#i just am observing and speaking to a wall

[kageyamasboxmilk]

Douma x innocent f!reader . . mdni

tw : mentions of murder, blood, manipulative douma, fingering, slight smut . .

˙ . ꒷ 🥛 . 𖦹˙

Douma with a sweet innocent pure kind reader, the type of innocence I am talking about is that you have no experience in love-making at all and when Douma figured that out, oh he was so enjoying this.

And due to how innocent you were—he decided to keep the fact that he’s a demon and he kills and eats people, he doesn’t usually care what other people think about him but you.. he actually does kinda a bit. Just a bit.

But pushing that aside, there was this one time where he had warned you not to follow him in the night and consider stay over the night with the paradise cult because he had some things he needed to do, things he needed to finish.

Usually he does this three to four times a week and you had always been dying to know what kept him busy.

But whenever you asked him, he’ll just simply cut you off and mutter out “it’s nothing, dear” to you before resuming. Making your curiosity slowly killing you in the head.

And so, your stupid little self decided to follow him.

You quietly tip-toed a few steps before hiding behind the wall, turning your head to observe his movements. You saw him open a door with a room he never allowed you go inside before. And after he went inside and closed the door softly.

You slowly snooped over to the door, trying to hear what sounds erect throughout the door in the room but you don’t hear anything except sounds of someone chewing and munching. And oh you were so dumb—because when you opened the door, the door creaks open and when you see him. His mouth is covered in blood. Blood that doesn’t belong to him. And when you look the mysterious shadows behind him. Dead bodies—you couldn’t believe it. And you started having second thoughts if he was even a human. A human.

“Oh dear, didn’t I tell you not to come into this room?”

His tone was different from the one he used to speak to you softly, it sounded like it had no emotion at all despite his facial expression being completely playful and cheerful. And suddenly, he’s already in front of you, you don’t even know how did he managed to get over you so fast—his bloody hand reaches to turn your chin up and when you look at him with those innocent eyes clouded with fresh tears, he’s enjoying this more than he probably should.

“Answer me hm? Didn’t I tell you not to come inside? Why did you decide to come?” He asks again, his large fingers cupping your cheeks as you struggled to open your mouth. “I-I am sorry I didn’t mean to- I just had been so curious-“

“But that still gives you no right to come inside right?” He said again, you could feel his fingers cupping your face harder, almost painfully because of his demon nails.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry. I won’t come inside ever again.” You said while sobbing, tears falling off of your eyes as it trails down to your cheeks. “If you’re sorry then you have to show me okay?”

“S—show you?..” you repeated.

“Yes, show me.” He said, looking down at you with those mysterious glint in his eyes.

“How . . ? what am I supposed to show you?” You said, tears still coming out.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

˙ . ꒷ 🥛 . 𖦹˙

your a moaning mess, your struggling to breathe as you let out small squeaks and hiccups as you could feel his sharp fingers thrusting rapidly inside you.

“Tell me you’re sorry again.” He said as his fingers scissored your insides, your juices leaking out.

“I—hic—am sorry please—“ you whined pathetically as you arched your back, unable to handle this burning sensation bolting in your body.

smack!

You cry out in pain when you felt his other hand slap your clit and then rubbing it with his thumb, you don’t even know why but it just feels too good. Too good to be true. “Tell me you’re sorry again and that you won’t be disobedient again.” He said.

“I—I am—sorry..!” You cry out, your tears soaking the pillow.

You felt his fingers stop thrusting for a moment and when you look up at him—he’s already staring at you, observing your expression as you sob. Your eyes are teary and your nose is red from crying. And after a moment. He smiles.

“Good.” He said before gently lifting you up and plopping you onto his lap.

“You’ve done good today but I am still not satisfied, let’s finish a few more and we’ll stop okay? The night’s still young after all.” He said as you gently sobbed and gave him a small nod hesitantly.

˙ . ꒷ 🥛 . 𖦹˙ end.

a/n : I felt drunk writing this.

[flyingspicerack]

its amazing to see how the fandom has evolved, even while not being here in the before times

more often than not its ALWAYS a choro sweep around here when back in the day (ive been told) it was always kara and ichi?

i havent seen an ichi sweep ... ever? unless it was the ichipeen mass posting... just... so fascinating?

edit: my point has been made wHILE i was making this post

[littlest-bugz]

When I try to open up, I seem to overshare! Lovely!

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ��what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[sailorsoons]

Amnesia (c.sc)

PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x f. reader

Summary: Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another. 

WC: 11,920

GENRE: Friends with benefits to lovers 

AU: Smut, Angst if you squint 

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Under the cut

A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.

A/N 2: Thank you @yoongukie-ff for sending me your original reblog of this to pull the summary information from. I appreciate you and I love you!

MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ASK | PLAYLIST

Warnings: Recreational drinking, mild jealousy from both reader and Cheol, themes of self doubt/relationship doubt, light depictions of anxiety regarding ambiguous relationships, explicit language, Cheol and reader are both idiots, explicit sexual content including oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple stim, breath play if you squint, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of bodily fluids like spit and cum, multiple smut scenes, hair pulling, light spanking, sub-space adjacent feelings, being a lil silly goofy during sex sometimes, stupid ass nicknames at the end because I’m a millennial and I’m cringe sometimes. 

DAY ONE

YOU'RE A GONER AS SOON AS YOU LAY EYES ON HIM. You know it before Jeonghan properly introduces you, shouting over the rock music that is blaring in the dive bar you like to hang out at on Friday nights. The neon from the sign creates a blue silhouette around Seungcheol as he smiles and holds a hand out to you. You can barely pull yourself together to shake his hand - warm, firm - too busy staring at his face. 

Choi Seungcheol is what your best friend Vin likes to call pretty motherfuckin handsome. He’s got dark, warm eyes that light up playfully when they meet yours, full lips the color of crushed rose petals, a square, firm jawline and silky dark hair that falls in his eyes when he tilts his face down to hide a smile at something Jeonghan says. 

Crushed against the wall of the booth, you feel the cold glass of your beer warm against your palms as you steal glances at Seungcheol. He’s directly across from you, angling his broad shoulders to fit snug into the corner of the booth, lounging backward as he observes the argument brewing between Joshua and Jeonghan. 

He even dresses well. Fitted t-shirt paired with light wash jeans and boots, a fancy watch reflecting the burning neon on the wall next to him, delicate chain necklaces tucked into the collar of his shirt. 

It’s the way he wears them that speaks to you, though. 

“Do they do this often?” his deep voice drags you from your reverie. You blink, gathering yourself when you realize he’s leaning forward a little, addressing you. He sips his beer before tilting the tip of the bottle toward Jeonghan and Joshua. “It’s like they're married.”

“You have no idea. Wait until game night.” 

“Oh yeah. Jeonghan told me about game night.” Seungcheol’s mouth twitches in a smile. “You’ll be there?” 

“Every Sunday. Do you like games?” 

Something about the glint in his eye makes your stomach flip. You sip your beer just to give you something to do, feeling more drunk off the easy confidence he exudes as he shrugs. “Depends on the game. I’m competitive.” 

“So am I.”

He grins. “I look forward to it, then.” 

Warming up to Seungcheol is easy. He’s the new hire at Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s office, and they both felt confident enough to bring him into the fold. You can see why - he’s kind and funny, and there’s a charm to him that draws the people around him like moths to a flame. Even with just the four of you sitting in the booth, you feel the magnetism. 

Friday nights at Rusty’s has been a tradition with Jeonghan and Joshua since you had been in college, filling yourself on five dollar wings, three dollar beers and occasionally lukewarm mozzarella sticks. Normally Vin, Wonwoo and Mingyu would be around, but tonight it’s just the smaller group. 

Jeonghan and Joshua slide out of the booth to play darts, shoving one another back and forth, the drink in their step making them a little off balance. You smile fondly as you pluck another beer out of the bucket of ice, struggling to pop the top, your wet hands sliding against the metal cap. 

Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin. 

“Wow, so strong.”

He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.” 

“No, no, you are. Thank you.” 

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.” 

“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.” 

“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.” 

“I like winning.”

You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do. 

“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.” 

“I’m down.” 

Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back. 

Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.

Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.

“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”

“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”

His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.” 

“Hmm. Not convincing.”

Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.” 

“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?” 

“What will you give me?” 

You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful. 

A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more. 

You already do want more. 

“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment. 

When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.

“I can think of something, I think.”

-

DAY SEVEN

“I like this,” Seungcheol says, voice rough from use. He buttons his jeans, looking over at you. You’re still half-alive on your bed, a sheen of sweat covering your body. The sheets stick to you when you roll to look at him. “Are you good with casual?”

You’re only half listening, too distracted by his flexing abs. “Hmm?”

Seungcheol looks good tonight. He looks good every night, but tonight he’s in dark jeans and a white sweater. The sweater looks soft like his hair, which has grown longer and hangs in his eyes as he looks down to slip on his shoes. 

“I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment but this,” he answers, flicking his fingers between the two of you. “It’s good.” 

“Agreed. I’m good with casual. I’m a little too busy for anything more.” 

It’s not a lie. You are too busy to really commit to someone. Again, a warning goes off in your mind like that first night you met him, screaming danger. You ignore it, not ready to give up Seungcheol just yet. 

He grins, pulling his short back over his head. “Cool. If you ever don’t want to or whatever though, let me know, yeah?”

“You too.” 

-

DAY TEN 

Seungcheol [2:06 AM]: Come home with me You [2:06 AM]: Everyone would notice Seungcheol [2:07 AM]: Tell them where you’re going who caaaares Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Unless you don’t want to tell them then that’s ok Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: I personally don’t care if they know I’m rearranging your guts most nights :)  You [2:10 AM]: CHEOL You [2:10 AM]: Fine pls hold my hand while I do this. They’re going to roast me Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Holding your hand sooo tight Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: But from like over here tho  You [2:19 AM]: That was so embarrassing. Where did you go Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: She’s so brave, she’s well behaved Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: Standing outside hurry it's cold as dick out here

Seungcheol [4:38 AM]: Don’t forget to text me when you make it home  You [4:52 AM]: Home safe!  

-

DAY TWENTY THREE

You [11:10 PM]: Wyd Seungcheol [11:34 PM]: Need it that bad? You [11:39 PM]: Wow goodnight!!!!! Seungcheol [11:39 PM]: Nah come back Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: COME BACK Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: Omw. Unlock the door You [11:45 PM]: Need it that bad?  Seungcheol [11:45 PM]: Yes actually :) 

-

DAY THIRTY

You slide your finger across the phone, curious as you pick up Seungcheol’s phone call. “Hello?”

“Are you hungry?” 

You look at your watch. It’s almost one in the afternoon, your stomach growling as it realizes that yeah you are kind of hungry. “Actually yeah. Why?” 

“I had to run errands and I’m by your place and starving. Wanna get lunch?” 

Your lips twitch in a smile. Leaning against the counter, you press the phone against you a little closer. “Sure, what did you have in mind?” 

“Do you like Greek?” You hum in assent, chewing on your fingernail nervously. You can hear him get into his car, pausing momentarily as he starts it and curses at how hot it is. You can’t help but laugh. “Alright, pick you up in ten?”

“Alright.” 

-

DAY FORTY THREE

He’s not yours. You tell yourself that over and over again as you try not to look across the bar where Seungcheol is sitting for the nth time. You’d noticed him immediately when you and Vin walked in, clocking his wide frame and familiar laugh with a precision that makes you curse yourself.

Now, Seungcheol is leaning against a high top, talking to a pretty girl sitting on a stool next to him. He’d waved at you earlier and shot you a smile and a wink, but he’s with friends you’re unfamiliar with tonight, and hasn’t come over.

Not that you expect him to. He isn’t yours and the casual thing you’ve got going means he can do whatever he wants, no strings attached.

So why is your heart in your throat as you glance over to see the girl laughing at something he’s said? They’re not alone but somehow that isn’t comforting at all. You pick at the varnish on the table to distract yourself, suddenly interested in the splinters and not the man across the bar from you.

Finishing the rest of your beer, you pull out another, hoping that the hoppy taste erases the icky feeling that settles on your skin. You’re not participating in conversation much, but if your friends notice, they have the decency not to call you out. 

At least Vin knows what’s up, checking on you every once in a while. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything, occasionally giving you a squeeze instead. She knows the deal, understanding the irrationality between wanting to control something that isn’t yours to control. 

Halfway through your beer, your phone vibrates. You flip it over and your heart starts pounding when you see Seungcheol’s name come across the screen, a message waiting to be read. With a shaky hand, you slide your thumb across the screen to unlock it, the message popping up.

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: Wanna come back to mine? 

Surprised, you look up from your phone to where he’s still at the high top. His phone is in his hands and he’s looking right at you, flashing a grin when you meet his eyes. The girl is still sitting next to him, but his attention is entirely on you now, pinning you to the spot. 

Your phone vibrates again and you glance down, your phone’s brightness stark in the gloom of the bar. 

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: You’re cute when you’re surprised You [12:14 AM]: What, the girl you were talking to said no? Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: I didn’t ask her. I asked you Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: Omg wait are you jealous?? You [12:14 AM]: No You [12:14 AM]: Definitely not  Seungcheol [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me is Hades for a liar or whatever You [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another, loser Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Same thing Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: But seriously, I have no interest in her. I’m asking YOU Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Will beg from my knees in this bar Seungcheol [12:19 AM]: Even tho the floor is kind of gross You [12:20 AM]: I mean, if you’re offering to get on your knees…

You’re not sure if you trust his answer about not being interested in the other girl, but it doesn’t matter. You still end up leaning against him in an Uber, his hand squeezing your thigh playfully as he leans his forehead on the window, eyes closed to enjoy the cool glass. 

He is so handsome, face glowing red as the car stops at a stoplight. You examine him closely, eyes dragging from the soft curve of his mouth to his impossibly silk lashes. You’d told him once that most girls would kill for those lashes, and now he likes to bat them at you every time he wants something. 

The car starts moving and you look away from him, taking in a deep breath. Seungcheol isn’t yours, but you’re starting to think you want him to be. 

