost like she was pressing against her. She felt a flutter in her chest as Natasha’s breath brushed against her skin, sending goosebumps racing down her arms. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore it, but her heart wouldn’t settle.

“Do you think your boyfriend will be mad that you’re sharing a bed with me?” Natasha’s voice was teasing, light, but Wanda’s heart skipped a beat.

She groaned quietly, already halfway to sleep as she turned over to look at Natasha. “I do not have a boyfriend, Natasha,” she muttered, but the words were out before she could think. The moment she said it, her mind screamed at her to shut up. She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive. And she hadn’t meant to forget that she wanted Natasaha to think that they were together, or to at least suspect it.

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound sending another jolt through Wanda’s already frayed nerves. She could practically feel Natasha studying her, her sharp eyes reading between the lines. “No?” Natasha replied, voice still light but with a knowing edge. “What about the toaster?”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless chuckle that she always had whenever Natasha called Vision that. Wanda shook her head, trying to brush off the sudden rush of heat. “He is not a toaster, Natasha,” she said, her words faltering slightly. “He’s basically a man,” she added, deflecting from whether she was his girlfriend or not.

Natasha smirked, clearly not letting the conversation go. “A man, hm?” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Seems like you’re a little defensive of your boyfriend.”

Wanda wondered why Natasha wasn't letting it go, did she know something? Nonetheless, she rolled her eyes, trying to play it off, but she could feel the blush creeping up her neck. “You are my fiancée, so I can’t have a boyfriend,” she said, once again trying to deflect.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You’re very good at deflecting, Maximoff,” she said with a playful tone that Wanda couldn’t quite decipher.

Wanda didn’t know how to respond to that. Natasha’s gaze met hers, soft yet knowing, and Wanda’s heart fluttered again, against her better judgment. The tension in the room felt thick, and Wanda wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to do this. There was no chance she could fool a spy who read people for a living, not when stuck so close. She just wanted to sleep and stop making a fool of herself, so she closed her eyes, cutting off the conversation before she could say something else she would regret.

“Goodnight, Katarina,” Natasha said teasingly before she turned over to face the opposite way.

Wanda’s heart skipped again. “Goodnight, Natalia,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

-----

As usual, Wanda woke up before 4 AM, despite only having fallen asleep around 11. She lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, her mind buzzing with thoughts. She listened to Natasha’s steady, soft breathing beside her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest that somehow made the silence of the room feel less oppressive. Wanda felt her mind slowly quieting, just listening to the rhythm of Natasha’s sleep.

For once, she found herself falling back to sleep, her body sinking into the bed like it belonged there. She slept deeper than she had in what felt like forever, and she didn’t wake again until 6 AM when Natasha stirred beside her.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, and she was met with the sight of Natasha already awake, green eyes trained on her. The gaze was steady, almost predatory, and Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “Good morning, fiancée,” Natasha said, her voice teasing, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “How are you?”

Wanda blinked, disoriented for a moment before answering. “Good,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep. “This is the latest I’ve slept in months. I feel rested,” she added, not mentioning the nightmares that usually plagued her nights, or the fact that the silence of the compound often made her feel like she was crawling out of her own skin. She didn’t need to mention it, especially not now, with Natasha beside her, her presence so steady and calm. “How did you sleep?”

Natasha stretched with a lazy smile, clearly more awake than Wanda. “Good,” she said, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. “Ready for breakfast though. I’m starving.”

Wanda smiled, glad for the distraction. “Me too,” she said, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. The first day of their mission was meant to be spent casually, lounging around the resort, waiting for the targets to arrive. It was the perfect opportunity to get close to them, to strike up a conversation and gather intel without raising any suspicion.

Wanda quickly got out of bed and grabbed a bikini from her bag. It was a pale blue colour, simple but flattering. She got ready in the bathroom but as she finished changing she realised she’d forgotten to bring in her sundress that she planned to use to cover her bikini, at least for now.

She sighed, shaking her head, then took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom, hoping to get to the dress as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention. But as she reached for it, she felt Natasha’s gaze land on her. The air seemed to shift. There was something in the way Natasha’s eyes darkened, something that made Wanda’s stomach flip. She could’ve sworn Natasha licked her lips, though the moment was gone in an instant, replaced by that teasing smirk Wanda had become all too familiar with. You are seeing things, Maximoff, she scolded herself.

“Wow,” Natasha said, her voice smooth and light, “Natalia is one lucky woman to have Kate on her arm.” She winked at Wanda as she made the remark, and Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. It made sense now though, Natasha was just getting in character.

Wanda quickly turned away, grabbing the dress with shaking hands and muttering under her breath, “Shut up. Natalia doesn’t need to flirt in the room where no one can hear us.”

Natasha chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “Can’t I compliment my fiancée?”

Wanda laughed, trying to keep the teasing mood light. “When you get one, sure,” she said, though the flutter in her chest made it harder to keep the sarcasm in her voice. Natasha was getting to her, and she hated how easily it was happening.

Wanda slipped into the sundress quickly, trying to ignore how her heart raced more than it should have as Natasha looked at her. But then Natasha, seemingly unaware of the chaos she was causing in Wanda's mind, slipped off her robe, revealing a stunning red bikini. Wanda’s breath hitched, and she felt as though she might choke on her own air.

Her gaze was drawn to Natasha’s every movement as she stood up, pulling a makeup bag from the side. Wanda couldn’t tear her eyes away, and she realised, far too late that she’d been staring. She quickly forced herself to look away, but it was too late. Natasha caught her, a knowing smirk spreading across her lips. “I’ll just be a minute,” Natasha said casually, as if the effect she had on Wanda was nothing out of the ordinary.

Wanda’s cheeks burned, but she tried to push the heat down, pretending like she hadn’t been caught. “What’s that for?” Wanda asked, glancing at the makeup in Natasha’s hand, desperate to change the subject.

Natasha pointed toward her stomach, where a darkened mark was visible just above her bikini line. It was shaped like a bullet wound, and Wanda felt a pang of sympathy before she could stop it. “Before makeup,” Natasha said, her voice almost too casual, “it was ‘bye-bye bikinis.’ But I’ve figured out how to cover the big ones now.”

There was a strange, almost imperceptible shift in Natasha’s expression as she spoke, something Wanda couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t anger, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something that felt almost like... hurt? Wanda’s heart squeezed at the thought.

“Well,” Wanda said quickly, trying to lift the mood, “I’m sure Kate appreciates that the bikinis made a comeback.” She smiled weakly, hoping the attempt at humour would lighten the atmosphere.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a teasing grin. “You are right. I think Kate can’t take her eyes off Natalia,” she said with a wink. It was clear from her tone, from the look in her eyes, that Natasha was well aware that Wanda had been staring.

Wanda’s face flushed, her heart skipping a beat as she stammered, “H...hurry up, I want breakfast.”

Natasha’s smirk softened just a little, and she nodded, not pressing any further. “Coming right up, honey,” she teased. Wanda tried to regain her composure, but the words still felt heavy in her chest.

As Natasha finished with the makeup, Wanda fought to steady her breath, trying to drown out the warmth that lingered from the teasing, from the closeness, from the undeniable attraction that Wanda couldn’t shake.

She had to focus. This was a mission. But with Natasha so close, pretending had never felt so impossible. Natasha had slipped into her own dress for breakfast, a sleek, understated choice that somehow managed to look effortlessly amazing. Wanda couldn’t help but glance at her again as they made their way down to the hotel restaurant, their hands of course intertwining as they walked together to keep up the act. The proximity of Natasha beside her, the warmth of her hand in hers, sent a familiar jolt through Wanda’s chest, but she tried to focus on the task ahead, forcing herself to keep her thoughts in check.

As they sat at their table, the waiter greeted them with a bright smile. “Good morning, ladies. What may I get started for you today?”

Natasha smiled warmly at the waiter before replying. “I’ll have a black coffee and an omelette, please,” she said confidently, her tone smooth and relaxed. She then turned to Wanda, her eyes softening as she placed her hand on top of Wanda’s. “What would you like, my love?”

Wanda felt her entire body short-circuit at the words, her heart thundering in her chest, her breath hitching in her throat. She tried to speak but no sound came out. Her mouth went dry, and she shook her head, unable to form a coherent response.

Natasha chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect she was having. “Forgive us,” she said to the waiter, her voice warm but laced with a hint of amusement. “She’s not a morning person.” Natasha turned back to Wanda, giving her a playful squeeze. “She’ll take a tea, some toast, and maybe some fruit too, please,” she added, her tone now soft and sweet, as if she were ordering for a beloved partner.

The waiter smiled at them both. “Coming right up!” he said cheerfully before walking off to place the order.