DAY FIFTY TWO

“Is it weird if I bring a bag of shit to stay?” Seungcheol’s voice is shy over the receiver. You grip your phone tighter, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile as you roll onto your side in bed, snuggling into the pillow more. It smells like him, bergamot and cedarwood. “You can tell me if that’s weird.”

“Not weird at all,” you say carefully, too nervous to scare him off. “You usually end up sleeping here anyway.” 

Usually really means always. He’s been doing that more recently, crashing at your apartment after coming over and vice versa. You’ve gone from Uber rides home at dawn to waking up curled into his back. He’s the first person you’ve ever let loiter in your space as much as he has, but you try not to think about it too much, as though just the acknowledgement might spook him.

Whatever thing between you feels fragile, a rare, glass menagerie set that can shatter if handled wrong. Friends with benefits is what you call it, but you’re not quite sure if that’s what it is.

“Okay cool. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go back to my place and shower sucks.” 

“I do have a shower.”

“Oh I’m aware. It’s one of my favorite places in your apartment.” 

Your stomach flutters and you clench your thighs together. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you realize it’s getting late. “Better hurry,” you murmur. “I might be too tired for a shower when you get here.” 

His chuckle is deep. Throaty. “I’ll speed, then.” 

After hanging up, you toss your phone to the end of your bed and stare at the ceiling. Outside, the city hums beyond the window of your apartment. The lights in your home are mostly turned off, a single lamp providing low light in the living room so Seungcheol can see when he comes in, and a flickering candle on your nightstand and in the bathroom. 

Your bed is warm and you do feel sleepy, but the excitement of seeing Seungcheol keeps you awake well enough. You try not to think of that too much, either. He was just there a few nights prior, and already he’s on his way back. Like it’s common. Routine. 

And it sort of is, you guess. You hangout with Seungcheol almost more than you see Vin and Jeonghan these days, and you’re almost always spending the night together. You know his favorite late night snacks, you know the type of coffee he likes to make in the morning before work, and you know about his family, his stresses at work. What makes him tick. 

It’s more than you ever thought you’d know about him when you agreed to keep your sex life with him casual and at a distance. He is anything but at a distance. 

Seungcheol must speed, because it feels like hardly any time has passed when you hear your apartment door open and shut, the sound of the deadbolt clicking. You lift yourself up to lean on your elbows, watching from your bed as he enters your line of vision, a backpack over one shoulder. 

He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats, cozy and warm and still unbelievably good looking. He grins when he sees you, eyes creasing at the corners as he enters your room and drops his bag by your door. 

Without saying anything, Seungcheol crawls onto your bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he inches up over you. Falling backward onto the mattress, you let him loom over you. Heat radiates from his body, warming you up. Your heart thuds as he ducks down, his hands bracketing your head as he cages you in. He brushes his nose against yours and you feel sparks, trying to regulate your breathing. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, reaching your hands up to rest on his hips. He reacts, pressing his waist into yours a little, making you bear his weight. “Ugh, heavy.” 

“Too bad.” 

Seungcheol’s teeth nip your jaw, making your hips twitch upward. You can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses a wet kiss under your ear, moving his way to your neck. 

“I was promised a shower.”

“Maybe I’m too tired,” You murmur.

He hums, leaning more of his weight into you. It’s comforting, not crushing, and you can feel the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, in tune with yours. You smell bergamot and cedarwood, making your thoughts dizzy and scattered while he whispers, “I’ll wash your hair.” 

“Hmmm. I’m listening.” 

He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point, tongue laving against your skin. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your muscles tensing as you fight off a shiver. You can hear his soft breath, the way the sheets shift under the two of you, the way your heart hammers.  

“I’ll massage your shoulders…” 

“Hmm.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat and you sigh, arching up into him, eyes closed. “I’ll eat you out.” 

Fuck. You’re putty in his hands. Seungcheol could get you to do anything he asked. You don’t know if he knows - you’re too afraid to show him, to let him in on the secret out of fear of what it would mean to him. If it was too much, too deep.

But like this, it’s hard not to hide it. Especially when his filthy mouth hits a weak point in you, turning you thoughtless as you nod your head in response, nails digging into his hip bones through the fabric of his shirt. He makes a noise in response, leaning up off of you reluctantly but pulling you with him. 

Dropping his hands, you head to the bathroom, feeling uneven. Seungcheol whines and grabs you to pull you back toward him. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“You haven’t even given me a kiss,” he pouts, looking down at you through long, dark lashes. “I want a kiss.” 

This is the problem with Seungcheol. He says things like this when you’re supposed to be casual, something easy and without feelings and without strings. But this feels like something, it feels like there's a thread connecting you, tugging your mouth to his because of course you indulge him.

You always do. 

Seungcheol’s lips are soft and taste faintly of his cherry chapstick. You smile into the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press closer to him. He kisses you back eagerly, slotting his lips against yours and humming with delight. When you pull away, he’s smug, grinning happily. 

“Come on,” he urges, now leading the charge as he pulls you by the hand toward your bathroom. 

Instead of turning on the light, Seungcheol uses the glow of the burning candle on the counter to navigate. He drops your hand to open up the cabinets and pulls out two towels as you trail to the shower, opening the glass door to lean in and turn it on. 

Steam starts to fill the room as you close the shower door and turn to him. He sets the towels on the counter, not bothering to shut the door to the bedroom. Instead, he grips the bottom of his shirt and peels it upward and over his head, revealing all toned muscle and tan skin. 

He momentarily distracts you. Seungcheol is a work of art, equal parts rippling muscle and soft skin. You slide your shorts down, distracted by the way he looks in the golden shroud of the candle light, sliding his sweatpants down his legs. 

Sensing your eyes, he lifts his head as he kicks off his sweats, briefs slung low on his hips. “Admiring me?” 

“Shut up.” 

Looking away, you take off your shirt, feeling the heat flush from your cheeks down to your neck. He chuckles, peeling off his briefs before kicking them toward the sink and striding toward the shower. He stops to kiss you on the cheek as he pulls open the door. 

“I don’t mind,” he teases. “I like it.” 

It’s true. Seungcheol has always had the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in their skin. You admire that about him - and envy him a little. Seungcheol never seems to worry what others think of him, nor does he seem embarrassed or concerned about making the wrong move. Saying the wrong thing. 

Steam hits you full on as you step into the shower. Seungcheol is already standing under the spray of water, his back turned toward you. For a moment you admire him again, watching the way the water sluices down his broad back and narrow waist. 

Your eyes drift to the tattoo at his neck, the branches of the tree stretching toward his shoulders. You’ve traced that tree with the tips of your fingers and tongue over and over again, fascinated about the way the ink flexes when he moves. 

A chill catches you, making you shiver and step toward the heat of the water. He senses your approach, turning his head to the side to look at you over his shoulder. He grins, reaching a hand back toward you to pull you close. You lace your fingers, letting him pull you into him as he turns. 

Hot water hits your skin, immediately soothing. You sigh, leaning into the firmness of him, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around you. He catches your mouth again, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you slowly, tongue lazy as he licks into your mouth. 

Seungcheol’s hands spread across your back, fingers digging in a little as he starts to explore, one hand surging up and the other down. You moan into his mouth as the hand that drifts down grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing a little. His mouth curves into the kiss and you feel his teeth pull at your bottom lip, something he knows you love.

As always, you’re a goner. You don’t stand a chance with him. Not that first night and not now when he kisses you like something more. Not when he slides his hand around to your front, pressed between your bodies to run his fingers up the wet folds of your pussy. 

He groans into the kiss that has turned sloppy, hungry. “Fucking wet.”

“We’re in the shower.” 

He growls and pulls his mouth from you to attach to your neck, biting and sucking harshly. You let out a breathy sound, head tilting back heavily as you feel his tongue lick the water from your skin. “Don’t take away my credit.” 

“The only crime is pride.”

The pads of his fingers press into your clit, making your knees knock together and the breath leave your lungs. He smiles against your neck, humming. “Which classic are you quoting at me today?” 

“Antigone by Sophocles.” 

“What’s that one about?” 

Finding words is nearly impossible. The heat of the shower has you flushed and distracted, the steam making it harder to breathe, thoughts sticky as Seungcheol continues to tease you, fingers dragging down to your clenching entrance to press his fingers in slightly before dragging them back up.

Your nails bite into the back of his neck, clinging to him for life as he holds you up, one arm looped around your back to press you to him while the other makes all your thoughts scattered. 

“Come on,” he urges gently, bringing his face to yours. He brushes his nose against yours, nudging. “Tell me.” 

“She was a tragic character in a play written by Sophocles,” you sigh. “She was the daughter of Oedipus.” 

“The guy who fucked his mom?”

Your laughter bubbles out of you. He laughs too, his hold tightening. “Yeah, Cheol. The guy who fucked his mom.”

“Craaazy family.” 

“Do you really want to talk about Greek tragedy incest right now?”

“Nope,” he says happily. “I do want to eat this pussy though.” 

Seungcheol flips gears so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. He swings you toward the glass wall of the shower, pressing your chest against it. You moan loudly, startled by the cool glass against your hard nipples. The contrast of hot water and the cool glass feels good, your eyes fluttering shut as Seungcheol drops to his knees behind you. He gently presses the inside of your knees, urging you to spread your legs. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, hands ghosting upward to squeeze your ass. He pulls your hips away from the glass and toward him, groaning as he comes face level to your cunt. “Fuck.”

Your breath fogs the glass. It’s cold when you press your palms against it, holding yourself up as Seungcheol dips forward, running the flat of his tongue down your slit. You let out a pathetic sound and he laughs, fingers squeezing your flesh. 

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. You melt, knees shaking and unsteady as Seungcheols tongue leisurely explores your folds, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to circle your clit. 

One of your hands leaves the glass to reach back, sinking into the wet strands of his hair and holding him to you. He grunts in pleasure, the buzz of his mouth adding to the simulation as he fastens his lips to you, sucking gently. 

Seungcheol’s mouth is a weapon. You fall apart under the warmth of his lips, the softness of his tongue. He sucks at your core, greedy and pleased, fingers digging into you as he presses in further. He can never get enough, the wet sounds of his hunger making your toes curl.

“Feels so good,” you pant against the glass. Your nails scrape against his scalp and he moans loudly, muffled by your cunt. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Mmm. Love you like this.” His tongue flicks expertly across your clit and you feel your thighs clench, legs shaking as your orgasm spools inside of you. “God this shower hurts my fucking knees though.”

“You wanted to eat me out in the shower.”

A hand cracks across your ass cheek, making you arch against the glass. He chuckles, tongue diving back, words slurred as he mutters, “And I’d do it again.”

Seungcheol’s mouth feels divine. You go quiet as he sucks at you, focused on the warmth spreading through you and the way your breath starts to stutter, limbs locking up. 

When you come, you go boneless. Seungcheol holds you up, pressing you against the glass as he licks you through your orgasm. You twitch against him, nails dragging in his hair, your other hand sliding against the glass as you fight to grip anything to ground you.

Breathing raggedly, you sag when he pulls his face from you and stands. He groans and you grin, knowing his knees hurt from the tile of the shower. He doesn’t care, though. He crowds you in, cock pressed against your backside as his arms loop around you. 

“Kiss me.” His voice is soft, needy. 

Turning your face over your shoulder, you let him catch his mouth with yours, all tongue and cum and spit. You don’t care, pushing into him. One of his hands slides down between your legs, making you whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers through your sticky folds to press two of them into your entrance. 

Seungcheol is a giver. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve slept together or had brief, fast encounters, he always makes it a point to please you. To go out of his way to make you shake against him, like he needs it. 

He keeps your mouth melded to his as his fingers fuck you slowly. You clench around his fingers, moaning his name as he presses them against the soft spot inside of you. You see stars, panting into his mouth as he strings you along, dragging you toward another orgasm. 

It’s slow. Intimate. His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at biting at your bottom lip. His other hand snakes up to your throat, not applying pressure but gripping you, holding you to him. If he didn’t have you so tightly pressed to the glass, you think you’d collapse.

“You won’t fall,” he breathes into your mouth, reading your mind. “I’ve got you.”

“My knees are fucking useless right now.”

“You’re tough. Come on, I know you can give me more.” 

You’ll give him anything he asks. You feel your heart slamming in your chest as he works you up again, feel the ragged breathing until you momentarily stop, everything tense and suspended as you clench around his fingers, shuddering violently as you come. 

“Knew it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

A whine leaves you at the praise, head shaking back and forth a little as the oversensitivity makes you squirm. He works you through it, mouth pressed to your ear, whispering to breathe, baby as he strokes you gently until you’re leaning against him heavily. 

Seungcheol removes his hand but keeps holding you up, letting you catch your breath. He peppers innocent kisses along your shoulder, lips brushing your skin tenderly. When you stand up with more strength, he pats you on the hip, gentle.

“Good?”

“Mhmm.” Craning over your shoulder, you catch his chin with your mouth, kissing softly. You press your ass into him, feeling his straining cock. “Come on.” 

“Yeah?”

“All good.”

“Thank fuck. Thought I lost you.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grin, a little tired.

He kisses you, patting you approvingly before he grinds the tip of his cock between your legs. He groans deep in his chest, grip on you tightening for a moment. You reach behind you, gripping the base of his cock firmly, stroking gently before lining him up with your entrance. 

Seungcheol pushes in, both of you whining in harmony at the feeling. It feels good, your pussy throbbing around him as he presses in slowly, letting you feel the stretch. He clings to you, trying to keep it together as you flutter around him. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Shit.” 

Gently, Seungcheol starts to fuck you against the glass, strokes deep and slow. It’s mind-numbingly good, your cheek cool and pressed against the shower wall, Seungcheol’s face buried in your neck, breath puffing against your skin. 

He holds you reverently, both hands on your hips to keep you where he wants you. You reach one hand behind your head, holding the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. He hums happily, always pleased when you bite and scratch him.

That had been a surprise. You always thought he wouldn’t want you to mark him, that he wouldn’t want evidence of your time spent together. Seungcheol is the opposite though, urging you to rake your nails across soft skin, to bite at him and bruise him. 

Your feet slide apart a little as he strengthens his thrusts. You squeal, hand smacking the glass to hold yourself up. He lets out a loud laugh, pausing to let you fix your stance. He taps your thigh in question and you nod, lifting your leg a little to let him slide a hand under your thigh to press it against the shower wall for better grip.

When he rolls his hips into you this time, it’s deeper, making you tremble against the glass. A groan drips from Seungcheol’s mouth as he sets his pace, pinning you between him and the glass with nothing to do but to take what he gives you. 

“Can you do another?” he asks, breath shaky. His fingers squeeze your thigh for emphasis, the snap of his hips getting stronger. You nod, unable to answer verbally. He huffs, half laughter, half something else. “Yeah you can.” 

And you can. Seungcheol can pull pleasure out of you like thread from a loom, his skilled hands guiding you where he wants you to go. It’s easy for him, the way he knows your body so acute and familiar that the thought alone makes you unravel a little, your whines muted by the glass. 

He makes you come like that, stuck between his warmth and the cold, the two contrasts keeping you suspended as you seize up around him. He grunts at the feeling, hips sloppy, losing their rhythm until he clenches up, growling your name into your neck as he tips over the edge after you. 

For a few moments, you remain melded together, panting in time. Seungcheol makes no rush of peeling himself away from you. Instead, he’s content to mouth at your shoulder and neck, running his nose along your throat. You squirm and laugh, ticklish. 

Grinning, he does it again, nuzzling into you and making you laugh, sound echoing in the shower. “Seungcheol!”

“It’s cute.” 

“Come on,” you urge. “You said you’d wash my hair.” 

He steals a kiss. “Alright, alright. Pass me the shampoo.” 

-

DAY FIFTY SEVEN

“Who is that?” Seungcheol asks, jerking his head toward the bar. You turn and follow his gaze to see Seokmin standing at the bar, ordering drinks. “Never seen him before.”

“Jealous?” You tease, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. Seokmin is just a coworker, but it doesn’t mean you can’t poke Seungcheol a little. Except Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, leveling you with a stare, lips turning downward. “Wait, you actually are.”

“Don’t push it. It was just a question.”

“We work together,” you clarify, immediately turning off the charm when you recognize he’s not amused. “Actually I think he sort of has a thing for Vin, which is why he’s here.” 

Seungcheol hums, sipping his beer and looking away from you. Licking your lips, you reach out a hand and touch his gently, bringing his dark eyes back to you. He looks serious - more serious than you’ve ever seen him, face blank, eyes unreadable. 

“I mean it.” You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re just friends.” 

“Alright.” 

“I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?” 

You shrug, struggling to articulate. He still has that expression you can’t read, something stark and closed off. “Just seems like it.” 

He shakes his head again, but you don’t think he’s telling the truth, watching the way his eyes shift to watch Seokmin approach. “Just tired, I think I might head out.” 

Panic grips you and you say the first thing you can think of, throwing caution to the wind. “Want to come over?” 

That gives him pause. He studies you. You feel a tightness in your throat under his scrutiny. His mouth twitches and he nods. “Alright,” he says softly. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” You squeeze his hand again. “Really.”

-

DAY SEVENTY EIGHT

“Want to do me a huge favor?” 

You look up from your spot on your couch. Seungcheol is in your kitchen, using his hip to close the door to the fridge. He lifts the lid on the package of grapes, plastic cracking loudly as he does. Leaning against the counter, he pops one into his mouth, crunching happily. 

“Besides giving you my grapes?” you ask, deadpan. He grins around them shrugging happily as he eats another. You roll your eyes, turning back to the laptop carefully balanced on your knee. “What’s the favor?” 

“We have this giant New Years Eve party at work in two weeks and I need a date.”

That gives you pause. You stare at the computer screen but you can’t make out anything on the screen. You don’t dare to turn and look at Seungcheol, fearful that the feelings his question brings out will be right on the surface of your expression.

Date. It’s a scary word. You and Seungcheol sort of go on dates all the time, but they’re not really dates. At least, not from your perspective. If you were to ask Jeonghan, he would launch into another lecture that you should just put a goddamn title on this thing. Vin happily agrees, both of them hammering you on calling the thing between you and Seuncheol what it is.

But it’s friends with benefits. Friends go out to eat meals together and go shopping together - they hangout. The benefits are the sex. It’s the pressing you against your mattress as he maps your body with his mouth, it’s the way you sink to your knees for him after he’s had a bad day at work, taking him into the heat of your mouth to make him forget. 

So yes, you’ve gone places together alone and as a friend date. But somehow this feels different, and you don’t think it’s supposed to. 

Carefully, you ask, “Your date, huh?”

“Mhmm. Free drinks and apps, and it’s at the top of that fancy new hotel. We can stay the night so we don’t have to pay for an expensive as fuck Uber” 

Not for the first time, you find yourself unsure where the line is with Seungcheol. You’ve agreed multiple times that this is just casual, a shared benefit between friends. And yet every time you feel confident in what you are, the line blurs. 

You’re as guilty as he is, you know. On more than one occasion you’re the one who has crossed the line, messing up the clear boundary the two of you have had in place for weeks. Somehow, you both manage to be utterly terrible at casual, but you’re too afraid to say something about it. Too afraid to ruin it. 

“I suppose I can be convinced.” 

“Oh? What can I do to convince you?” 

You look up as his tone turns to velvet, that voice he uses when he’s coaxing you into his lap, or when he’s- 

“It’s really hard to be sexy when there’s grape juice running down your chin, Cheol.” 

He pouts, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the lower half of his face as you laugh. He’s cute, pink lips downturned and eyes round as he sulks. “Don’t make fun of me. Just say yes to being my date.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.” 

His grin is burnished gold, the sun breaking for first light over the horizon. “Thank you.” 

“Mhmm.” He crunches into another grape and you scowl. “Stop eating all my fucking grapes!” 

-

DAY NINETY TWO

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol mutters when you step out of the hotel bedroom. He feels his heart start to pound in his chest from where he stands in the kitchenette, fingers squeezing the glass of whiskey he poured himself earlier. “You look unreal.”

And you do. You always do. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when Jeonghan and Joshua introduced the two of you that first night at that shitty bar you like to go to on Fridays. The real kicker had been your personality, though. Warm, kind, quick wit. A bit of a history nerd, which is his favorite thing. 

Honestly, he loves a lot of things about you. He knows that he has to do something about that. Knows that this stopped being casual a long time ago. Seungcheol has no problem with casual hookups and keeping people in a rotation, but when it comes to you… he just wants you. 

It’s like he has no idea how to keep his distance, how to keep his feelings out of it. He doesn’t mind, but he needs to figure out how to tell you. How to take that next step and move you from friends to more - if that’s what you want, anyway. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say back neutrally. He can see the way your eyes linger on him though, your gaze betraying the calmness of your voice, as always.

You don’t get it, though. Seungcheol cannot keep his eyes off you, dragging them from top to bottom. The black dress is snug on your frame, his eyes tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the curve of your ass and thighs. 

Dragging his eyes back up, he meets your gaze. That is one of his favorite things. Your eyes, full of light and depth and thoughts that he always wants to fall into. There is so much simmering under the surface that you don’t say and he’s never asked.

He wants to. 

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol leaves the glass on the counter and walks over to you. You shift from foot to foot, eyes darting up to examine the ceiling. He smirks, feeling the nerves radiating from you as he approaches. 

When he reaches out, you don’t step away from him. You let him skim his hands up your sides, going until he’s running them over your shoulders and on either side of your neck so he can cradle your face. He turns your gaze back to him and you stare up at him through your lashes. 

He was a goner on day one. How ridiculous to think he’s not just made this real, told you how he doesn’t want a single thing to be casual and superficial between you. 

Instead of stealing a searing kiss and pushing you back into the bedroom like he wants to, Seungcheol presses a short kiss to the corner of your mouth. He’s too afraid that if he starts something that you won’t make it downstairs. 

Now isn’t the time for that, though. There’s a party upstairs and free drinks and he wants to spend time with his friends. Spend time with you.

The Seungcheol that existed before you is a stranger to him. He barely remembers what it was like to have people he wasn’t genuinely interested in, what it was like to show up alone at parties and take someone home. Hardly recalls pushing people away when they wanted too much. 

All it took was meeting you.

“Come on,” he urges gently, leading you from the room and to the elevator. 

Seungcheol slides his phone from his pocket in the elevator. You press close against him, your arm brushing against his as it fills up with people. He notes where Wonwoo tells him to meet and puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning into you a little.

You let him, making his mouth twitch upward. You always let him do what he wants, and when you don’t, an easy pout gets his way. He’s wrapped around your finger, too. He doesn’t know if you realize it, but he would give you anything you wanted without a moment's hesitation. 

When the elevator doors open, Seungcheol takes your hand. You let him pull you into the party teeming with people, the sound of music swelling over the dull roar of the crowd. You stick closer to him, fingers squeezing him tightly as the pair of you walk toward the check-in table. 

“This is beautiful,” you murmur to him. 

His first instinct is to look at you because you are beautiful. You’re not looking at him, your neck craned to sweep over the party. He smiles at you, watching the glow of your side profile, eyes wide with wonder.

Dragging his eyes from your face, he glances around the party. It is gorgeous, with views of the entire city glittering beneath the building like a bed of stars, shimmering decorations reflecting the golden lights, a giant clock to show the time, and massive flower arrangements. 

“It’s nice,” he agrees, shuffling to the table where he gives his name. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Perfect, thanks.” The person working the table peels two wristbands and gestures for you both to hold out your wrists. You let go of his hand to do so, letting the attendant wrap your arm in a blue band. “Have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.” 

Both of you blink in surprise. You open and close your mouth as if you’re unsure how to correct them and Seungcheol laughs, shrugging as he takes your hand and leads you out of the line and into the party proper this time.

“This way, wifey.” 

You roll your eyes but grin anyway, looping your arm through his offered one and tugging him close. He’s satisfied, leading you through the tight crowd of people toward the south bar that Wonwoo had said their friends were waiting at.

Joshua spots you and waves you both over, making room at the bar for you to join. Jeonghan’s eyes flick to where your arm is looped through Seungcheol to Seungcheol himself, raising a brow. Seungcheol glares at him, urging him to shut up and Jeonghan grins, turning to order drinks at the bar. 

Wonwoo claps Seungcheol on the back in greeting before kissing you on both cheeks and letting you sit on the only barstool available. Seungcheol moves with you pressed to your back as he leans an elbow on the bar, keeping you close. You lean into him, earning a shy smile that he tries to hide behind the rim of the champagne glass that Jeonghan hands him.

He likes this. He likes being with his friends. He likes the way you laugh and lean back further into him when you do. He likes that his friends don’t bother the two of you about being attached at the hip. And he likes the way your face lights up every time he jokingly calls you wifey. 

Seungcheol wants this. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he wanted a relationship the way he wants with you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything before you is gone and forgotten, and what matters now are the things that are post-meeting-you. 

Plied with lots of champagne and your laughter, Seungcheol lets you drag him onto the dance floor, wrapping your arms around him as he spins you. He doesn’t know what has him more drunk, the alcohol or you. He thinks it might be you. 

The DJ announces that it’s one minute until midnight, making Seungcheol spin and look up at the clock. The partygoers cheer, clustering together to press toward the clock to count down. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close in the tight crowd. 

His heart flutters as he watches the numbers countdown, realizing he gets to kiss you at midnight. He’s kissed you over a hundred times by now, but the prospect makes him giddy. His heart races as the numbers drop and he looks at you from the corner of your eye.

You’re watching the clock, uncontrolled happiness on your face as you yell with the rest of the crowd, counting each number as it passes by. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you peer up at him, suddenly unsure. He can’t believe you don’t see it, that you’d doubt for one second that he wants you to be his first kiss of the year. His heart seizes, dipping down with a smile to press his lips to yours.

Your mouth is warm and champagne-sweet, making him groan in the back of his throat. Your fingers cling to his hip, holding him by the waist as he slips a hand up to the back of your neck to hold you in place, deepening the kiss. 

When you pull your mouth away, he makes up his mind. Fuck everything he said about keeping it casual - he doesn’t want to go another minute without you knowing what he wants. 

-

DAY NINETY THREE

“Be my girlfriend.”

The words that come from Seungcheol’s lips catch you off guard. A giggle bursts to your lips and you lean back, trying to examine him from a little farther away. You feel the glitter of champagne in your veins and the same buzz that comes with being near Seungcheol, wondering if maybe he’s had too much to drink.

“What?” you ask, examining his face. He’s flushed, lips pink and smiling, but his eyes are dark and serious.

“Be my girlfriend,” he says again, this time quieter. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath fans your face, warm and sweetened by champagne. “I know we agreed to be casual so if you don’t want more, that’s fine. But there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”

Heart thundering, you laugh and cling to him a little tighter. He nudges you with his head, as though asking what’s so funny. You don’t know how to put into words that you’ve wanted to be not casual for a long time, that you are dizzy with the prospect of being something more, that he’s just made the first minute of your year perfect.

Instead of trying to string together the words to tell him, you kiss him. His mouth turns upward, letting you press your palms to the sides of his face, holding him to your lips. There’s no one else but just the two of you, entirely in your own bubble on the rooftop. 

Relief mixed with euphoria floods your system. It’s a weight lifted off your shoulders, realizing that you’re not crazy, that nothing you feel about Seungcheol is casual and that’s okay. That he feels it too. 

Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. He groans, separating your mouths to peer down at you, his lashes fanning when he blinks, dazed. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “This is a work party. I’ll fold right here.” 

“So take me somewhere that isn’t here and fold.”

His gummy smile is blinding, your heart soaring. “Alright, wifey.” 

“Gonna need a ring pop at a minimum if you’re gonna keep saying that shit.”

He links your fingers together, stepping away from you. He tugs you after him and you follow. “Deal. What flavor?”

“Strawberry. I kind of want to suck something else right now, though.” 

Seungcheol groans and you laugh, loving the way he visibly struggles as your words land. He walks faster, a new pep in his step as you make your way toward the elevator. He shouts Wonwoo’s name as he goes, waving his hand to tell him that you’re leaving. 

Wonwoo’s grin is all-knowing as he throws two thumbs up, cheering happily. You tingle with a little bit of embarrassment, scurrying toward the closing elevator door to catch it. It opens again and you both slip inside, alone and buzzing from the party and your newfound status. 