Wanda was still frozen in place, trying to regain her composure. When she finally managed to speak, it came out in a soft, slightly stunned whisper. “How did you know?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she leaned in just slightly, teasingly. “How did I know what?” Her voice was light and playful.

Wanda blinked, still trying to collect her thoughts. “What I have for breakfast?” she whispered so others could not hear, the question coming out almost incredulously.

Natasha tapped her nose, the playful glint in her eyes intensifying as she winked. “I know my fiancée very well,” she said with a teasing tone, clearly relishing in Wanda’s reaction.

Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. “You are impossible,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of frustration and affection, though she couldn’t deny how much she liked this side of Natasha, her confidence, her teasing, the way she made everything feel natural, easy.

Natasha’s smirk softened into something warmer, a quiet satisfaction in her gaze. “Not impossible. You are just predictable,” she teased, leaning back in her chair and giving Wanda a wink. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Wanda shook her head, still trying to shake off the feeling of warmth that had taken over her. The whole situation felt like too much, too real, too close and yet, there was a part of her that wanted to stay lost in this. In Natasha.

The waiter returned with their drinks and breakfast, and Wanda could only hope she would have the strength to keep herself under control throughout the day.

-----

They settled onto two sun loungers by the pool, the bright sun beating down on them, the sound of the water rippling gently beside them. Natasha was effortlessly playing the role of the doting girlfriend, her movements graceful and confident as she laid out a towel for Wanda, arranging it just right. She went so far as to fetch a cold drink for her, placing it carefully beside her, the ice clinking softly in the glass. Next to them, each sun bed was taken, couples were everywhere and it was crucial they blended in.

Wanda settled into the lounger, trying her best to ignore the soft fluttering of her heart as Natasha's eyes skimmed over her, taking her in. “God, I am lucky to have you, babe,” Natasha said, her tone genuine, as if it were completely real. She is so good at this.

Wanda’s cheeks warmed instantly, but she played it off with a grin, responding in kind. “Not as lucky as I am, darling.” Her words carried a softness in them that she couldn’t quite control.

They both lay down on their sunbeds, the warmth of the sun comforting. Natasha put on her sunglasses, scanning the area with practised ease. To anyone else, she would have looked like just another woman enjoying the resort, relaxed and casual. But Wanda knew better. Natasha’s eyes were constantly moving, assessing, looking for anyone out of place. Looking for their marks.

Wanda settled into her spot, trying to focus on the feel of the sun on her skin, but Natasha leaned closer to her, her body nearly brushing Wanda’s as she whispered softly in her ear, her breath warm and tantalising. “No sign, keep an eye out,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and intimate. Then Natasha kissed her cheek to sell the illusion, the soft press of her lips sending a wave of heat through Wanda’s body.

Wanda physically shuddered, and it didn’t escape Natasha’s notice. The corner of her lips curled into a smirk, but she didn’t comment on it. She pulled away, sitting back and applying sun cream to her arms. Wanda mirrored her actions, though it took a lot more effort to stay calm, to pretend that this was just a normal day at the resort.

It was fine, at least until Natasha turned to her, the playful glint in her eyes never leaving. “Let me get your back?” she asked, her tone light but with an edge of affection. It was a simple request, one that most couples would share without a second thought.

Wanda froze. She had to do it. She had no choice. Couples do this, we need to do this.

Wanda nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as she mumbled, “Thank you.” She turned and laid flat on her front, trying to push away the rising panic in her chest.

Natasha climbed onto her with the fluid ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, sitting with casual confidence on the swell of Wanda’s ass. The shift in position was entirely unnecessary, it felt too intimate, too close when Natasha could have just rubbed the cream in from the sunbed next to her. Natasha began rubbing sun cream on her back, her hands smooth and firm as they moved across Wanda’s skin, leaving trails of cool lotion behind.

Wanda could feel the heat pooling in her body. Her mind scrambled for control, but it was useless. The weight of Natasha on her, the warmth of her hands, the simple but intimate nature of the act sent a rush of heat straight to her core. Every movement of Natasha’s hands, every shift of her weight, made Wanda’s heart race, and she couldn’t stop the way her body reacted, betraying her.

When Natasha finished, she didn’t move right away. Instead, she leaned down, her lips grazing Wanda’s spine as she planted soft, lingering kisses down her back. Each press of her lips sent a tremor through Wanda, and she let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding. Natasha’s lips were soft, but the feeling was anything but innocent. This is an act, this is an act, this is an act, she repeated in her mind, hoping to quell the thoughts and feelings.

“Thank you, Natalia,” Wanda whispered, almost a plea, trying to dismiss the widow and get her to stop torturing her.

Natasha pulled away, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Kate,” she said with a teasing smirk. “My turn.”

With a sigh, she climbed onto Natasha just as Natasha had for her, her hands shaking slightly as she worked the sun cream into Natasha’s skin. But unlike Natasha, she didn’t linger. She didn’t want to. She focused only on the task at hand, her movements quick and efficient, anything to avoid the closeness, the tension between them. When she was done, she didn’t wait for Natasha to react. She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, trying to make it look more intimate than it actually was. As she pulled away, she quickly retreated, heart still racing in her chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. But it did. And Wanda couldn’t escape it.

The day had settled into a familiar rhythm. Wanda had her book in hand, lost in the pages, while Natasha soaked up the sun, her relaxed posture looking like she belonged in this world of luxury and ease. Their mission hung in the background, but it was a quiet tension, the waiting. They both kept an eye out for their marks, though nothing much had happened for most of the day. Time seemed to stretch on.

Wanda adjusted in her lounger, flipping a page of her book, but the words had long since stopped registering. Her eyes kept drifting over the pool, catching the way the sunlight reflected off the water’s surface, distorting the blues and golds into something almost hypnotic.

The distant hum of conversation mixed with the soft rustling of palm trees in the breeze, but none of it could settle the anxious energy thrumming beneath her skin. She was too aware of everything, of the mission, of the weight of the engagement ring on her finger, of the fact that Natasha was lying beside her, looking impossibly relaxed, as if this entire situation didn’t affect her in the slightest.

Wanda exhaled quietly, willing herself to focus on the book in her lap, but her gaze wandered again. It was then that she saw the two women at the bar. One blonde, her hair styled neatly, her frame petite but with a confidence that made her seem larger than she was. The other was taller, dark-haired, striking in a way that immediately commanded attention. The way they carried themselves, the effortless ease of their presence, sent a jolt through Wanda’s system. She hesitated, carefully studying them, but it didn’t take long for her instincts to confirm what her brain already knew. This was them.

She turned her head slightly, leaning toward Natasha, keeping her movements natural, careful not to make it obvious. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Natasha caught it instantly. “At the bar.”

Wanda watched the shift happen in real-time. One second, Natasha was lounging as if she had no care in the world, and then, in the next breath, she was all precision, her body still but alert, her muscles coiled beneath her skin like she was ready to pounce. Her head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable as she took in Wanda’s words, before she nodded once and sat up, adjusting herself with a casual grace that made it seem like she was merely stretching in the sun.

Then, just as effortlessly, she softened again, slipping back into her role like it was a second skin. She reached out, the tips of her fingers brushing against Wanda’s wrist, the contact light but intentional. When she spoke, her voice was honeyed, “Shall we get a drink, my love?”

Wanda barely had time to compose herself before she nodded, pushing past the ridiculous way her heart reacted to something that should have been nothing. “Yeah, I’m really thirsty,” she murmured, forcing herself to sound casual despite the absolutely explicit images her mind conjured up to deal with said thirst.

She stood, shaking her head to rid the images from her mind, extending a hand towards Natasha to help her up, an instinct more than anything else, a simple, natural gesture. But Natasha didn’t just take it, she held it, wrapping her fingers around Wanda’s. She used it to guide Wanda forward, pulling her closer than necessary, their bodies barely an inch apart before Natasha finally stepped ahead, leading them both toward the bar. Wanda’s skin burned under the weight of Natasha’s grip, her mind screaming at her to get a hold of herself, but it was impossible when everything felt like too much.

By the time they reached the bar, the two women were engrossed in their own conversation, unaware of their presence, and Natasha ordered herself and Wanda a drink with a confident ease, as if their marks were not stood right there. And then, before she could even register what was happening, Natasha moved. It was subtle at first, just the faintest brush of fingers against her side, light, teasing, barely there. But then Natasha pressed in just enough to tickle, and Wanda’s body jolted before she could stop it.

“Ahh! Nat, stop! Stop!” Wanda squealed, twisting away from the touch, half-laughing, half-panicked as she swatted at Natasha’s hand. She could already feel the heat rushing to her face, the mortifying realisation that her reaction had been exactly what Natasha wanted. “Natalia!” she growled, trying to sound stern, but the amusement in Natasha’s eyes only deepened.