The door closes and Seungcheol pushes in close. You press against the wall, looking up at his sharp grin, his nose nudging yours. His lips are almost on yours, the heat of them against your mouth making you dizzy and the heavy weight of his body against yours making your thoughts sticky. 

“Gonna suck something else, huh?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Wanna do it right here in the elevator?” 

“Huh?” 

He bursts into laughter at your wide gaze, tapping the underside of your chin with his knuckle in jest. “I’m kidding. Unless…”

You shove him away and he starts laughing again, bending over with the force of it. You can’t be annoyed by his teasing, loving the way his eyes crease at the corner and how he laughs with the full force of his body. 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You should have seen your face, though.” 

“I mean I’ll do it right now, if you want.”

His smile drops and he opens his mouth a little, shocked. “Wait, really?”

“No, but you should have seen your face.”

The elevator arriving at the appropriate floor saves him from answering. He scowls at you and you giggle, grabbing him and pushing him into the hall and toward your room. He turns on his heel, falling into step with you and fishing the room key out of his pocket. 

It’s cold in the room when you enter. Seungcheol had booked a one bedroom suite with a small living room and kitchenette. It was more than what you needed for the night, but it feels nice, like your own private getaway. 

Taking you by the hand, he walks backward toward the bedroom, pulling you along. His smile is beautiful and you wear a matching one. A thrill shoots through you when you realize that Seungcheol is yours. Really yours. 

Sitting on the bed, he pulls you into his lap. Your knees sink in the mattress on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. Leaning over him, you link your hands behind the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the silky hair there. 

Seungcheol tilts his face up toward you, eyes fluttering as you play with his hair. His arms loop around your waist, squeezing you. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“Hi.”

Leaning down, you slot your mouth against his. He tastes like champagne, mouth warm. Kissing him takes your breath away, thoughts guttering out as he licks into your mouth hungrily. You lose yourself in the feeling of him, feeling like you’re on fire. 

Seungcheol falls backward on the bed. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares up at you. He reaches for you but you give him a coy smile and slip from his lap, crouching to the floor and running your hands along his thighs, feeling them flex beneath your touch. 

You love Seungcheol’s thighs. Your nails drag across the fabric and he lets out a breathy sound. His muscles twitch as you reach to brush your fingers over his zipper, making sure to press into his cock. His hips jerk upward at the barest hint of stimulation and you grin.

“It’s no elevator,” you tease. “But will this do?” 

“Fucking anywhere will do.” 

Seungcheol has always been sensitive. He’s easy to rile, cock already firm by the time you’re undoing his belt and he’s helping you pull his dress pants down his thighs. You eye the dark patch in his briefs, proud that with just a little bit of kissing and some light touching he’s already leaking at the tip.

Sitting high on your knees, you lean forward, tongue pressing wetly to the tip of his cock through the fabric. A hand shoots to the back of your head, his fingers gripping you firmly as you laugh, tongue still pressed to him and soaking through his briefs.

“Don’t you dare tease me tonight,” he warns, voice shaky. “That is not wifey behavior.” 

You remove your tongue, pouting and moving to press a kiss to his thigh. “You never let me tease you.” 

“I’m not patient.” Your teeth scrape the softness of his flesh and his legs twitch, knees knocking your shoulder. “Baby, I am so serious.”

Biting your bottom lip to hide a smile, you give in. You know with certainty he’d let you drag this out if you really wanted to. Seungcheol is impatient and greedy and demanding, but he also lets you do what you want when it comes down to it. 

Instead of testing his grace, you peel his briefs down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters at his thick length, your hand automatically reaching up to grab him. You swipe your thumb through the precum gathered, using it to slide down the full length of his shaft.

Seungcheol’s hips buck. You grip him properly, working him slowly as you shuffle closer on your knees. They already hurt, hotel carpet digging into them but you ignore it in favor of watching the way his fingers slowly undo the button of his shirt, needing to shuck the fabric off. 

“You’re pretty,” you note absently. His stomach flexes when he sits up to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. He looks down at you, pupils dilated. “Very, very pretty.” 

“You’re a work of art yourself.”

Instead of laying back down flat, he leans back on his palms, letting his head fall back. Seungcheol shuts his eyes, face tilted up at the ceiling as though in prayer. “Feels good.”

Humming happily, you lean forward and slowly run the flat of your tongue up the base of his shaft. That draws a low moan out of him, his chest rising and falling as he pants. You’re fascinated by his reactions, watching his face and body language carefully as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock.

He’s responsive, fingers digging into the sheets in an effort not to grab your head and take control. He’s testing his patience, letting you bring him into the wet heat of your mouth at your pace, sucking lazily. 

“Fuck,” he groans. You hum around him and he shakes his head, shivering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Good you think, setting a proper place as you swallow him down, letting your spit pool to help make the glide easier. It’s messy and wet, just the way Seungcheol likes it, his moans backtracking the slick sounds coming from your mouth.

What you can’t fit in your mouth properly, you cover with your hand, squeezing periodically as you stroke upward, meeting your stretched lips. 

“God,” Seungcheol whispers. “You know how to suck cock.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you grin, feeling the sting in your mouth from the stretch. Your lips are cum and spit-slicked, sticky as you continue to stroke him. 

“Thanks,” you laugh. “I heard I’m wifey material.”

“Fucking, shit, yeah a little bit. Fuckkkk, mouth please.” 

You comply, sucking him back into your mouth. He’s putty underneath you, hips twitching off the bed a little as soft sounds drip from his mouth. You watch, totally hypnotized by the way he moved, the way his hairline gets a little sweaty as he nods, encouraging you. 

Biting his lip, he lifts a hand from the bed to grab at you, pulling you off of him. “Come here,” he growls, opening his. 

Seungcheol pulls you to him, not caring that your mouth is a mess. His tongue delves in, exploring the mixed taste of champagne and precum, hands pulling at your dress to peel it off of you. 

“Let me sit against the headboard,” he pants, breaking the kiss to scoot backward. You peel your underwear off and toss them, following him across the mattress as he settles. He pats his lap and reaches for you. “Come here, baby.” 

You settle into his lap again, mouth melding to his. His hands explore you, gripping your ass, squeezing your waist, running up your front to pinch at your nipples. You moan into his mouth, carding your fingers in his hair and pulling at the stimulation, your head tilting back a little.

He takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your throat, biting sharply and soothing the sting with his tongue. Sinking a little lower, you feel your pussy brush against his cock and you sigh, gently rolling your hips to slide your sticky folds up his shaft. 

Seungcheol groans against you, mouth feverish against your skin. He maps your throat, kissing and biting his way to your chest, where he steals a pert nipple into his mouth to give a harsh suck. You squeal and he grins, plucking at your sensitive bud with his teeth. 

Holding onto him, you let him lavish attention to your tits the way he wants, hands squeezing, tongue flicking. It feels good. Aflame, you continue to roll your hips shallowly in his waist, just giving the barest of stimulation to you both.

A hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your swelling clit, pressing against it. You whine loudly, fighting off a violent shiver. He grins where he has your breast in his mouth, sucking generously as he lazily circles your clit with his fingers. 

“Cheol,” you whisper-whine. “You said no teasing.”

“I said no teasing me.” His fingers slide backward and dip into your entrance teasingly. You clench around nothing, aching for him to do something. “Flustered, huh?” 

“Please give me something.”

He presses his lips against the side of your jaw, grinning. “Fine.” He sinks a single finger into you and you sigh in immediate relief. It isn’t enough but it’s something, your hips rocking to take him in deeper. “Better?”

“I can take more.” 

“Of course you can.” He pushes in another finger, the stretch so good. “You’re my girl. You can take what I give you.”

Dropping your head to his shoulder, you nod. You hide your face in his flushed skin, riding his fingers as he slowly slides them home, working you gently. They press against your sensitive spot and you curse, gripping him a little tighter. 

Impatient and needing more, you grind yourself forward, fucking his hand properly. He laughs, letting you take what you need, cupping you fully so the heel of his palm grinds into your clit. Your movements are frenzied, driven by the desire for him, the feeling curling inside you. 

“Just like that,” he encourages. “Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.” 

You do, thighs aching and body shaking. The sheets stick to your legs as you work yourself up, sweaty palms sliding against Seungcheol’s shoulders. He whispers in your ear, voice low and scratchy, adding to the building mania inside of you. 

“Shit,” you hiss, feeling the tightness in your stomach start to boil over. 

“Come on, come around my fingers. You got it.” 

His gentle voice pushes you over all the way and you clench around his fingers, coming undone. Your hips stop moving and your legs squeeze around his as you seize up. Seungcheol is having none of it, taking the lead to drive his fingers up into you as you flutter around him.

“Oh,” you gasp as he finer fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, sucking at a tender spot on your neck until you’re trembling and a mess. “Okay, okay, okay.” 

Seungcheol takes it easy on you, pulling his fingers from between your legs with a slick noise. You heave against him, catching your breath while he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks obnoxiously. 

“Mmm.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He smacks your ass and you squeak. “Ride my cock like that?” 

Huffing, you extend to your full height on your knees. He grabs the base of his shaft, eyes fixed on the mess between your legs as you sink down slowly. His tip breaches you, both of you letting out a sound as you keep going, holding your breath as he stretches you open.

Seungcheol taps your waist. “Breathe.” 

You do, inhaling a breath as you nestle in his lap, seated fully, clenching around him. “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.” 

Seungcheol’s hands move up your sides, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. This time, you know the look in his eye is real. His gaze is covetous, looking at you like you’re his because you are. 

You catch his hands with yours, linking your finger and squeezing. He smiles, looking up at you with dark locks of hair in his face. You smile back, starting to roll your hips, using his hands to steady yourself.

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. The cool air of the hotel room brushes across your back, making you shiver. The mattress dips under your movement, your thighs flexing to keep your balance steady, Seungcheol’s grip on you helping. 

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol mutters, using your linked hands to pull you toward him. Your hands slip from him, going to the headboard to help lift you instead. His grip finds your waist, aiding in your movement while his mouth finds your breasts. “God these tits.” 

An ache settles in your thighs but you ignore it, chasing an orgasm. You tremble in his hold, breath punching out of you as he mumbles your name, watching you with fucked out eyes and lips parted, like you’re giving him everything he ever wanted.

You kind of feel that way. The way he looks at you isn’t that different from before, but now you’re confident in it, realizing that everything with Seungcheol felt too intimate because it was. Casual was never the right name for it, neither of you having any idea how to really be no strings attached. 

“My fucking legs hurt,” you admit, panting. “Can you take over?” 

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol surges forward, knocking you backward onto the bed. You laugh, bouncing a little as he pulls out and helps maneuver you. “Turn around for me.” 

With shaking arms, you follow his instruction. The sheets cling to you as you roll, making you huff and swat at them. He chuckles, peeling them away from your sweaty skin while you settle on your stomach, arching your ass a little. 

He palms your left cheek, groaning and dragging his blunt nails down the curve to your hip where he grabs you. “Unreal,” he whispers, to either you or himself. 

You gasp when he thrusts pack in, punching the air from your lungs as he sets a sharp pace. You jostle on the bed, grabbing the sheets and knotting your hands in them to keep you in place, a stream of whimpers leaving you. 

A hand slips up your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the bed. You gasp and nod, Seungcheol taking it as a sign to put more weight into it, angling his hips so he’s fucking down into you. 

It’s hard to breathe, the dizziness taking over as your skin starts to turn to static, orgasm so close that you can feel the buzz between your legs. He keeps going like that, pinning you hard to the bed as his hips crash into yours. 

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as you squeeze around him, letting loose. He curses, picking up his pace, ignoring the wet squelch as he does, palm pressing you harder into the bed as you come. 

You think you might disintegrate, unable to do anything but make broken sounds as he chases his orgasm. Just when you think you might not get another breath, he comes, the pressure on your back lifting a little. You gasp for air, feeling the room tilt as his thrusts slow, becoming gentle. 

Seungcheol’s hands are soothing on your back, fingers dancing up and down your spine, delicate. He’s muttering something to you but you can’t hear him, the pounding of your heart far too loud, pulse rattling in your ears. 

When his hips are still, his hands keep moving. He leans over you, careful not to put his weight on you, mouth kissing across your shoulders. Your cheek is pressed flat against the sheet as you pant, coming down from a fever pitch. 

“You okay if I get up and get you water?” the question is whispered across your cheek, where Seungcheol presses a tender kiss. You nod and he kisses you again before peeling away from you. 

Laying in the bed, you drift, listening to him shuffle around to the kitchen. You’re sleepy but more aware now. When the bed dips again, you crack your eye open, watching as he navigates carefully on his knees, two glasses of water in hand. 

“Can you sit up or do you need help?” You shake your head and muster the strength you have left to sit up. Your muscles spasm as you do, a groan leaving your mouth as the room spins from the change in perspective. “You okay?”

“Thirsty,” you rasp, reaching for the glass he offers. Gulping down the cool water, you’re aware of his eyes on you, watching you drain the glass as he sips his. “Thank you.”

He takes the empty glass and kisses your lips. “Mhmm. Need more?”

“No, I’m good. I just need to sleep for five hundred years, no big deal.” 

“Damn, five hundred goes crazy. Do you think we’ll have flying cars by then?” 

Seungcheol puts both glasses on the nightstand and peels back the covers of the bed. He slips under them, patting the spot next to him. You crawl over, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He laughs at you and you scowl, but manage to clamber in next to him, warm beneath the blankets and tucked into his chest.

“Yes, definitely. And like giant sexy holograms advertising porn, probably.”

“That’s the first thing you think of in the future? Porn?”

“Listen,” you huff, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m still a little champagne buzzed and you just fucked me until I couldn’t breathe for a while. Cut me slack.” 

“Sure thing, wifey.” 

“Ugh. Is that our thing now?” 

“Mhmm. Everything pre-relationship has henceforth been replaced with the relationship-only era. Pretend you have amnesia.” 

A huff of laughter leaves you. “Sure thing.” 