Natasha didn’t let her pull away. Instead, with a fluid motion that was too smooth, she yanked Wanda back against her. The movement stole the breath from Wanda’s lungs, and before she could process what was happening, Natasha leaned in, her lips pressing softly against the side of Wanda’s neck.

Wanda’s entire body froze, every nerve suddenly alert, her skin burning where Natasha’s lips had just been. Her breath stuttered, her chest tight, and she knew this was all for show, that Natasha was just playing a part, making them look natural, drawing attention to them in a way that would make it easier to strike up a conversation with the marks.

But knowing didn’t change the way her pulse jumped at the warmth of Natasha’s breath against her skin, didn’t stop the rush of heat flooding through her, didn’t stop the way her stomach clenched at the sound of Natasha’s voice. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” Natasha purred, her lips still impossibly close, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re just too easy.”

Wanda’s body betrayed her once again, shivering under Natasha’s touch. The laughter of the two women at the bar broke through her daze, and suddenly, Wanda remembered where they were, why they were here. She forced herself to regain control, to focus. The mission. Their targets. Not Natasha’s lips on your skin, not her voice in your ear.

The blonde grinned at them, her eyes warm. "You two are so cute. Ah, to be young and in love," she sighed dreamily.

The brunette snorted, shaking her head. "Excuse me, I’m still young and in love," she teased, pressing a soft kiss to the blonde’s cheek.

The blonde laughed. "Darling, we’re in our forties. That is not young." She turned back to Wanda and Natasha with an amused smile. "Look at these two! Babies! Especially this cutie." She pointed at Wanda, her eyes raking over her in her bikini, lingering slightly too long on her breasts.

Wanda flushed, trying desperately not to let it show just how much her body was still reeling from Natasha’s touch. But Natasha wasn’t helping. Instead of brushing it off, instead of allowing Wanda a second to compose herself, Natasha only pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s waist and pressing their bodies together.

"She is very cute," Natasha said, her voice light, teasing, but there was something else there. Something Wanda couldn’t name. "And very mine."

The words sent a full-body shudder through Wanda before she could stop it. A small, breathless sound, barely more than a whimper escaped before she could swallow it down. It was quiet, barely noticeable, but Natasha heard it. She felt the way Wanda tensed, the way her breath hitched.

And Wanda knew, in that moment, that Natasha had caught her reaction. Wanda barely managed to recover. She reached for her drink in a desperate attempt to ground herself. "I am all yours, my love," she murmured, though the words felt heavier than she intended.

The brunette smiled, clearly enjoying the interaction. "We haven’t seen you two around before," she said. "When did you get here?"

Natasha responded, her tone light and full of warmth. "Oh, late last night. It’s our first day here. We’re so excited!" She turned to Wanda with a soft, loving look. "We just got engaged and thought, why not, you know?" she said, her eyes holding Wanda’s for just a second too long. Wanda couldn’t help but smile back, the affection in Natasha’s eyes pulling her deeper into the moment.

The brunette raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Oh, you have to join us tonight for drinks to celebrate!"

Wanda glanced at Natasha, waiting for her response, and Natasha nodded smoothly. "That would be lovely, if you don’t mind, of course!" she added with a warm smile.

The blonde spoke up again, clearly delighted by their acceptance. "Nonsense! You two seem fun, even if your fiancée is a little quiet," she joked, laughing lightly.

Wanda blinked at the comment before responding. "Well, you see, Natalia speaks so much I don’t tend to need to," she said, rolling her eyes for good measure.

"Behave, Novák," Natasha growled softly in her ear, her lips brushing against Wanda’s skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "Or you won’t be the future Mrs Jones," she added with a playful nip on Wanda’s ear.

Both women at the bar laughed at the interaction, but Wanda felt her heart race in her chest, the pounding thrum of it echoing in her ears. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this act up, not with Natasha so close, teasing her, kissing her, making her feel things that were far too real, far too intimate for comfort. This is a fucking nightmare.

Before she got the chance to process further, the brunette smiled at them, introducing herself. "Oh, by the way, I’m Johanna, and this is my wife, Zoey."

Natasha smiled back, all charm and confidence, and introduced herself and Wanda in turn. "I’m Natalia, and this is Katarina."

"It’s lovely to meet you both," Johanna said, flashing a warm smile. "We’re going back to our room to change and get ready for dinner and drinks tonight. We’ll see you later!"

Wanda smiled back, trying to shake off the heat she could feel crawling up her neck. "See you later," she managed, her voice far too strained. Natasha nodded, her expression smooth.

As soon as the women turned away and began walking toward the elevator, Wanda immediately pulled herself away, her breath shallow as she downed her drink in one go, not caring about the burn of the alcohol. Natasha noticed, her gaze softening with concern. "What’s up?" she asked, her voice quieter now, an edge of worry creeping into her tone as she observed Wanda’s behaviour.

Wanda quickly plastered on a smile, "Nothing," she said, trying to sound unaffected. Then she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping low. "We should follow, yes?"

Natasha blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. It didn’t take long for Wanda to realise that Natasha hadn’t thought of it herself. Natasha cleared her throat almost awkwardly, as if she’d been in her own world, not entirely present. "Yeah... yeah, we should," she agreed, her voice a little flat as if the idea had only just come to her.

Wanda's stomach churned, why didn't Natasha think of this? She is the professional here but she nodded anyway, a quiet unease growing inside her. They moved quickly but carefully, hanging back in the lobby as they kept their eyes on the two women. The elevator doors closed, and the women disappeared from view.

They saw the elevator was headed to the fourth floor. “They are staying on our floor. Let’s go,” Natasha commented. Wanda felt a twinge of anxiety, but Natasha's grip on her hand was firm, almost possessive as they quickly made their way to the stairs.

When they reached the fourth floor, they slowed their pace, listening for any sound that might give away the women’s whereabouts. Natasha peeked around the corner, her movements calculated, like a predator watching her prey. Wanda felt a shiver run down her spine at the way Natasha’s posture shifted, all business.

Natasha’s head turned toward Wanda as she whispered, "They are two doors down from us."

Wanda nodded, heart pounding again. She felt the familiar flutter of nerves, but she pushed it down. This was their mission. This was what they were here for. Still, the heat in her chest didn’t fade, and her thoughts continued to spin.

"Let’s go to our room," Natasha said, her voice quieter now, more controlled. She pulled Wanda along once again, guiding her with that firm grip. When they got to their room, Natasha’s hand was still holding hers, though her grip had loosened slightly. It felt almost... intimate. They stepped into their room, the door clicking softly shut behind them, and Wanda let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, it came out as a large sigh.

"Wands, please. What’s wrong?" Natasha’s voice was quieter now, softer. She hadn’t let go of Wanda’s hand, her thumb absently grazing over her knuckles, a touch so small yet so utterly overwhelming that Wanda thought she might actually combust.

Wanda forced herself to look away, anywhere but into Natasha’s impossibly green eyes, because she knew if she met them for too long, she’d lose herself entirely. She swallowed hard before finally pulling her hand free, the loss of warmth immediate and almost painful.

"Oh, nothing," she lied, her voice steady enough to be convincing, even as her pulse raced. "Just nervous, I guess."

Nervous. That was the understatement of the century. Nervous didn’t cover the way her body felt like it was on fire, the way her skin still tingled from Natasha’s touch, the way she ached actually ached, for something she couldn’t have. She wanted to hold Natasha, to kiss her, but to actually do those things as Wanda, and not Kate.

Natasha studied her for a beat too long, her expression unreadable, though there was something in her gaze that made Wanda feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she liked. Wanda held her breath, waiting, heart hammering.

And then, Natasha sighed, her face dropping slightly clearly realising she wouldn't be getting the answer she wanted. "Well, you’re doing great," she said easily, as if that was all that needed to be said. "Tonight will be fine. We are just hanging out, and hopefully finding out their schedule for tomorrow so we can find a way to sneak into their room.” Natasha moved closer, her eyes showing nothing but warmth, “You’ve got this, Little Witch."

Wanda barely managed a nod, mumbling a quiet, "Okay, thanks," before turning sharply on her heel and heading straight for the bathroom.

She needed to get out of this conversation. She needed out of this mission. And more than anything, she needed to get out of her own damn head, because she could not keep wanting Natasha Romanoff.

-----

Part 2

Part 2 summary: The mission is in full swing, and Wanda is doing everything she can to resist Natasha’s charm. After all, it’s just an act… right?