“I mean I feel like I have amnesia.” You give him a questioning look. He’s contemplative, staring with unseeing eyes as he plays with your fingers. “I had an entire life and habits before you, and I swear it’s like sometimes my memory actually starts with that first night at the bar.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re just around a lot and I like to think it’s always been that way. And I’m kind of sorry for taking so long to admit nothing about this was casual for me.” 

You smile. “Wasn’t for me either.” 

“Good.” He snuggles into you, settling in silence for a few moments. “Thanks for letting me win pool that first night.” 

“I did not let you win that game, oh my god.” 

“Just admit it! You wanted to taste my goodies and you let me win.” 

“I’m gonna give you some damn amnesia,” you mutter, but grin as he hugs you tight.

“Sure thing, wifey. Sure thing.” 

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[lvrspiastri]

can i request an op81 smut where she’s landos best friend and he starts to have a crush on her but he doesn’t know if her and lando like each other. but she thinks oscar doesn’t like her because he doesnt really make conversation with her whenever they’re alone but it’s only because he gets so nervous and it comes out weirdly and then lando figures he likes her. but oscar is jealous of their interactions but then lando sets a situation up where oscar n his girl bestie are alone n they have a confession and then fuck.

Earned It. ᵒᵖ⁸¹

sorry for the time this took. exams fucked me up. hope you like it

reminder that requests are open just check out the guidelines :)

masterlist

✧. ┊     PAIRING: jealous!oscar x fem!reader

✧. ┊    WORDS: 3k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, jealousy, coarse language, fingering, squirting, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm. wrap it before you tap it pls

He just observes. Silently. With his teeth clenched. Lando squeezes her shoulders, voice smooth as he laughs about some cheesy shit. She's got that distinctive laugh when he's with her. That laugh that rings through a room. And she throws her head back, hair cascading down her shoulders. It's not fucking fair only he can have evoke that within her. Oscar knows they'd been each other's best friends since they were old enough to say the words. Doesn't make it any damn better.

And it was he who had won. Oscar. He who'd gotten pole and kept the lead all the way through. He who fended off his own experienced teammate. He who should get the attention. Why the fuck was she making heart eyes at Lando, then?

They manage to separate. Somehow. He stares on with a clenched jaw and Lando, the bastard, sends a smirk his way before heading out to see his parents. She walks over, chipper, none the wiser to his inner turmoil. He'd always avoided speaking to her. Mainly because he knew she had no feelings for him whatsoever. So why bother? Why bother falling for her, knowing in the end....she's gonna choose Lando. But also because his tongue gets tied. And he can't stop staring at her when she speaks. But he can't escape this, trying to keep his eyes off her figure as she saunters.

"You did so well today, Osco," she drawls, smile twisted up in a charming manner. Fuck. The way she calls him that dreaded nickname...

"Thank you," he nods, arms crossed so his biceps flex. It was always on purpose, contrary to popular belief. "Couldn't have done it without the team."

"Must you be so humble?" she chuckles, leaning on the wall in front of him. No. In fact he wasn't. He knew it was all his own doing. The team didn't exactly help in keeping Lando behind him for 52 laps. He wasn't their second fucking driver. He knows he's just...better. But he forces an innocent grin.

"Ah, it's the car, really. But I appreciate the sentiment." She nods, tucking her soft hair behind her ear. It was almost dusk. Golden hour. So the fiery light floods the room, highlighting one side of her face, darkening the other. Like the moon. Gorgeous...

"How you celebrating?"

"Honestly?" he sighs, scratching his neck, tilting it in the perfect position so she could see just how thick his neck was. "Might just treat myself to some Maccas and watch a movie." He never was the partying type of man, contrasting his teammate. He found no pleasure in seeing men and women get drunk and grind on each other to shitty house remixes of pop songs. And he certainly never looked for a girl to take home. The only girl he wanted to fuck was standing right in front of-

No. Fuck no.

"That's boring, don't you think? Let me take you out." The offer was tempting, to say the least. Wherever she was gonna take him, he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her. Or his hands. He wouldn't be able to do it. He wouldn't be able to resist.

"Ah, that's kind, really. But I have a flight to catch a 4 AM." Lie. It fucking hurt to lie to her like that. But it was better than potentially jumping her like a wild animal and ruining everything he'd worked so. Damn. Hard. To. Build. She frowns, sighing. It's clear she doesn't buy the lie.

"That's too bad. Some other time, then." He nods in agreement, making a mental note to pack protection for the so-called 'other time.' "I'll see you next week, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, you will. Yeah. You'll see me on the top step again." He hides the cocky smirk daring to embrace his face and just laughs instead.

"Sure. Have a good night."

"And you," he nods, swallowing thickly. His hands are trembling but he hides him by shoving them in his pockets. And the look on her face isn't happy as she leaves. Great. Fucked up. Again.

He's in his room drunk when he sees the videos.

Of them out. Clubbing. They're intoxicated.

Classic.

Singing "Titanium" on top of their lungs (reminding Oscar of the shitty music that frequented clubs and why he would never visit one again), holding each other while making fierce eye contact.

And he damn near breaks the phone.

They're way too close to just be motherfucking friends. In a lapse of judgement, he switches to iMessages, shooting a quick text to Lando.

It's unlike Oscar.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't wake up until there's a loud knock on his hotel room door. The beer clouds his mind, legs feeling like jelly as he makes his way to open the door. Lando leans against the doorway, jaw clenched.

"Mind explaining what that was last night?" Lando lets himself in, gaze steely, voice an eerie calm. Oscar hasn't a fucking idea of what Lando's talking about.

So all he manages in reply is a dumb "Huh?"

While rolling his eyes, Lando takes our his phone out of his pocket and shows Oscar the texts that he sent. Apparently. Must've been piss drunk.

"What...What's this in reference to?"

"Well, you didn't exactly say when you called me a 'cunt' but i'm guessing you saw something from last night." He pockets his phone, crossing his arms.

And then it rushes back. The close lips. The drunken singing. The fucking holding.

"You're fucking her, aren't you?" It just comes out. It's crude but it sums up his thoughts. And he realises his mistake because Lando's eyes widen.

"Are you fucking insane? Seriously? You think I'm fuckin' sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, you know what? Yeah. You think I don't see the eyes you make at each other? The media's accepted her as your WAG, about time I do too-"

"Shut your bloody mouth." He whispers. Low. Dangerous. "She's my best friend and that's all she'll ever be. And I know you're angry but that doesn't give you a right to spew bullshit at me." Oscar looks away. He knows Lando's right. Of course he is. They're better than this. But fuck, that girl has him feeling things he shouldn't. Acting like he shouldn't. He's a damn monster because of her.

"What else do you want me to think? Hm? When I see you and her singing in each other's mouths? Dancing with each other? Do you have any idea how much it stings-"

"Then talk to me, Osc. You never told me you liked her. I figured it out on my own. And honestly, I'm getting sick of being the damn owl in between you two."

Fuck.

Now he feels bad. Lando had always been there for him. Through it all. Through the lows of McLaren he started out with. Through the dumb team orders. He didn't deserve Oscar's selfish episodes. But he doesn't apologise. He just stares at the carpet until Lando speaks.

"I'm gonna bring her here tonight-" Oscar cuts him off.

"I told her I had a 4 AM flight." He mutters.

"Yeah, no shit you lied, she knew it the moment you told her," Lando scoffs. Oscar rolls his eyes, knowing it was a dumb move. Now she probably thinks he hates her for rejecting her invitation... "I told her it was because you're an idiot. I'm gonna ask her to come here. Say you want to apologise. And...you take it from there." He swallows thickly, nodding. He could damn near kiss Lando for his kindness.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot." He fiddles with his maroon shirt.

"If you fuck this up..."

"I won't. Swear. Not this time." He reassures Lando. He'd be the biggest idiot in the world to fumble this opportunity. Which Oscar isn't. Sometimes. They wrap up the formalities and Lando leaves. He's just grateful he didn't cause a rift between them. After Logan left, Lando's the only true friend Oscar had.

He waits the whole day.

He counts every second.

Ever minute.

Every hour.

He irons his shirt twice. Brushes his teeth enough to destroy his toothbrush. Polishes his shoes so one could use it as a mirror. And spends an hour trying to figure out how many buttons of his shirt should be undone so he would look hot but not desperate.

And then he hears the knock, her sweet voice ringing. "Oscar? It's me." She's early by five minutes. He didn't even get to check his cuffs. He breathes deeply, opening the door, putting on his nonchalance act.

"Hey, come in," she steps into his suite. And god, she smells like a dream. Looks like one too. With that lace dress he can see her bra through, the fucking bare legs carrying her. Oh, he was done for. "T-take a seat, yeah, think of it as your own house." Why the fuck did he say that? Idiot!

She smiles sweetly and sits on the edge of the bed. "Lando said you had something you wanted to say to me." He sits beside her. Cautious. Careful not to touch her or the dam of desire he was keeping locked inside him would break.

“Yeah, I did.” He looks anywhere but at her. One look at her perfect mascara-covered lashes and all he’d wanna do is make the mascara run down her cheeks. “Sorry for, uh… blowing you off.” The words scrape out, rough and inadequate.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just tilts her head, arms crossed, like she’s trying to decide if he’s worth the effort. Again.

“You had a plane,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “That’s what you told me.”

“I didn't,” he lies again, softer this time, and immediately hates himself for it. He exhales, rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. I was. I just… I didn’t think I could handle seeing you.”

Her lips part, confusion flashing across her face before it hardens into something unreadable. “So instead you lied to me. Classy.”

“I didn’t lie...,” he says too fast, too defensive. “I just...needed space.”

“Funny. I offered you dinner. Not a proposal.”

That shuts him up.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Uncomfortable. And all he can think about is how close she is, how good she smells, how stupid he is for missing that dinner—for missing her.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time quieter. Real.

“I didn’t come,” he says suddenly, voice low, “because I like you.”

She blinks. The anger in her eyes falters, just slightly.

He exhales, finally looking at her. “I lied about being busy because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t want to come over and—mess it all up. Say the wrong thing. Or worse, jump you like some idiot with no self-control.”

Her brows draw together, confused now. Not angry. Just trying to figure him out.

“I wanted it too bad,” he says. “You. I wanted you too bad.” He laughs bitterly, eyes on the floor. “So yeah. I lied. Because I liked you. And because I’m a coward who didn’t know how to handle it.”

She doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches him. With a different perspective. Like the sharp edges of her anger have dulled under the weight of something warmer. Softer.

“I liked you too, you idiot,” she says quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I invited you out. What did you think that was about?”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes flicking up to meet hers. There's disbelief there. Relief. Want. "Yeah, well, I thought you wanted Lando."

She laughs in a way that makes him feel like an idiot. "Are you serious?"

"You're always so fucking close. But he came in here this morning. Told me I was being a dick."

"You were," she leans in, whispering.

His gaze drops to her lips. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

She leans in just a fraction, eyes half-lidded. “I wore mascara for you, you know.”

His jaw tenses.

“Wouldn’t mind if it ran a little,” she adds, barely audible.

Something in him snaps—not violently, but with aching restraint. His hands hover at her waist, like he's asking for permission even though his body is already leaning into the answer.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps.

“I won’t.”

His hand splays over the fabric, gripping her dress like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And then—he yanks her forward, mouth crashing into hers with a groan that sounds more like a growl.

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s messy. All teeth and tongue and desperation. Like he’s starving and she’s the first thing he’s been allowed to touch in months.

She barely has time to gasp before he’s pressing her into the bed, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The dress rides up. He doesn’t even care. Doesn’t think.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he snarls against her jaw, lips dragging along her pulse. “I didn’t come over because I wanted to rip this fucking dress off the second I saw you.”

His teeth graze her throat. Not gentle. Not playful. Claiming.

She moans, fingers in his hair now, nails raking his scalp, and it only spurs him on. Makes him insane.

“You invited me over like it was nothing. Like you didn’t know I’ve been going insane thinking about you.”

He kisses her again, harder, his body pressed flush against hers, hips locking into the space between her legs like he was meant to be there.

“I lied because if I came over, I would’ve taken you right there on the goddamn dinner table.”

Her breath stutters.

He laughs darkly, hand curling around her neck—not tight, just enough for her to feel the tremble in his fingers.

“You want mascara to run?” His mouth is on her ear now, voice low, wrecked. “Say the word and I’ll have you crying in five minutes, pretty girl.”

And the worst part?

She wants him like this.

God help them both.

So she nods.

Small. Slow. But there’s something in her eyes. A glassy, reckless glint , that sends lightning straight through his spine.

His breath catches like it hurts.

Because fuck, she means it.

And she knows exactly what she’s agreeing to.

He laughs. Sharp, disbelieving, half-mad. His fingers dig into her hips, grounding himself before he does something he won’t come back from. But he’s already past that point. Already gone.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers like a prayer, forehead pressed to hers, his voice wrecked with need. “One little nod and I’d burn down the whole fucking world for you.”

She tilts her head, lips parted, panting, daring.

So he does what any man completely gone would do — he takes that nod as gospel.

He drags her to the floor like gravity means nothing, lays her out like she’s sacrament. Worship and destruction all in one. His hands tremble with how hard he’s holding back.

“I want everything,” he breathes, eyes blazing. “Every sound, every tear, every breath you’ve got left.”

He grabs her legs roughly, placing them over his legs. His hands hook into the waistband of her panties and pulls them off so quick they rip. He doesn't apologise. Hell, he doesn't fucking care. He tosses them somewhere before spreading her wide and pressing his tongue against her core. His eyes flutter shut and she tastes like everything he'd ever dreamed of. Whines spill out of her. Whimpers. He eats. Sucks. Licks. Slurps.

His hands grip her inner thighs bruisingly, holding her apart despite her trembles and squirms. Her hand lands in his hair, pulling so hard it hurts. But in all honestly, it just makes him hornier. It takes him a while to realise she's screaming. Spasming. Worried, he pulls away.

"Fuck, you good?" She heaves, breasts bouncing through the dress.

"I just came 3 times in a row, what the fuck do you think?" Three times? Holy fuck, he's going on like a man possessed. He lets out a light chuckle, licking her sweetness one final time before moving to his knees and placing his middle finger on her tongue. He shoves it so far down she nearly gags before snugly fitting in his ring too.