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b-blushes · 5 months ago

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background: original photo. text: chopped up and rearranged sticker by @mildmayfoxe . border: found images. this collage was about making a pond, disability grief, and thinking too much while doing too little. but it's also about a lot more

#this collage went through sooooooo many iterations in my head #as soon as i got this sticker in patreon mail i immediately thought of making a remixed 'poem' with it and this was the second version #only slightly edited from the first #i had that down for MONTHS before i could find the right ideas for the background and i ordered vintage magazines specially for one #iteration of it and then they didn't even have the type of image i wanted! which i could have figured out had i thought about it hahahaha #in the end my trusty supermarket magazines came through #and my parents' old copies of rspb magazine

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unintentionalseductress · 5 months ago

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Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no.

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.” Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne.

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you.

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder.

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.”

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.”

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.”

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself.

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you.

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence.

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session.

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy.

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?”

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy.

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go.

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office.

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit.

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air.

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks.

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic.

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words.

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled.

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it.

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur.

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body.

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion.

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting.

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading.

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal.

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected.

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat.

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?”

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin.

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out.

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him.

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment.

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat.

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again.

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.”

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision.

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well.

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity.

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom.

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation.

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream.

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips.

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke.

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm.

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation.

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly.

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body.

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff.

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes.

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss.

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies.

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.”

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polarfarina · 10 months ago

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Zillow sends me emails and notifications for places it thinks I'd like to live and it keeps. Giving me. Links to apartments and houses that are not on the market anymore. Why does this happen almost daily

#ghostly posts #I am currently moving into a new place right now that I did find on Zillow #however I like the idea of this place not being my permanent home. I'm glad I was able to snag it when I did #it's such a new complex.#but I do kind of like shopping around for places to live longer term. and we have a month to month lease... so we could move out on a much #freer timescale than either of us have ever had before #obviously though that would be months down the road. we will be here for a while #but not forever! 👆

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wcnderlnds · 1 month ago

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bad idea right? | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: what happens in the squid game bathrooms, stays in the squid game bathrooms ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: 18+. smut. oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex. female reader. swearing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote smut in months so you'll have to forgive me if this is awful <3

It had started off like any normal day in the Squid Games. You’d woke up, got traumatised by the day’s game, cast your vote and then ate the meander meal they’d gave you – sandwich and a drink. Nothing out of the ordinary except today had been the day you had officially met Thanos. You had seen him around – his purple hair was hard to miss – but you’d never really spoke to him. In fact, most of the time, you kept to yourself but this game had meant that you had to pair up with people. There had been one moment where you were struggling to find a group when suddenly a flash of purple hair grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you into a room with him and a few other boys. From that moment on, he had stuck by your side during the game even kicking out one of his closer friends. Why he had latched on to you, you had no idea but you couldn’t have been more thankful. If it wasn’t for him, you’d surely have been eliminated by now.

The moment you’d got back to the main holding area, he pulled you into a giant hug. His arms engulfed your body, pressing you flush against him as he rambled about how glad he was that you were safe and how he wanted to be with you and not his friend.

Somehow that had led to where you were now — locked in a bathroom stall with your back pressed against the cool wall, the pants of your sweatsuit down your legs. You weren’t exactly sure how you’d even got into this predicament. Maybe it was the feel of Thanos’ body pressing against yours, maybe it was the attention from the most handsome guy in this place — you had no idea. All you knew was that Thanos was on his knees, his mouth between your thighs devouring you like a man possessed.

His tongue flattened, licking a long stripe up your folds. Your fingers tangled in his purple locks, tugging on them as his tongue swirled around your clit, flicking the sensitive bud. The moans falling from your lips were breathy as you tried to keep quiet. The last thing you needed was to get caught. Having sex in the bathroom was surely grounds for elimination.

“You’re fuckin’ dripping, baby,” Thanos mumbled against you as he lapped up your juices. “You taste so good, Senorita. Could do this all day.”

His tongue alternated between teasing your clit and licking along your folds before he dove the muscle into your tight hole. A gasp emanated from your lips, your fingers tugging on his hair even tighter as he fucked you with his tongue.

“Fuck, Thanos,” you panted. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna come.”

Suddenly, he pulled away from you, wiping your juices from his lips with the back of his hand. Damn, could this man get any hotter? He rose to his feet, hand sliding to the back of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he shoved his into your mouth, tangling with yours. Moaning into the kiss, Thanos used his free hand to pull his own sweatpants down just enough to free his aching cock.

“Jump,” he mumbled against your lips. Instantly, you obliged. His hands caught you as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His length brushed against your folds causing a shudder to run through your body. Was it just this place? Because you had never wanted someone so badly before in your life. Never had you felt so desperate. The lingering fear of death was probably a factor – making you crave as much intimacy as humanly possible. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget all about these games, senorita.”

Before you could even reply, he nudged the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing into you with one hard thrust. His hand flew up to cover your mouth, hiding the loud moan you’d let out at the feeling of him bottomed out inside you. He drew his hips back until he was almost all the way out then thrust back in, hard. He set a fast past, withdrawing his hand from your mouth so he could grab at your hips. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough he was sure to leave bruises but you didn’t care. The feeling of him pistoning in and out of you, the draw of his cock along your walls was enough for you to feel like you were in heaven. Nothing else really mattered in that moment.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight. Taking me like a champ,” he groaned, his eyes glancing down to watch his dick move in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom stall. His hands slid down your back to grab your ass, pulling your body into him as he fucked into you to take him deeper.

“Oh, right there, right there,” you whimpered as he hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars. Thanos smirked, covering your whimpers with his mouth as he picked up his pace. He made sure to angle his hips so he hit that sweet spot over and over again to the point you were a whimpering, moaning mess babbling nonsense about how good he felt inside you.

Your hands clawed at his back, head thrown back against the wall as he pounded into you with animalistic speed. He was like a man possessed, fucking you with an inch of your life to bring you both to ecstasy. One of his hands reached up into your hair, yanking your head back roughly. “Come for me, Senorita. Show me who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He could feel your walls clamping down around him, bringing his own climax closer. He redoubled his efforts, covering your mouth once again sensing how close you were. His body felt like it was on fire as he thrust his hips relentlessly against yours. His forehead rested against yours as his grunts came more frequently, trying his best to keep quiet himself. Then, he felt it, his balls tightening as he toyed on the edge of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck,” you cried out, though it was a mumbled against his hand. Your body shook as your orgasm crashed over you, hips bucking wildly against his. The feeling of you coming undone around his cock finally pushed him over the edge.

“Shit, I’m coming. Fuck,” he groaned, burying his head in your neck, his teeth biting down on your skin as he thrust into you one last time, hips stilling as he painted your insides with his release. After a few minutes, he finally caught his breath back, pulling out of you with a hiss. He tucked his softening length back into his pants, leaning back against the wall on the other side of the stall. His eyes watched you as you pulled your own clothes back on. Both of you knew this had to stay between you, if anyone found out they’d surely use it to get you eliminated from the games.

Your fingers ran through your hair trying to at least make yourself look presentable before you went back into the pits of hell. “Well…”

He held his hand up. “No worries, gorgeous. Maybe if you’re lucky, we can have a repeat of this after the next game.” He unlocked the door, his arm outstretched to let you out first. “That’s if you make it this time.”

#thanos x reader #choi su-bong x reader #choi seunghyun #squid game x reader #T.O.P #squid game #thanos #my fics

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burymagdalene · 30 days ago

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Covetous Cravings - S. Reid x Reader

Spencer finds himself sulking around in jealously for the first time after you regrettably tell him you have plans for the night. When surprising him with your presence later, Spencer realizes just how badly he missed you while he was away.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smuttttt...... (18+ pls pls) tags: Whiny & desperate Spencer, he's just very eager to please. virgin Spencer, munch!spencer, head (fem!receiving), coital takes place on Spencer's pretty Persian rug, jealous Spencer, fingering, heavy make out session, nipple play, handjob, panty sniffing, Spencer's POV! Dirty dirty dirty wc: 5.3k a/n: I've written "Spencer" so many times it doesn't sound like a name anymore. I saw this tweet and was inspired to write something related to the carpet picture. That's all. I don't even think of you that often.

Cold water washes over Spencer's tired eyes and rolls slowly down his wrists to the bottoms of his sleeves (that he rolled up to avoid getting them wet, annoyingly) as he frantically tries to wash away a strange sour feeling in his gut.

Upon looking into his mirror he gazes over the 5 o’clock shadow he’s garnered over the few days spent away in a small town in Delaware. He pulls in his lips and rubs over it with his finger tips. He doesn’t have the energy to shave it right now.

Spencer is currently harbouring a bit of a sourpuss persona, he knows this well. The team had wrapped up the case quicker than expected, leading him to message you as soon as he could about heading back to D.C. and seeing you again.

To his dismay, when he got off the plane and checked his crummy silver Nokia, that you’ve giggled at a fair share of times, the response he receives from you is… that you’re… busy?