"That's right, pretty girl. Suck."

His fingers get coated in slimy wet. He pulls out of her mouth, teasing her clit with it, earning a sweet sweet groan out of her.

He doesn't give any warning.

Then he sticks his fingers in, making her jerk and tremble.

"Ngh!" she screams and he places a hand over her mouth.

"Careful, my angel. Wouldn't wanna have the hotel staff complaining?" She nods sweetly, fluids dripping out of her and sticking to the carpet. He makes a mental note to clean that later. The repercussions would be embarrassing, to say the least.

A flash and she squirts. She fucking squirts. Screaming. Aching.

He laps up the squirt almost immediately, savouring the sour tang on his tongue. All she does is lie there pathetically, groaning.

"Need...dick inside you..." he heaves, eyes glazed over. He pulls away, lips wet with her fluids. "Is that okay?" She lets out a soft whine as permission, hearing the gentle thud of his belt hitting the carpet. His veins already throb, swollen tip leaking. He's been wanting to intertwine their souls together for far too long. Wanting to leave an imprint on her no one could erase. He slaps his dick on her clit a few times before sliding into her, letting out a throaty growl. "My love..."

"Mghfh!" her hands desperately cling onto something. Anything. For leverage. She settles on his shirt, an iron-clad grip bound to leave dirty nail marks on his skin.

The sounds they make are erotic.

Skin slapping skin.

Whines.

Groans.

Wet squelching.

And fuck, mixed with her pussy, it's all too much.

So much.

Fuck.

"I'm gonna..." she doesn't finish her sentence before he's already spilling inside her, wet bursts filled with cum spoiling the hotel room carpet. He couldn't give a single shit.

His eyes fixed on her. The hair strands that clung to her face. Her flushed cheeks, sweaty neck. Fuck. He could cum right then and there.

"You okay?" He asks, voice raspy. She softly nods, brains fucked out. He knows it's time to stop, time to lay in bed with her, talk about everything he loves about her. Until he hears another squeak.

"Another round?"

[juliet-017]

Incommensurate - T.R.

Tom Riddle x fem!reader

Minors DNI!!

Warnings: dubcon (consensual sex under imperious curse), begging, unprotected p in v(? Kinda? Tom casts a spell so?), cream pie, tit play, pussy slapping, degradation, slight spanking

Synopsis: As Tom starts to feel a slip in control he becomes harsher with you, more distant as well. It's bloody tortuous, the growing distance and silence between you both driving you crazy. Making you bring up a proposition that you wouldn't have thought of prior.

A/n: yeah so.. here's this instead of that mattheo work (you guys can thank my wife @viperify for that). Side note, I might js get rid of my current wips on my nav as well so I feel less tied down?? Idk but I have so many old drafts I need to get through. Anyways enjoy!!

w/c: ~1.5k

Tom liked control, it was obvious from the way he bossed his mates around, not even scared that they'd retaliate or leave. It was.. fascinating to say the least. You pondered on whether it was because of his time at the orphanage in his formative years, he didn't speak of it much but you presumed that being a charge there wouldn't be anything close to fun.

You'd still give him shit, teasing him for being so bossy at times. A few times when you two had sex you'd fight your way on top for a few seconds before he'd roughly push you off and take to fucking you doggy style, your face shoved into his bed.

Normally things were fine, he'd take your taunts in stride, fucking your attitude out of you till your throat was raw from either screaming or being used.

**

You've noticed how he's been acting.. off lately. Snapping more, not taking kindly to anyone mouthing off. Not even the first years could escape his wrath.

He wasn't vulnerable so asking him right out wouldn't do anything in your favor. Observing him overworking himself, skipping meals as a result, and falling back into old habits.

You start slowly, trying to give him massages or attempting to pull him into bed. When none of it works you decide to just be blunt.

“Tom? What's wrong?” You ask from your perch on his bed, lying down as he studies.

“Nothing. Why.” He responds coolly, barely sparing you a glance. Hunched over, elbows on his desk as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“You're tense.”

“I always am.”

“Not this tense.”

He scoffs, finally looking over at you. “What do you want?”

“The truth. Or I'm going to sleep in my room tonight.”

You both know it's an empty threat, but Tom gives in. “You're too good for me.”

You freeze, trying to read his expression, grasping for a response.

“You can't leave me, you know.”

“Yeah… I know.” You murmur, sitting up and debating on approaching him. “M’yours, Tom.”

“Hm, you think your words matter? Fascinating” He scoffs, rolling his eyes before looking back at the open book at his desk.

It's unfair how wet his words made you. Especially when they're degrading.

You wait a second before getting up, leaning up against his desk and toying with his wand.

“Just what do you think-” He starts harshly, reaching out to take his wand back before you leap away.

“Remember that one night, where you mentioned wanting me to just be even more.. submissive?” You hum, raising a brow.

“How could I not? You were even more of a fucking brat afterwards.”

You grin, still playing with his wand and waiting for him to get the hint. And oh the rush that goes through when he does, moving quickly and towering over you, yanking his wand out of your hold. “And just how are we going to go about that, hm? Never can get you fucked out enough to just go along with it anyways.” He mutters, backing you into a wall, lifting your chin up with this wand.

Your stomach flips as you look up at him, hesitating before continuing. You know you've seen him cast it before so.. what's the big deal, right?

“The imperious curse.” You reply quickly, spatting the words out before giving yourself a second to think. You watch his reaction, studying

He smirks, and you can’t help but melt. “You sure? You know I won't relinquish it every five seconds to check on you, right?”

You nod. “I know. Just.. same rules as usual, m’kay?”

He nods, running the wand down your body, watching your face. “Ready?”

“Uhuh..” You nod, looking up at him, feeling his wand press to your temple.

Before you know it you feel otherworldly, listening to his simple hypnotic commands. Opening your eyes and kneeling like he commands. It shouldn't make you even wetter but it does.

Kneeling whilst undoing your shirt, your bra. Your mind foggy as you finish stripping. He strips too, finally removing his boxers before hold an open palm in front of you. “Spit.” He instructs smoothly, catching your saliva, using it to stroke himself, becoming even harder. “Open.”

You comply, opening your mouth, letting him find refuge in your mouth. He almost immediately gives you all of him, not even giving you a second to adjust, mindlessly drooling around his cock. Grasping your hair he thrusts, allowing you to go slack jawed as you moan around him.

He isn't sure if it's out of pleasure or defiance, but he ignored it, focusing on his release. Tom reminds himself that you agreed to it when he came so deep inside your throat that you had no choice but to swallow.

Pulling out of your mouth slowly, Tom watchs himself leave you with a pop, your eyes glassy and tearful. Only making him even harder than before. Leaning against the wall as he catches his breath. “Such a good little thing.” He praises quietly, patting your head before brushing your hair back as he looks down at you.

He steps out of the way, almost admiring you. “Crawl over to the bed.” He instructs softly, your body moving without a second thought.

You make your way over to the bed, getting on all fours whilst Tom walks around it. The silence painful, listening to Tom as he ends up behind you, squeezing your ass before landing a sharp slap.

Whining you look over your shoulder, feeling him grab your hips and pull, causing you to lay mostly flat save for your hips holding your ass slightly up.

“Beg for it.” He hums, his voice tantalizing whilst his shadow looms over you. “C’mon be a good girl and beg straight from the heart.”

“Please Tom, I need you.” You whine, the words leaving you effortlessly. “I'll always need you, please.”

He ruts into you with one deep thrust, groaning. “Such a good fucking slut, so tight f’me.” He groans, slapping your ass again as he thrusts, leaning over you to pin your wrists to the bed. “My favorite little fucktoy.”

You moan loudly, feeling him hit deeper than ever, hitting your cervix. The bit of your coherent mind grasps the concept that it'll be bruised by morning, but you can't bring yourself to care.

“Fucking love your pussy.” He groans, gripping your wrists even tighter as if fighting to ground himself, his thrust growing messier as his manicured nails dig into you like some animal. “C’mon be loud.” He encourages you, squeezing once more.

“Mm Tom,” you gasp, head to the side as you try to rut your hips. “So.. fuck, so deep.” You moan, practically screaming, the curse not letting you even try to muffle it. Your face heats in shame.

“That's it, such a good girl, letting everyone know how good I fuck you.” Freeing your wrists he wraps an arm around your waist, causing you to kneel as he still thrusts in and out of you, his free hand reaching down to play with your clit. Heat forms in your lower stomach at that, only making you more desperate.

His one hand now slides up to play with your tits, your moaning and arousal only seeming to turn him on even more. “Fuck, you're close aren't you? I can feel it, you and your greedy little cunt.” He growls into your ear, slapping your clit and causing a shot of pleasure to run through you. He gives you another slap, a sort of warning. “Answer me unless you want me to stop, that is.”

“Yes’sir.” You whimper, nodding. “I'm close.” You moan, trying to match his pace but deciding it best to go limp, allowing him to use you like the doll you are.

Lost in a bliss you barely hear his command, too dazed to even fully comprehend. “Cum for me.”

You weren't prepared for the earth shattering orgasm that wrecks your body, feeling Tom finish deep inside of you, feeling him coat your cervix you let out a small squeal.

Laying you down, Tom slowly pulls out. You hear him mumble something, the curse lifting as you look around in slight shock.

Tom hushes you immediately, gently pulling you into his hold. “You okay?” He murmurs, pulling your head against his chest and casting a charm to clean the both of you. You presume the other is a contraceptive. “It wasn't too much, was it?”

Nodding you hum, too dumbed out to even think of how to word it. “Nice. It was nice letting go for once.” You murmur, lifting your gaze up. “You liked it too, right?”

Tom lets out a warm chuckle, a rare commodity. “Course I did, got to have you all dumbed out on my cock, not able to mouth off.” He mutters, giving your hair a light tug as he takes to playing with it. “But I don't want to make it a common thing, if you do want to do it again that is.” He hums.

“Course I do.” You hum before the scent of sandalwood alongside Tom’s warmth, lulls you off to sleep.

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 12

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda and Y/N start to experiment.

Word Count: 7,937

Warnings: fluff, smut, (18+), use of strap (enchanted)

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

****: Smut Alert

---

AVENGERS COMPOUND – EARLY MORNING

Tony stood at the kitchen counter, groggy and shirtless, stirring his coffee. The faint sound of phasing echoed from down the hall. He didn’t even look up.

“That’s the third time this week you’ve gone ghost-mode, Vision,” he called out. “You mind telling me where you keep sneaking off to?”

Vision paused mid-phase through the wall of the compound’s rear corridor, caught. He turned his head slightly, expression neutral.

“I require time to process,” he said simply. “Solitude aids in clarity.”

Tony turned, leaning against the counter with a skeptical look. “You’ve been saying that ever since Wanda told you it was over. Not judging, just… noticing. Every morning like clockwork.”

Vision didn’t speak right away. He straightened, the synthetic calm on his face giving way—barely—to something heavier.

“She was… my purpose,” he finally said. “I am struggling to understand what I am without that.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his face. “Welcome to the club, Tin Man. You think I haven’t been there? Lost Pepper once, thought I was gonna break into a million pieces. But you—you’ve been going somewhere specific.”

Vision hesitated.

“I visit the clearing near the lake,” he admitted. “The one behind the east ridge. It’s… quiet. She and I once sat there. Before everything changed.”

Tony blinked. “So you’re haunting your own memories now?”

“I am not capable of haunting.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Semantics.”

Vision stepped fully through the wall now, facing Tony. “I know she belongs with someone else. I do not interfere. I merely… observe the world as it continues without me in it.”

That hit Tony harder than he expected. He stared at the android—no, the man—in front of him. So composed, yet cracked in places no one could see.

“Look,” Tony said after a long pause, softer now, “I know you’re hurting. But hiding out in the woods like some kind of philosophical raccoon isn’t going to fix anything. You want to find out who you are without her? Then stop looking backward.”

Vision tilted his head. “And what do I look toward, then?”

Tony smirked faintly. “The future. Even if it’s not the one you thought you’d have.”

He turned back to his coffee. “Just don’t make me put a tracker on you, Vision. I’m getting too old to be your babysitter.”

Vision offered the faintest nod of appreciation before he turned away and walked quietly through the wall again.

Tony sipped his coffee, muttering to himself, “Heartbroken synthetics. What’ll they invent next?”

---

Y/N AND WANDA’S ROOM

Soft golden light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow over the bedroom. The world was still quiet outside—the calm of early morning wrapping around the room like a protective cocoon. Inside that warmth, two souls were tangled in the kind of closeness that only soulmates could share.

Y/N stirred first, her body heavy with contentment but her senses instantly attuned to the warmth curled into her side. Wanda was tucked beneath her arm, her head resting on Y/N’s chest, legs tangled together, one of her arms draped protectively around Y/N’s waist. She was breathing softly, lashes casting shadows across her cheeks.

Y/N didn’t move at first. She just lay there, one hand stroking gently up and down Wanda’s bare back, the other resting lightly over Wanda’s wrist—the one that still glowed faintly with her name. The sight made Y/N’s chest ache in the most beautiful way.

After everything—after the tension, the heartbreak, the guilt, and the fear—they were here. Together. Unquestionably bonded.

Y/N brought Wanda’s wrist to her lips and kissed her name, the mark warm under her touch. A soft hum escaped Wanda, and she stirred slightly, nuzzling closer.

“Good morning, love,” Y/N whispered.

Wanda made a sleepy sound in response, not quite words but soft and full of affection. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and the moment she saw Y/N, a smile—gentle and dreamy—spread across her face. “Hi…” she whispered, voice hoarse and sweet.

Y/N smiled back, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “You okay?”

Wanda nodded lazily, her fingers tightening slightly around Y/N’s waist. “More than okay,” she said, voice still thick with sleep. “I feel like I’m glowing… from the inside out.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed her forehead. “That’s because you are. You’re mine now, remember?”

Wanda gave a soft laugh, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at her. “I was always yours. Even when I was trying to lie to myself… it was always you.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, emotion catching her off guard. She ran her thumb across Wanda’s cheek, eyes locked on hers. “I love you, Wanda.”