Something about a group of friends at a late night cafe/bar getting together, he didn’t read all of it, pouting so much that he just closed his phone. Spencer is aware you had these plans before he asked to see you. Spencer is aware that he’s back from Delaware earlier than expected. Yet he’s still over his sink, face wet and cold, grumbling about your social life.

The two of you have been together for a couple months now, it’s extremely new, he knows you wouldn’t drop everything upon his arrival, but the whole plane ride home he imagined your ideas around hanging out once he got back. He got his hopes up too high.

He begins to reflect a bit, maybe a better word would be spiral, as he wanders back into his bedroom and unpacks his go bag. I shouldn’t be feeling lousy right now, he thinks. We’ve been dating for 2 months and 3 days, he had missed your two month anniversary while he was away. He couldn’t even text you that day because he was too busy. Should he even text about anniversaries like that? He’s so new to this he has no clue.

Considering your dating timeline now he starts to worry. He’s inexperienced, almost completely… no, yeah, actually completely. He sighs.

You have been over twice, by all the beautiful luck he might have fostered in a past life, he has had the spine-tingling honor to have made out with you those two times as well. After a handful of museum and bookstore dates, even visiting your apartment once, the first time you shared a kiss was when he was showing you Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge, attesting it was substantial to the gangster film genre.

When he felt your eyes against the side of his face during the best part of the film, he took a double take at you, seeing an unreadable expression in your eyes. He cringes at the memory of his confusion.

“Th-this part is really good… Pierre’s use of cinematic synecdoche here is perfectly timed compared to–”

You had leaned in closely and started kissing along his jaw as he fumbled through the rest of his explanation till he tapered off into a whimper that was sealed with a kiss planted on his lips. He even reached to the coffee table in front of him while you were kissing to pause the movie, not wanting you to miss anything.

Spencer groans a bit at the memory, a little embarrassed, he now would recognize the signs you were displaying easier. He’s jealous of his past self, having you to himself so unabashedly. He’s jealous of his past time spent with you and he’s jealous of your friends right now who are hearing your laugh and smelling your perfume all night.

He sighs and flops down on his back to his bed. Spencer does not feel jealous often. He feels completely rotten and out of sorts. He thinks, maybe if he would’ve kissed you more suavely that first time you would’ve dropped your plans now. Maybe if he translated the French into English for you in a more sultry voice you’d skip out on a coffee with your friends. Maybe–

Spencer hears a faint knocking on his front door. He looks over at his alarm clock, 12:12 a.m., hm. He’s hallucinating for sure. Like a lonely old man who hears his late wife’s voice in the dark of his haunted halls–

Another tentative knock.

He leaps up from his bed and races over to the front door with his legs moving so fast he feels like he’s in Looney Tunes. His heart starts pounding as he looks through his peephole to see a small blurry version of you shifting on your feet. He scrambles to unlock his door and swing it open.

“Hi!” You smile at him, smelling like strong coffee mixed with whatever lactonic and spicy fragrance you usually wear that curls his toes. You step forward and give him a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck. This springs him into action, wrapping his arms around your waist he mutters out a “wow” against your shoulder. Like he just won a sweepstakes.

You pull away a bit, but Spencer's arms stay around you. “Is it okay I’m here? You never responded to my texts.” You give him a shy smile and he realizes as he was grovelling he didn’t open his phone again after you said you had plans for the night.

“Yes! Yes,” he clears his throat… be suave. “Of course. Um. Was just thinking about you, ha. Come over whenever. Yea. Even if I say I’m busy, come over still, haha.” Shit.

“Ah. Okay, noted. I missed you too, Spencer.” You giggle a little at him and walk into the apartment, leaving him to shut the door behind you. “What were you thinking about?” You muse.

“Ummmm. Le Cercle Rouge.” Spencer clears his throat again. IQ slashed to 60.

“The Le Cercle Rouge incident, right.” You laugh again and look over at where he’s standing with a blank face. “Oh. Are you sure it’s okay that I'm here? I know I said I was busy, so I’m sure you’re ready for bed now, especially after the case. Did that go well?” His blank expression has made you nervous, he notices, though he was just considering again the feeling of his neck being kissed for the first time in 24 years.

“Please stay. A while, too. I’m not tired.” A pause with long eye contact. “The case went surprisingly well, hence the early arrival.”

The curve of your lip pulls up in a smirk and he sees he’s convinced you fully now. You bend down and unzip the sides of your brown high rise boots, leaving you in your black tank top, skirt, and now kneehigh socks that create a monochromatic wet dream for Spencer. Though this isn’t a dream, he shakes his head from side to side to get rid of the distracting thoughts.

“Good.” You sit down fully on his red carpet now, trying to pull your last boot off. “You know, you were a really short walk from the coffee shop, I’m surprised you’ve never been. As soon as you texted you were back I kept trying to slip away as politely as possible.” You talk while struggling with the shoe.

Spencer takes a deep breath in and meets you on his carpet, sitting on his knees to pull the boot off of you, which was incredibly easy. You were pretending to struggle with it on purpose. Once removed, he sits back against his heels and pushes your knees together by your ankles.

“You walked?” He mumbled back. He would’ve picked you up. He should’ve just checked his phone, told you to have a good night like a proper boyfriend.

“Mm, like five minutes. No worries.”

“Its midnight- I. I can always pick you up.”

You whined your response, “But you weren’t answering your phoneeee.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hands, covering his smile a bit and feeling his skin heating up. “I’m very glad you showed up anyway. Even if it scares me you walked alone this late,” he glances at you leaning back against your hands, knees still pulled together. “You look very pretty.”

“Really? Thanks. I thought so too. About you, I mean. You’ve got a little 5 o’clock shadow right now, you look really handsome.” You smile and let out an airy laugh. Spencer subconsciously rubs his face again. He’s not sure when these jittery feelings will go away, if they ever will. One compliment from you and he’s feeling a blush coming from inside of him stretch over to his skin.

He remembers his petulance earlier, his flair for the dramatics. Whining over people other than him seeing you, cursing his past self for awkward conversations, so he leans over onto his hands and knees and kisses your lips.

You hum against his lips, knees together against one of his sides, happy at Spencer's first time initiating a kiss between you. You sit up off of your hands now so they can cup his face and pull him firmer against you. Taking one of his wrists from where he’s planted on the floor to the other side of you, you guide him to slowly hover over you.

Spencer can’t help but let out a tiny noise, a moan, against you as his palms dig uncomfortably into his carpet. He feels you lean back against your elbows and swing one of your legs to the other side of him. Now, you are pressed flat against the carpet, legs on either side of his waist. Spencer slowly moves so he’s on top of your frame, elbows crowning your head.

Both times Spencer has had the pleasure of tasting you like this you have been straddling him on his couch. This is the first time that he’s been able to lay on top of you and feel his hip bones dig into you and your legs around him.

Woah. Your legs are wrapped around him, just like how he’s dreamed of having you in his bed. Legs squeezing helplessly around him as he buries himself in you. Feeling your chest against his as you arch up into him. He lowers one hand to trail it up from your shins covered in your knee highs that make him faint to your hip.

He pushes his crotch down a bit from where it was against yours, making it so the hard-on he’s now sporting is against the floor now. He remembers the visceral feeling of you kissing his neck. Immediately he’s moving down to return the favor. What starts in soft kisses escalates quickly to sucking and laving against your skin, face buried into the source of his wildest dreams, your perfume.

Your hands are carding through his hair right now, nails scratching at him softly and he has to position himself a bit closer to the ground now to rub off some built up tension his cock is begging for. This is usually where you part.

Face buried in your neck he’s smelling your intoxicating scent and moaning against the skin. He feels like a wild animal smelling a pheromone filled scent gland. Spencer realizes briefly where he is and pulls up from your neck to stare down at your face.

Hair haloing around you, you’re feverish and pressed against the Persian rug he spent his first big paycheck on. You have a bit of mascara smudged under your eyes and the lamps scattered around his living room are highlighting you in a way so beautiful he moans out again softly. No friction, no kissing, just by looking at you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he traces the line of your neck up and down softly with the tips of his fingers. “I almost drowned in my sorrows before you knocked on my door.” He leans back down and chuckles against the skin of your neck.

You don’t have exactly the same romantic thoughts in mind as you gasp out for the first time since he’s laid on you, “You feel so good against me, Spence. Wanted this so bad,” he stops kissing, breathing lightly against your neck as you continue. “Can’t believe I haven’t pulled you on me sooner.” He’s blinking silently hidden in the corner of your neck. He acts on a whim and bites down lightly against where your neck and shoulder meet and you squeal.

Spencer was not prepared for the blazing eye contact he’d be met with once pulling away to look at you. Your tank top has ridden down, the top of your pink bra showing a bit and your hair is drastically more disheveled than when you arrived. He can feel his heart in his throat. He has to keep making you let out that sound.

You seem to notice his brazen eyeline and you take one hand to pull the neckline of your top down a bit, exposing most of the bra covering your breasts that are only slightly spilling out from all your wiggling. Spencer shuts his eyes like he’s in pain, but he’s actually moving his hips up and away from the floor so he doesn’t come in his pants right then and there.

A completely new and formidable heat spreads over him and into his loins. Never in his life has Spencer trembled with anticipation in this way. His skin is on fire and he’s struck with the overwhelming need to make you the happiest person in this world. He wants to have you shiver and shudder completely against his apartment floor, he wants to hear every moan and grunt until your voice gives out. He wants to fuck you with his mouth.

“Gah-God, baby,” Spencer moves himself away from you so that he’s kneeling between your open thighs, rubbing the outsides of your legs as he looks into your eyes. “My mouth. Um, can I use my mouth?” He lets out a shaky breath at the image.

You bite your lip softly at him, he feels like he just licked the screen on one of those old staticy TVs he used to have. “Use your mouth for what?” You half play coy and half ask in earnest, not wanting to jump to conclusions since you and Spencer have never taken off many layers together.

“I want to use my mouth to make you cum.” His face flushes immediately, your eyes widen in shock. He drags his sight down to where you lay in front of him. Legs spread open and skirt ridden up giving him an obscene upskirt of your underwear for him. Also black. He keeps his eyes there as you reply.

“Yeah. Please, please-” he whips his head up to look at your face again to engrain the image of you unkempt and nodding a desperate yes into his memory. He lightly reaches out between your thighs to briefly feel the bottom of your panties. He’s barely thinking, his first instinct was to gauge how wet you are, to compare it to how you’re going to feel later. You gasp sweetly and he moans in response, untouched, again.

With this searing hot permission Spencer gets hit with a strong pietistic devotion towards you. There is literally nothing in his life that has mattered more to him right now than how the gusset of your panties stick onto you and that his tongue can finally be given the task he has thought about constantly since knowing you.

The anxiety Spencer was expecting as a result of his inexperience is completely overthrown by a perfectly instinctual autopilot setting he falls into. The excitement of making you feel good, you letting him touch you in such a profound way completely overshadows the doubt of his expertise.

Not that he’s completely clueless. Erotica classics hide in his bookshelves, copies of Anaïs Nin’s short stories, the detailed counts of female pleasure derived from biology books, decent sex education stemming from the countless hours he’s poured into literature. He’s fairly in tuned to what generally makes people crumble, he just has to try it out himself.

Spencer starts at the top again. The push and pull between him and eating you out the way he’s craving will have to drone on a little longer as he starts kissing along the exposed skin of your breasts, not wanting to leave anything unkissed. How rude.

You outstretch your neck to him and slide the tank top off yourself, leaving just your pink lace bra that's covering little of your nipples. Spencer fingers the straps briefly while taking in the sight of you. He cannot believe the cosmic circumstances that have led him to this moment.

“D’you like?” you mumble while watching him eye-fuck you. He almost feels sorry for how he’s watching your chest rise and fall but the way his dick is pulsing under the confines of his underwear allows for little words.

In fact, his hips kick a twitch forward at the sound of your voice. A siren song as old as time.

“MmmIwanna,” Okay. Form words. “I wanna-” he pities himself enough to give up on that one and kisses along your chest again.

“Do what you want to. I want to feel you everywhere… I want you to touch me.” You seem to understand his dilemma. A once articulate tongue falls flat in such a frenzied situation.

Spencer palms your tits through your bra properly now while kissing you sloppily. He feels the friction of the lace against his palm and your hardened nipple receiving the rough friction from it as well. He picks up on your whine against his lips and pulls your bra down by the middle of it, exposing your chest fully.

You gasp against his lips and move your tongue against his as a thanks. Spencer lets out a tiny “ah” from the back of his throat when your tongues meet. To regain composure he takes the nipple he was palming through lace earlier and rolls it between his middle finger and thumb, it’s your turn to kick your hips up for friction now.

He decides to lower his hips against yours fully for the first time, desperately searching for that debauching pleasure that he was avoiding earlier. His dick rests nicely under your belly button and you bite his bottom lip when he’s fully settled against you, he feels sort of proud.

Feeling your body completely pressed against him in this way makes him mourn every second he’s been with you and not made you moan in happiness like he is now. Wishing that the pesky virginity he’s carried with him this long will be taken by this angel underneath him right now. His cock twitches against you at the thought of it.

He stops fiddling with the nipple and instead moves to hold one of your hands with his as his other hand moves to rub your neglected nipple. He subtly grinds a long and slow rhythm against where you two are pressed together and you make a curious noise, a full moan caught before getting let out. Nudged in your throat as you hold it in.

Spencer thinks for a moment and smiles at the realization that it sounds almost exactly like how you hold back a laugh in your throat. A small and choked out “hngh” high pitched before its snuffed out. He thinks of any future endeavors where he gets to hear you hold back a laugh in a quiet museum or library from one of his stupid jokes. With this comparison he’s going to be pathetically hard in so many more inappropriate situations now.

“Please, can you please take my panties off.” You mewl gently, almost as if you’re worried he will refuse, and break him out of his thoughts. Spencer nearly forgot how lost in his head he was while methodically rubbing your sensitive breasts and grinding against you.

“Pretty girl, I’m sorry.” He really is, he never wants you to feel so desperate you have to beg for him to touch you, but without interference he could probably sit for eight hours straight playing with your tits to see if you could come from it. He whines out loud at the thought. “I will, of course, I will.”

The feeling of him peeling himself off you feels tortuous. However, it is very much a high risk, high reward scenario when he looks down between your thighs again to see a wetter fabric clad to your hips. Spencer leans towards you, pushes your socks down slightly to kiss the tops of each of your knees. You giggle and he nips the inside of your leg slightly.

It’s dizzying, the experience of pulling your panties down for the first time. Every night where he has sloppily fucked his fist thinking of your smile lines and pretty hands, every evening after you’ve left his apartment well kissed has finally led to this life altering moment.

Your panties have been slid off and he’s got an iron grip on them as he’s staring at you fully exposed, the translucent liquid smudged around your cunt. He’s trying incredibly hard to not push them up to his nose and inhale, he thinks he’s done enough animalistic sniffing and grunting at you tonight. He places them neatly on the couch instead.

“Baby, Spence, you’re a voyeur.” You laugh at his staring gently, he assumes 25% of this experience for you has been watching him stare bug eyed at every inch of skin you’ve surrendered. He lays down flat on his tummy, sucking in air through his teeth as his dick presses against his carpet through his slacks again. “Feel sensitive, that feels like a lot?” You ask softly down at him. He flushes, embarrassed a little that you notice him the exact same way he notices you. Spencer pinches his eyebrows together and nods.

“Feels.. real good though.” He laughs gently at himself as you groan and rest your head back down on the carpet at how sweet he is.

He wraps his arms tightly underneath your thighs to pull your pussy closer to him, your skirt riding up to your belly in the process. He feels you squirm a little under his arms and kisses the skin above your hip flexors softly.

His heart skips a beat when he’s up close to you, a sliver of doubt creeping up along with the immeasurable need to make you feel good. Spencer takes his tongue out and licks a broad stripe up from right below your opening to above your clit. This is more for himself, actually. He wants to taste every single drop you expelled from him kissing and touching you, it’s what he deserves.

Spencer's arms immediately have to resist against your thighs moving shut, using a bit of his strength to keep you open as he does it again. This time he moves his head slightly side to side. The whine he hears coming from your lips makes him take one arm away without thinking to hold your lips open and wraps his lips around your clit.

The open window you get without one arm suspending your leg allows you to close one thigh to the side of his face while the other is still pried open by him. He continues to suck gently, pulls away and lifts up the skin covering your clit, kisses it softly, you let out a pitiful sobbing noise and Spencer sucks your clit again, rolls it between his lips.

You help him out by taking your other thigh away from his face and holding it up yourself. “Wh-who taught you to do this?” You squeak out giving him a sense of confidence he’s been desperately striving for. Spencer cannot bear to part from your cunt to reply so he just hums lowly against you, hoping that you get his message of I daydream about doing this to you every waking moment through the vibrations he’s emitting.

He feels you rock your hips against his face greedily and he smiles a toothy grin against you. His perfect pliant girl, he couldn’t be happier to have your wetness rubbed against his nose as he dives into you.

Wanting to escalate the scenario a bit, he’s internally pleading to feel you cum against his face, Spencer begins to suck harshly and suction onto your clit intermittently. The loud “fuck” you whimper out and how your torso isolates to twist to the side as you keep your hips in place is a good indicator that he’s making you feel good. This is a dream.