Wanda’s breath caught. She blinked, the words hitting her with the same gentle force as everything Y/N did—deep, tender, real. “I love you too,” she whispered. “So much it scares me.”

Y/N pulled her closer, kissing her slow and sweet this time, not driven by heat but by something even more intimate—love, safety, knowing. When they broke apart, Wanda tucked her face into Y/N’s neck, and they lay there in silence for a moment, just holding each other.

Then, Wanda’s stomach growled.

Y/N grinned. “Someone’s hungry.”

Wanda let out an embarrassed laugh against her neck. “I think you broke me last night. I need food to recover.”

Y/N chuckled, rolling over to gently nudge her. “Stay in bed. I’ll make breakfast.”

Wanda pulled her back. “No—you’re not going anywhere without me.” She kissed Y/N’s shoulder, her voice soft and full of affection. “You fed my soul last night. Let me feed yours this morning.”

Y/N smiled, cupping her cheek. “We can do it together.”

Wanda kissed Y/N sweetly, her lips soft and warm. She pulled back just enough to whisper against her mouth, “Shower with me first.”

Y/N’s smile was slow, sleepy, and completely enamored. “That sounds suspiciously like a trap.”

Wanda grinned and shifted to sit up, the blanket sliding down her body as she moved. Morning light spilled through the window, catching on her bare skin.

Y/N’s breath caught. She didn’t hide the way her eyes swept over Wanda—soft curves, fading love marks, red hair tousled around her shoulders. She looked like art, like something dreamt into existence.

Wanda noticed the way Y/N was looking at her and blushed, but didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek, murmuring, “Like I said, you fed my soul last night. Let me feed yours this morning.”

Y/N reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear, her palm resting gently on her cheek. “Anything you want my love,” she said, voice thick with tenderness.

Wanda smiled and took her hand, pulling her gently from the bed. They walked toward the bathroom, already bare, already vulnerable—and yet never more complete.

The steam rose quickly as Wanda turned on the shower. Without a word, Y/N stepped in after her, arms sliding around her waist from behind. Wanda leaned into her touch, her back against Y/N’s chest, eyes fluttering shut as warm water poured over them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the steady rhythm of water hitting tile, mingling with the soft sigh that escaped Wanda’s lips as she melted further into Y/N’s embrace. Y/N lowered her head and pressed a kiss to Wanda’s shoulder, lingering there, breathing her in.

“You feel like home,” Wanda murmured, voice barely above the sound of the water.

Y/N smiled against her skin. “That’s because I am.”

Wanda turned in her arms then, slowly, like she didn’t want to break the moment. Their bodies stayed close, slick and warm, and when their eyes met, there was nothing hidden between them—no more walls, no more fear. Only truth.

Y/N cupped Wanda’s cheek, brushing her thumb along the flushed skin beneath her eye. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

Wanda leaned in, touching their foreheads together. “It is. I feel it everywhere. In my magic. In my chest. In my soul.”

She kissed her then—slow, tender, like she had all the time in the world to explore her. Water trickled down their backs, between their joined bodies, but they hardly noticed. They were lost in each other.

Wanda’s fingers moved up to Y/N’s neck, threading into her damp hair, holding her there like she was afraid to let go. But there was no need. Y/N wasn’t going anywhere.

Not now. Not ever.

When they pulled apart, breathless but smiling, Wanda let out a soft laugh. “We’re never going to get to breakfast at this rate.”

Y/N smirked, resting her forehead against Wanda’s again. “That depends. What’s on the menu?”

Wanda raised a brow, eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “Me, if you want.”

Y/N groaned softly, sliding her hands down to rest on Wanda’s hips. “God, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Wanda kissed her again, deeper this time. “Then at least you’ll die happy.”

Something in the way she said it—so confident, so certain—set a fire off in Y/N’s chest. In one swift motion, she turned Wanda around, pressing her gently against the warm shower wall. Their bodies collided with a quiet gasp, and Y/N smashed their lips together, hunger taking over softness, need overwhelming restraint.

Wanda responded instantly, her hands gripping Y/N’s wet shoulders, pulling her closer, moaning softly into her mouth. The kiss was messy, desperate, full of all the things they hadn’t said for too long—all the longing, all the fear, all the love. There was no hesitation now. Just them.

Y/N’s fingers traced the curve of Wanda’s waist, grounding herself in the feel of her, the heat of her skin beneath slick water. She kissed her like she was trying to memorize every inch of her mouth, like she couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go even for a second.

Wanda gasped as Y/N’s lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, then down to her neck, where she nipped lightly, sending a shiver through her spine. Her hands tangled in Y/N’s hair, holding her close, eyes fluttering shut again as her head tilted back against the wall.

“Detka…” she whispered, breathless and aching.

Y/N looked up, lips brushing Wanda’s collarbone. “Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t,” Wanda said without hesitation, voice raw with emotion. “I love you.”

Y/N froze for just a moment, heart pounding, water cascading over them both like a quiet witness to the words neither of them had spoken until now.

She leaned up, their eyes locking, and smiled—tender, vulnerable, a little stunned. “I love you too.”

And then there was nothing left to hold back.

Afterward, the air was quiet—thick with steam and something softer, heavier. Wanda leaned against the tiled wall, her breathing gradually steadying as Y/N gently kissed her forehead, then reached past her for the shampoo.

This time, there was no urgency. Just intimacy.

Y/N lathered the shampoo in her hands and ran her fingers through Wanda’s hair with the kind of care that made Wanda’s heart ache in the best way. Wanda closed her eyes, leaning into her touch, letting herself melt under the warm water and the affection wrapped in every slow, gentle motion.

They washed each other in silence—quiet, not from discomfort, but from understanding. The kind of quiet that spoke louder than any words could.

When they stepped out of the shower, their fingers were still loosely entwined, like neither could fully let go just yet. Wanda reached for a towel and gently wrapped it around Y/N first, then took another for herself. Y/N watched her, still in awe of how someone could be so soft and so powerful all at once.

Back in the bedroom, sunlight had begun to filter through the curtains, warm and golden. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, towel tucked around her, watching Wanda move around the room. There was something different about her now. Not just the glow of afterglow—but peace. Certainty.

Wanda caught her gaze and smiled shyly. “What?”

“You look happy,” Y/N said softly.

“I am,” Wanda admitted, walking over to her and brushing damp hair from her face. “For the first time in a long time…I really am.”

Y/N reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, Wanda. Not anymore.”

Wanda knelt in front of her, resting her forehead against Y/N’s. “I don’t want you to.”

They stayed like that for a moment—two bare souls wrapped in towels and truth, hearts thudding in sync. Then Wanda grinned and nudged her gently. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

Y/N kissed her cheek. “Of course”

Wanda giggle.

They got dressed in a tangle of shared glances and playful kisses, like everything heavy had finally lifted. And as they made their way to the kitchen hand-in-hand, still barefoot, still damp, still completely and utterly in love—it felt like the start of something real. Something lasting.

Something finally right.

The following days passed in a blur of tangled sheets, soft laughter, and whispered promises. Y/N and Wanda were practically inseparable—drawn to each other with a magnetic pull neither tried to resist. If anything, they indulged in it completely.

They made love like they were making up for lost time. Slow, then fast. Gentle, then hungry. In the early hours of the morning when the world was still asleep, and again when moonlight spilled across the bed. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and they didn’t try to. Every kiss deepened their bond; every shared breath felt sacred.

Wanda would find excuses to touch her—even if it was just brushing Y/N’s hair back behind her ear or pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she passed. Y/N wasn’t any better. She caught herself constantly staring at Wanda, utterly captivated, always finding a way to pull her close, to remind her with touch what she didn’t always know how to say out loud.

They cooked together—well, tried to. Most mornings the eggs were forgotten, the toast burnt, and the pancakes abandoned in favor of kisses and tangled limbs on the kitchen counter. They laughed about it afterward, curled up on the couch with coffee Wanda never finished and fingers laced like lifelines.

Even the compound couldn’t ignore the shift. Natasha smirked knowingly whenever she saw the two of them sneaking off, and Sam had made a running joke about putting up a “Do Not Disturb” sign on their door. Vision kept his distance—respectfully, quietly—but it was clear he understood things had changed permanently.

There was one night, after yet another evening of soft touches and slow breaths, when Wanda lay with her head on Y/N’s chest, tracing circles over her skin.

“I used to be so afraid of this,” Wanda murmured, voice barely audible. “Of how badly I wanted you. Of what it meant.”

Y/N’s hand moved through her hair. “And now?”

Wanda looked up at her, eyes shining in the dark. “Now I’m more afraid of not having you.”

“You won’t lose me,” Y/N said, firm and gentle all at once. “You’re my soulmate, Wanda. There’s nowhere else I belong.”

Wanda kissed her then—not because she had to, but because she couldn’t not. And when they made love that night, it was slower than the others. Reverent. Like they were carving a promise into each other’s skin.

It wasn’t just passion.

It was home.

---

TRAINING ROOM – AFTERNOON

The clang of metal against metal echoed in the gym as the team cycled through combat drills. Y/N moved effortlessly through the routine. Although she was not using her super speed, it was too easy. She blocked Sam’s punch easily and flipped him onto the mat. 

“Alright, alright,” Sam muttered with a grin, winded. “Remind me never to spar with you right after lunch again.”

Y/N offered a hand to help him up, her breathing steady. But as she scanned the room for the next rotation, her brow furrowed.

“Where’s Vision?” she asked casually, grabbing her towel and draping it around her neck.

Natasha, who was tightening the straps on her gloves nearby, caught the question. “Hasn’t shown up today. Wasn’t here yesterday either.”

Y/N looked over. “He’s not on a mission, is he?”

Nat shrugged, but her eyes were sharp, curious. “Not that I know of. But he’s been disappearing a lot lately. Quietly. Always alone.”

Y/N’s throat tightened slightly. She glanced toward the door, as if expecting him to walk in at any second, but it stayed stubbornly closed.

“Maybe he just… needs space,” she murmured, though even to her, it sounded weak.

Nat tilted her head. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah. I just… I know this whole thing with Wanda didn’t come easy. For any of us. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Nat didn’t say anything for a beat, then offered a small nod. “He’s not easy to read, but he’s not heartless. Maybe he just needs time.”

Y/N sighed. “I’ll find him later. Talk to him. I owe him that much.”

Nat gave her a quick pat on the back. “Good. Because whatever he felt for her, it can’t compare to what you two are. Soulmates aren’t just love—they’re inevitability. Still… he cared. And that kind of loss can sting, even when it was never meant to last.”

Y/N looked down at the faint, glowing letters on her wrist, her heart heavy with both love and guilt.

“I’ll talk to him,” she whispered again.

Back in their room, Wanda lay curled on the bed, her hair still damp from her post-training shower. Y/N was toweling off by the closet, digging through a drawer for something comfortable to wear when she heard Wanda’s soft voice behind her.

“What were you talking about with Nat earlier?”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. Wanda’s voice was casual, but her pout gave her away. Arms tucked under her cheek, eyes slightly narrowed, lips pushed out just enough to be adorable—and clearly a little jealous.

Y/N smirked. “You jealous, Maximoff?”

Wanda rolled onto her back with a dramatic sigh, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe a little,” she muttered. “She always looks at you like she knows something the rest of us don’t.”

Y/N chuckled and walked over, tossing the towel aside and sliding into bed on top of her.

Wanda immediately wrapped her arms around Y/N’s neck, pulling her close with a quiet, needy sound. Despite her jealousy, she clung to her like she couldn’t stand even a few inches of distance.

Y/N smiled softly at the way Wanda held her, their noses nearly brushing. “She probably does. But we weren’t flirting, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Wanda raised a brow but didn’t loosen her grip. “Then what?”

“She was just… letting me know Vision’s been disappearing from the compound sometimes. Said I might want to talk to him.” Y/N traced slow circles on Wanda’s bare shoulder. “I told her I would.”

Wanda hummed in understanding, but her brow stayed furrowed as she held Y/N tighter.

“Hey,” Y/N said gently, tilting her chin to meet her eyes. “I love you. Not Nat. Not anyone else. You. And it’s not even close.”

Wanda softened, the pout fading. She leaned in to kiss her, slow and certain. “I know. Doesn’t mean I like sharing you—even for a conversation.”

Y/N grinned against her lips. “Good thing you don’t have to.”

Wanda melted into the kiss, her fingers threading into Y/N’s damp hair as she deepened it—possessive, tender, full of everything she’d once tried to bury. When they finally parted, she rested her forehead against Y/N’s and whispered, “I hate that I ever pushed you away.”

Y/N brushed her thumb across Wanda’s cheek. “You didn’t know the extent of the soulmate bond. Neither of us did—not really.”

“I did,” Wanda admitted softly. “I felt it the moment I met you. I just… didn’t want to believe something so perfect could be real. And I was scared. But it’s my fault, Y/N. I was the one who stayed with him. I was the one who tried to pretend you weren’t my soulmate.”

Y/N exhaled, her brows pulling together. “Maybe. But I’m not blameless either. I kissed you knowing what it would mean… knowing you were engaged. I should’ve walked away. I didn’t.”

Wanda reached for her hand and tangled their fingers together. “You want me there?”

Y/N gave her a soft smile and shook her head. “It’s okay. You already talked to him… you told him the truth. Now it’s my turn to talk to him properly. I need to do this.”

Wanda searched her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Just—promise me you won’t carry all of it alone.”

“I won’t,” Y/N said, lifting Wanda’s hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. “We’re in this together, remember? Always.”

Wanda smiled, the weight in her chest easing as she pulled Y/N back into her arms. “Always.”

---

Later that evening, after a quiet dinner, Y/N found herself outside Vision’s lab. The lights were on, humming faintly through the glass walls. The door was slightly open, and from where she stood, she could see him seated in front of a glowing console, connected via a thin cord to the interface on his wrist.

She knocked lightly. The screen he was working on instantly changed.

“Y/N,” he said, turning in his chair, tone carefully neutral. “What brings you here?”

She stepped inside, slowly. “Can we talk?”

He tilted his head but didn’t object. “Go ahead.”

Y/N took a seat, noticing the silence between them thicken. “I wanted to apologize,” she began. “For everything. For how things happened.”