“Hh- mmmm” you cry out and Spencer flickers his gaze up to your face. You’re scrunching your face like a sweet bunny and have one hand up and posed above his head, waiting to push him away, the pleasure so strong you have to implicitly prepare yourself to shove him away when it gets to be too much. He moans highly against you.

The hand you had defensively propped up begins to lightly push at his face, he smiles at this, suctions your clit through his lips and runs circles over it with his tongue, your hand falls limply to your side.

“Fingers- ah, fingers!” You manage to gasp out one more plea before sucking your lips in and moaning deeply against them.

You seriously do not have to ask him twice. Being able to feel you twitch and grip around his fingers while he sucks on your clit has him pushing himself against the floor. The bordering on painful stimulation he’s getting from using all his body weight to hump his carpet sends tingles up and down his spine. As you said, sensitive.

Spencer starts by tracing your entrance with his middle finger, he slips in easily just by doing that, your slick and his spit making the intrusion incredibly easy. He wastes no time pulling his finger up against your g-spot and slips in his ring finger alongside it, rubbing slick circles inside of you.

The noises your cunt is making from his incessant sucking and rubbing could probably be heard from any of his neighbors walking by his front door. He gasps hotly at this thought, what are you doing to him? Has he no shame?

You’re riding his face and fingers again, mumbling intelligible sentences. God, his cock hurts.

“Baby, close, don’t stop-” The angelic words fall from your mouth and his ears perk up like an owner saying her dog's favorite words to it. Spencer continues exactly what he’s doing against you and looks up at you again through your back arching.

He can feel you twitching and senses you’re done for. If only he could talk and eat you out at the same time, he wants to call you pretty until tears come from your eyes. You gasp wetly and come all over his fingers.

Your thighs clamp against his head and he lets you do whatever you need to do to his face to get off. He’s rubbing soft and soothing circles against your hips as you hiccup through your orgasm.

You open your mouth as if you have something to say, and close it again, shuddering out a breath of air. Spencer pulls away, he can talk again.

“My good girl, thank you. I mean, you tasted so good… you’re so pretty, my pretty, oh my god-” He’s got a lot on his mind right now.

Spencer watches and follows your movements as you sluggishly sit up to kiss him, moving your tongue against his in an eager display to taste yourself against his lips, he whines again, feeling your warmth against him. When you palm him through his pants Spencer stutters out a pornographic “hnnn”, the friction from his rubbing against the floor has left him painfully needy.

“Can I take your cock out baby?” You ask against his neck. Spencer is aware of the embarrassing uhhuh uhhuh he releases as he scoots back against his couch. You don’t bother teasing him, taking out his red dripping dick from his pants and underwear and you don’t even giggle when it makes a whip sound as it taps against his skin.

He actually has to close his eyes after watching you whine in overstimulation as you collect your come from yourself to use it as lubrication to jerk him off with it. He’s genuinely going to pass out.

With a mouth open to the shape of an “o”, Spencer has an onslaught of tiny gentle noises that fill up the room alongside the skin slapping sound of you jerking him off. You touch the crown of his dick and one of his arms shoots out to brace himself against the couch.

He accidentally grabs your panties he placed on the couch earlier.

Not thinking, he grips onto them and you kiss his cheek. “Want em’?” You tease. “My panties are in my top drawer next time you come over and want to snoop around.” You joke further, a red flush of humiliation covers Spencer's neck and chest. He slowly moves his grip on them over to his nose. Too far gone to have the same self-control he had earlier to set them aside, he finally indulges in taking in your scent.

He’s somewhat expecting more prodding and teasing, but you just continue to kiss over his face softly. He’s so thankful.

There’s no surprise to the fact you have him coming especially fast. Spencer feels his legs twitch and he sets down your panties to kiss you properly as he finishes all over your fist.

As he comes down from this unexplainable high he is struck with such a tender feeling of affection towards you his eyes water. You notice and scoot onto his legs and lap and wrap your arms around him in a hug.

Not letting go until you feel him chuckling against you, you ask him how he feels and he sighs out dramatically. He’s so exhausted now.

You shyly offer to wet-vac his carpet once you guys move to clean yourselves up and he breaks out into a laughter that makes his stomach hurt. You eventually join his contagious laughter at the situation.

Spencer’s suggestion for you to stay a while is accepted with open arms. You spend your first night together wrapped up in each other's embrace. Being back in his own bed with you here settles his mind so gently that within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow he’s out like a light.

In the morning when he wakes up for work he rubs his nose softly all over your face to wake you up. Spencer offers that you stay in his bed and sleep more or he can drive you back to yours before he heads over to work. He ends up driving you home so you can get ready for work yourself. Once you’re back home he finally opens up his phone again from last night to see a picture of yourself you sent on the walk to his apartment last night with the text under it “Had to come see you anyway, hope the doors unlocked mwahaha”.

He finds himself smiling at his missed message all day at work and once he’s seated back in his car to go home later that day he finally finds the “forgotten” panties you left on his passenger car seat when you left this morning.

Spencer flushes then pockets them before texting you that he is in fact not a voyeur or a perv and he did not put your panties in his pocket and he is not asking you to come over again tonight so he can cook you a pasta dinner before he lays you out for him again, hopefully on his bed this time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #smut

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pacofprunes · 1 month ago

Text

wishful thinking

thanos/su-bong x pregnant! reader (fluff, comfort)

warnings — thanos and reader have matching tattoos, crying, mentions of sex, cursing, mentions of pissing on a door, pregnant reader, switching of referring to thanos and subong so hope you don’t get too confused, use of bitch (not towards reader), lowercase, typical squid game shit so mentions of blood and death,

you joined these games because although you thought it was too good to be true, it was all you could do. your shitty ex su-bong making you invest all your money into some dumbass crypto scam and blowing all of your guys money on drugs, childish bets, and gambling. after he blew both your guys money out, you left him, blocked him on everything, ignored your doorbell when he’d attempt to see you in person, everything. but two months after you broke up, it all came crashing down. you found out you were pregnant. and he was the only one you let see that part of you, it was his. but you were sure he moved on and even if he hadn’t, you couldn’t take him back. if he was this much of an incompetent person, he’d definitely be a terrible father. you didn’t want him in your life or your child’s.

besides some guy you assumed to have dementia or be on drugs, the game was going pretty smooth. until it wasn’t and it turns out the guy wasn’t crazy and people all around you were dying. blood splatting on your face left and right. you finally find a method and stay behind other people and everything was going smoothly again besides the intense stress and pressure. your heart and stomach feeling heavy. but the next time that doll turns around you hear a bunch of screams and you look to the right and see that su-bong was here too, and he had just pushed all of those people. he looked crazed. you just ignore it and try not to think about it, finally passing that finish line and being done with the first game, waiting for a full explanation.

you all move back into the main rooms that contained all your beds and people start screaming and yelling for answers. crying to go home, begging for their lives. you too wanted to go home, but you had so much on your mind. so much that you don’t notice your ex is nearing right behind you.

“señorita! oh my god baby is that you?”

he grabs your shoulder and turns you around to face him and you look up at him, frowning your eyebrows. he starts grabbing your face in his hands, touching all over you, not being able to comprehend it was you.

“oh god, it is you, babe, are you okay? where have you been i’ve missed you—”

“subong, stop. we’re not together, and we never will be ever again.”

you push his hands off your face and step back to put some distance between you two, still giving him a major glare. he reaches his arms out towards you again as if he was slowly trying to pick up a scared puppy.

“cmon— you can’t still be mad. baby, i’ll make it up to you, especially now.”

you look behind him and see a few people waiting on him, clearly eavesdropping. he turns around and looks at you again, a puppy dog look on his face but you shake it off.

“it’s not going to work subong. the debt im in now is insane because of you!”

he holds his right hand out before grabbing your right hand.

“baby please — we got these tattoos together,”

you look down at your hands and see the matching line placements decorating both of your hands. it was a stupid idea. you’d been dating for a little over a year, you shouldn’t had done it, you knew that. but you could barely pay for your bills, you definitely couldn’t pay to remove a tattoo. but deep in your heart you wished he was different, wished you could forgive him because deep down you still loved him. that tattoo was a sick reminder of that everyday. you realize you’d been staring at the two of your hands for a while before pulling away quickly. he looks at you with a smile and hope in his eyes. he places both of his hands on your shoulders again.

“see, we’re meant to be. it was a mistake, i know, i did it out of the goodness of my heart! for us, for you, you know that.”

you scoff at him.

“no. no i don’t know that. we’re not getting back together choi su-bong, that’s final.”

his hands go limp on your shoulders before you speak up, saying your next few choice of words slightly quieter as his fans or friends or whoever was still behind you two, stop eavesdropping.

“and just so you know, i’m pregnant. it’s yours. i’m keeping it. i don’t need you to help me. i’ll find a way to make money and i’ll raise my child.”

he stares at you stunned before you push away and move through the crowd. you hear him yell for you, yelling that cringy señorita pet name your way, but you ignore him, trying to hide in the crowd, listening to what the guards say as he drowns in the sea of people.

the guard mentions voting and how you guys were gonna vote whether to stay or leave. part of you wanted to stay still, but if you died, so did your baby. and you were scared out of your mind, nothing able to comfort you. so you knew you were going to choose to leave. you weren’t in insane debts but you still had a lot. the money they were offering after the first game was nowhere near close enough to pay it all off. you would have to play one more game, maybe even two to pay it off, but you couldn’t take any risks. they start calling from highest to lowest numbers and once they call ‘player 230’, your shitty ex makes his way down the line, skipping to smack that blue button, choosing to stay. it only made you wanna choose the other side even more. your turn comes and you choose to leave, sticking the red ‘x’ on your chest. you could see him staring at you through the corner of your eye, but you just chose to ignore it. creepy bastard.

after arguments and close physical alterations, the voting was over. you had lost, you’d be staying for another game. you wanted to go but at least you’d have an opportunity to make a little more money, you guess…

“excuse me, young lady, would you like to join us?”

you look over to a short older woman holding onto your arm, pointing over to a small group of people who were sitting on their beds. you give her a small smile and nod, letting her take you over there. she signals where you can sit and you move slowly while holding your stomach, letting out a deep breath once you finally get down all the way. you look around and there’s an older man, a younger girl, and another woman with some very strong features. the older woman speaks.

“i mean, i can’t believe they chose to stay! no offense hyun-ju, but come on!”

the older woman smacks her hand down on the bed and you give her a sympathetic and understanding look. she looks up at you before she gets a surprised look on her face and quickly flails herself around to get her composure.

“right! ma’am, this is my son yong-sik, this is young-mi, and this is hyun-ju.”

she pauses looking at you and sits up quickly again.

“oh, and you can call me mrs jang.”

she gives you a teethy smile. realizing she’s waiting for you to introduce yourself you let out an oh and tell her who you are and she grabs your hands into hers and rubs circles into them.

“oh that name is so pretty. a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

her son yong-sik slaps her shoulder and then they start arguing. you just sit there happy to have the company before you look to your right and see subong on the other side staring at you. you quickly look away and look down at your legs, biting your lip.

“yo, who’s that girl? you were arguing with her earlier. she’s smoking.”

he keeps staring before snapping his head back at nam-gyu.

“you are right, she is smoking hot.”

he pauses.

“well you see nam-su—”

“nam-gyu…”

“right right, nam-gyu, anyways, that’s my girl over there, okay? she just playin’ hard to get right now is all’,”

nam-gyu raises his eyebrows, getting an idea.

“soo, you gonna let me have a turn with that, right?”

thanos slaps his arm.

“nah bro, i normally share but that, ive had dibs on her for at least two years.”

he slaps nam-gyus arm again and then grabs it, causing nam-gyu to let out an ‘ow bro’,

“don’t worry bro! i’m sure we can find ya a bitch in here though! keep your mind busy and dick wet and we’re sure to win this whole thing.”

he slaps his arm one last time before nam-gyu slaps him back, thanos just laughing before slowly going back to watching you. trying to figure out how he should go about this. deciding that he’d just wait until everyone was asleep to talk to you again.

night time comes around and you had to piss. this fucking sucked. you had none of your pain killers, and you were about to crawl into a ball and start ripping your skin off from the pain you were in. but right now just focus on pissing. just focus on pissing you thought. you get up slowly, clutching your stomach before walking up to the door to the bathroom, knocking on it, waiting for someone to answer. finally the window slides open and you’re met with a triangle looking at you, or at least you think he, it? is looking at you.

“uhm, excuse me, i need to use the washroom.”

“players may not leave this room past your given curfew.”

the window to the door shuts. you take a deep breath, not willing to cause a scene and just about walk away before a guy walks up behind you and starts making a scene for you. that guy being su-bong.

“hey, me and my girl are tryna fuck, if you want we can do it right in the middle of this fucking room!”

it doesn’t work and the door doesn’t open.

“im not a girl! i have a penis and i know how to fucking aim. the next time you open this door it’s gonna be fucking yellow instead of pink i promise you that! i gotta heavy ass piss stream i been holdin’ and i can let out all over this door!”

you slap him, asking him what he was doing and that he was being crazy. but if you were being honest you were trying to stiffle a laugh. he always was funny, and in your relationship he always knew how to make you laugh. you’re pulled out of your thoughts when somehow what he said actually worked and they opened the door for you both. you make your way to the bathrooms and it’s silent the whole time. he was thinking of what to say to you. a million things running through his mind. you make it to the two bathrooms and you go and open the women’s bathroom door before it feels ten time lighter and you see subong holding the door open for you. giving you a cheeky grin. you just look at him before making your way into the bathroom and the door closing behind you. you hadn’t even noticed that you were holding your breath before you breathe out and realized your lungs were burning.

“i really have missed you, you know?”

you snap your head around and see that he had followed you into the bathroom and you call him a perv, yelling at him to get out.

“hey! i’m not here to fuck alright. i mean, unless you’re down then babe, let’s get it fucking going.”

he claps his hands together and you give him a disgusted look before going into one of the bathroom stalls and slamming the door shut so you could finally piss. but when you were done actually doing your business, you just sat there with your face in your hands. he was stressing you out, this baby was stressing you out, and this place was stressing you out and you were on the verge of a breakdown.

“i’m not coming out until you’re gone.”

you see his feet right under the bathroom stall door you were in and groan. hearing the door creak a little, assuming he was leaning against it, which he was.

“baby, please. i just want us again. i’ve missed you so much, you’ve been the only thing on my mind since you left.”

you started to tune him out and started rubbing your face in your hands even more, feeling your eyes start to water, your breath getting caught in your throat, your sniffing starting to become louder before one of your sobs slips and he hears it. asking if you were okay and you just ignore him, covering your mouth with your hand, continuing to cry.

“please let me in.”

you take a deep breath and slightly get up to unlock the door before sitting back down on the toilet seat, face still in your hands. he crouches down to you and cups your face in his hands before he pulls you in for a hug and starts rubbing circles into your back. your sobs getting louder as you burry your face into his bloody jacket, but you really weren’t thinking about that. god thinking of when you two were like this made you start to regret the past, yearn for a future with you two, and hate the present situation you were in. still crying into his jacket as he continues to try to soothe you with his touch. he pulls away after awhile and pushes your tears away with his thumb. his heart crumbling as he sees your teary orbs looking him in the eyes. you’d cried to him before when you were together, and he had comforted you many times before, but never had he seen you this distraught. he hooks his arm under your shoulder and lifts you to standing and he moves you out of the bathroom stall. you wipe your tears away, mumbling a sorry, avoiding all eye contact with him, looking at the ground.

“baby, look at me.”

your eyes look around at the ground before you slowly move your head up to look at him, a small pout on your lips. biting them from the nerves. it was a bad habit you’d never gotten rid of, you’ve had it since he’s met you. he looks at you, almost looking through your eyes. he places one hand on your arm, and grabs your right hand in his right hand, the matching tattoos clashing together.

“please, give me another chance. we’ll figure out the money, work, all of it.”

he pauses and looks down at your stomach. moving the hand that was on your arm to hold your stomach. looking up at you for confirmation that he could and you give him a small nod before he rubs the side of your tummy.

“i just can’t believe it. you should’ve told me!”

he raises his voice and you look away. still about to completely knaw off your lip.

“i didn’t think you’d want to stay. can you blame me?”

he pauses his rubs on your stomach, other hand still in yours and moves the hand that was on your stomach to your face, making you look at him. putting his thumb on your lips, getting you to stop biting them.

“i promise i want to be there for you and for our baby.”

you take a deep breath and he rubs his thumb on your tattoos.

“i won’t leave you, i’ll be better for us, i promise baby.”

you whisper under your breath. can’t believing you were about to say what was about to come out of your mouth.

“you promise…?”

his eyes light up.

“i promise baby.”

he pulls you into a tight hug and he hears you groan, forgetting that he might’ve been putting too much pressure on your belly. he gives you an awkward smile and he takes your hand into his and holds both your guys hands up to your face, as if showing you that he was never gonna let go of you again, and you two couldn’t be separated. you give him a light smile before letting go of his hand and he gives you a look of confusion.

“what? you never gave me the chance to wash my hands.”

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