Vision’s expression barely shifted, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “You mean for taking Wanda from me.”

Y/N sighed softly. “I didn’t take her from you. This wasn’t about winning or losing.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it? One day, we were fine. The next… she’s your soulmate.”

“She’s always been,” Y/N said quietly. “Even before either of us knew.”

He looked at her sharply. “That word again. Soulmate. As if biology and predetermined marks can override choice and logic.”

“It’s not just biology,” Y/N said. “It’s something older. Deeper. It’s a bond we didn’t ask for—but we feel it. You’ve seen it.”

“I’ve seen what humans do when they think they’re destined for someone,” he snapped. “You call it fate. I call it conditioning. You’re not manipulating her intentionally, but this bond—this thing—has clouded her judgment. She was happy before.”

Y/N leaned forward. “She wasn’t. Not really. She was surviving. She was trying to live a life that didn’t feel like hers. And you know it.”

His jaw tightened, and he turned slightly toward the console again, though he didn’t reconnect.

“I know you love her,” Y/N added, softer now. “And I don’t blame you for that. But this—what Wanda and I have—it’s not something you can override with logic or will.”

“She’ll come back,” Vision said quietly, almost to himself. “Eventually, she’ll see past it. Past you.”

Y/N stood slowly, the ache in her chest sharp but steady. “If you truly care about her, then I hope—someday—you’ll want her to be where she’s happiest. Even if it’s not with you.”

Vision didn’t respond. He stared at the dark monitor.

Y/N lingered for just a moment longer. “Goodnight, Vision.”

No answer came.

She left, the weight of the encounter heavy in her chest—but her steps didn’t falter. There was pain behind them, but also truth. And sometimes truth didn’t make things easier—it just made them clearer.

Y/N paused by the door, turning back for a final moment. Her voice was low, steady.

“I didn’t come here to argue, Vision. I just came to apologize for how things happened. That’s all.”

She didn’t wait for an answer this time.

And Vision—still staring at the dark screen—didn’t give one.

---

Y/N stepped out into the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind her. The hum of the compound seemed distant, muted compared to the thoughts swirling in her mind. She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders, trying to release the tension that had built from the conversation with Vision.

Just a few feet down the hall, she found Wanda leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyes already on her. But the moment their gazes met, Wanda’s expression softened.

“How’d it go?” she asked gently.

Y/N shrugged, then walked closer, slipping her hands into Wanda’s. “Not great. He… he still thinks this is some kind of manipulation. That you’ll come back to him eventually.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t say anything for a moment. Her thumbs rubbed slow, grounding circles over Y/N’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered.

Y/N shook her head. “You don’t need to be. I just needed to say my part. Be honest.”

“You are honest. That’s what I love about you.” Wanda’s voice was soft, but fierce in its sincerity.

They stood there in silence for a beat, the warmth of their linked hands steady between them.

Then Wanda looked up again, tilting her head with a small, wry smile. “So… now that you’ve done the mature, emotionally responsible thing…” Her fingers tugged gently at Y/N’s. “Can I steal you for something a little less responsible?”

Y/N chuckled. “That depends. Are we talking morally irresponsible or just emotionally indulgent?”

“Oh, definitely the second one.”

Wanda didn’t have a chance to react before Y/N grinned mischievously, suddenly sweeping her off her feet in one smooth, effortless motion.

“Y/N!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s neck on instinct. “What are you doing?”

Y/N kissed her nose. “Taking my girl where she belongs,” she said with a wink, and then—whoosh.

In a blink, they were gone from the hallway, the wind tousling Wanda’s hair as Y/N used her speed to zip them through the compound. Wanda gasped, laughing uncontrollably as the world became a blur of walls and lights.

Before she could even catch her breath, they were back in their room, the door swinging shut behind them as Y/N slowed and gently set Wanda down on the bed like she was something precious.

“See?” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “Emotionally indulgent. Just how you like it.”

Wanda was still breathless from the ride and the warmth of being held. Her eyes glistened with affection as she pulled Y/N down with her.

“I love you,” she whispered. “So much that it hurts sometimes.”

Y/N settled beside her, nuzzling close. “Then let me be your remedy.”

And the world outside faded, once again, into nothing.

Wanda narrowed her eyes playfully, her fingers drifting through Y/N’s hair as she leaned in until their noses brushed.

“I love you,” she whispered again, voice soft but sure.

Y/N’s grin melted into something tender, vulnerable. Her heart stuttered, like it was hearing those words for the first time—even though, in her soul, she’d always known.

She cupped Wanda’s cheek, their foreheads resting together.

“I love you too,” Y/N whispered back. “I’m crazy in love with you.”

Wanda smiled through the emotion welling in her chest and kissed her—slow and deep and full of everything words couldn’t hold.

---

The next day

The sun was barely rising when Y/N stood by the quinjet with Nat and Clint, checking gear and going over the mission brief one last time. It was a quick extraction—nothing too complicated—but even simple missions came with their risks. Wanda stood a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to look calm, but her eyes betrayed her.

Y/N walked over, slipping her arms around Wanda’s waist and pulling her in close. Wanda rested her head against Y/N’s shoulder, the tension in her body unmistakable.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” Y/N promised, pressing a soft kiss to Wanda’s forehead.

Wanda didn’t say anything right away. Her fingers gently gripped the back of Y/N’s shirt like she didn’t want to let go. Y/N, sensing her unease, smiled softly and took Wanda’s left hand, turning her wrist so the name written there—Y/N—was facing up.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing her lips against her name inked into Wanda’s skin. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m yours. And I’ll always come back to you.”

The warmth from Y/N’s kiss radiated through Wanda’s whole body. The ache that had always accompanied her soulmate mark—the weight of longing, uncertainty, rejection—had dulled since they came together. Now it buzzed softly, like a tether of love pulling her toward Y/N even as they parted.

Clint’s voice echoed across the platform. “Jet’s ready, lovebirds.”

Y/N smirked and kissed Wanda again, lingering. “I’ll text you the moment we land.”

Wanda nodded, finally managing a small smile. “Be safe. And if Clint crashes the jet again…”

“I’ll take the wheel,” Y/N finished with a wink.

Wanda watched the quinjet lift off, arms wrapping tightly around herself. She stayed there, unmoving, until the jet disappeared from view, then wandered back into the compound, the silence settling over her like a heavy blanket.

Back in their room, she slipped into one of Y/N’s hoodies and curled up on the bed. Her fingers absently brushed over her mark again.

This time, there was no sharp stab of pain. Just warmth. A quiet reminder of the girl who had kissed her name and promised to return.

---

The mission itself went smoothly—almost suspiciously so. Infiltration, data retrieval, exfil—textbook. No alarms tripped, no unexpected hostiles, and Clint even managed to avoid spraining his ankle this time.

Now, the quinjet hummed quietly on autopilot, cutting through the sky toward home. Nat was polishing her knives while Clint sat beside Y/N, snacking on something unidentifiable from his tactical pouch.

“You know,” Clint said between bites, “it’s honestly kind of great seeing you and Wanda finally where you belong. Took you both long enough.”

Nat smirked. “Seriously. The tension was getting unbearable. We were all taking bets on when one of you would snap and kiss the other.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning back into her seat. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t exactly simple.”

“Nothing ever is with feelings,” Nat said lightly, but her voice held something guarded—an undercurrent of emotion she didn’t quite mask.

Clint turned to her with a knowing look. “Speaking of complicated feelings… maybe it’s your turn.”

Y/N blinked and looked between them. “Wait—what do you mean?”

Clint gave Nat a teasing nudge. “Oh, don’t act all innocent now. She’s been avoiding her soulmate for years.”

Y/N’s brows shot up. “What? Nat told me she hasn’t even met her soulmate yet.”

Nat gave Clint a sharp look, but said nothing.

Y/N turned to her, more serious now. “Wait… Nat?”

Nat exhaled slowly. “It’s… complicated.”

Clint snorted. “You keep saying that, but really, you’re the one making it complicated.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Who is it?”

There was a pause, then Nat answered quietly, “Maria. Maria Hill.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait—Hill? Seriously?”

“She’s known for a while,” Clint said. “They both have. It’s not rejection or anything—hell, they hook up from time to time—but Nat keeps telling herself she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Because of your past?” Y/N asked gently.

Nat nodded. “Yeah. I’ve done things I’ll never forgive myself for. Being a widow… it wasn’t just training. It was blood. And I… I don’t know. Maria’s good. Too good.”

Y/N leaned forward. “Nat… you’ve seen me and Wanda. I tried to pretend the bond didn’t mean anything. I buried it, ignored it, tried to move on. And Wanda did the same, staying with Vision when we both knew it wasn’t right. But it didn’t matter what we did. You can’t run from it forever. It pulls you back.”

Nat looked down at her hands.

“You can’t avoid it,” Y/N said gently. “Once you meet your soulmate… sooner or later, you’ll be together. It’s not just a mark. It’s in your soul.”

“She’s waiting,” Clint added. “She’s not pushing, not demanding anything. But she’s there. Because she believes in you. Maybe it’s time you start doing the same.”

Nat was quiet for a moment, then gave a soft sigh. Her expression didn’t change much, but her posture relaxed just a bit—something unspoken easing in her shoulders.

Y/N smiled. “You know… when you’re ready, we’ll be here. Soulmate support group and all.”

Nat offered a small smile back. “Thanks.”

Y/N suddenly glanced down at her wrist, her smile appearing out of nowhere—soft, wide, and entirely unguarded. Her fingers brushed over Wanda’s name like it was sacred.

Nat noticed immediately. “What just happened?”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, eyes still on her wrist. “It’s Wanda. My wrist is humming.” She looked up at them, eyes glowing with affection. “She’s probably touching hers right now. She does that when she misses me.”

Clint grinned. “Laura does the same thing. Every time I’m on a mission, she’ll rub her mark absentmindedly. Says it makes her feel close to me.”

“That’s kind of adorable,” Nat admitted, glancing between them.

“It is,” Y/N said softly, still smiling like a love-struck fool. “It’s like… this quiet little echo that reminds you someone’s thinking of you. No matter where you are.”

Clint leaned back in his seat. “Soulmates, man. Freaky, cosmic-level stuff.”

Y/N turned to Nat with a knowing smile. “Try it. Touch Maria’s name. Think about her. I bet she’ll feel it.”

Nat hesitated, glancing down at her wrist like it held a secret she wasn’t ready to unlock. Still, her fingers hovered over the mark—Maria’s name etched into her skin like a ghost she couldn’t quite let go of.

“I don’t know…” she murmured.

Y/N shrugged gently. “You don’t have to do anything. But if you ever want to feel that connection again… it’s always there. She’s waiting, Nat. I can feel it. You two may not be together yet, but you’re not alone either.”

Nat didn’t answer, but her hand lowered slowly, brushing over Maria’s name with the gentlest of touches.

Y/N just chuckled and leaned back too, one hand still over her wrist, feeling the faint, electric buzz of Wanda’s touch through the bond. Even apart, they were connected.

And in that small moment, the jet didn’t feel so far from home.

---

As soon as the quinjet touched down and the ramp lowered, Wanda was already there—waiting, practically vibrating with anticipation.

The second Y/N stepped out, she didn’t even get a chance to speak. Wanda launched herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her and kissing her like nothing else mattered—fierce, fearless, and full of longing.

Y/N barely managed a breath before Wanda pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark with heat and adoration. That one look was all it took.

With a blur of movement and a gust of wind left in their wake, Y/N swept Wanda into her arms and sped them away, heading straight for their room without a single word.

Nat blinked, still holding the debriefing tablet. “What about the mission report—?”

“Aaaand they’re gone!” Clint said, smirking as he walked past her, clearly amused. “Let ’em be, Nat. You know how it is. When soulmates finally get their act together, it’s all honeymoon phase for a while.”

Nat just sighed, shaking her head as she watched the trail of papers flutter from the jet’s cargo bay, proof that Y/N hadn’t even slowed down. But even she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

---

****

Back in their room, the door slammed shut behind them as Y/N barely paused before laying Wanda gently—yet urgently—on the bed. Their mouths found each other again, hungry, breathless. Hands tangled in hair, exploring skin as clothing was shed with practiced urgency, their hearts pounding in sync.

Wanda’s back arched as Y/N kissed down her neck, her moans soft and needy. Her fingers gripped at Y/N’s shoulders, grounding herself in the intensity of it all.

When Y/N pulled back slightly, brushing her lips over Wanda’s flushed cheek, she whispered with a teasing smile, “Tell me what you want.”

Wanda’s eyes locked onto hers, dark and filled with need. “I want you,” she said, voice husky and trembling. “I want your cock. Please.”

Y/N’s breath caught for a moment—not just at the words, but the trust in them. She nodded, kissing Wanda deeply, a firm yet tender press of lips that said everything. Wanda sighed into her mouth, her hands still wandering Y/N’s bare back as if she couldn’t get close enough.

“Be right back,” Y/N murmured against her lips, giving her one last lingering kiss before slipping off the bed.

Wanda watched her with flushed cheeks and dark eyes as Y/N crossed the room, opening the closet where they kept a small locked box tucked behind a few clothes. She pulled it out with practiced ease, her fingers moving quickly. Wanda’s breath hitched, anticipation humming between them as she sat up slightly, legs folding beneath her, waiting.

When Y/N turned back to her, strap in hand and a glint in her eyes, Wanda bit her bottom lip—completely undone by the sight of her soulmate walking toward her like that.

“I’ve got you,” Y/N said softly, climbing back onto the bed.

And Wanda believed her. Every word. Every look. Every touch.

As Y/N adjusted the strap around her hips, buckling it tight, she glanced up when Wanda shifted on the bed—her cheeks still pink, but her expression suddenly curious, almost mischievous.

“I… want to try something,” Wanda murmured, her fingers glowing faintly red as she reached out.

Y/N paused, tilting her head. “What are you—”

“Just hold still,” Wanda said gently, concentrating as her magic surrounded the strap and pulsed softly against Y/N’s skin. The room filled with a soft hum, the magic warm but not overwhelming—intimate, purposeful. Wanda’s eyes red from her powers fluttered slightly.

Y/N sucked in a breath as she felt a strange warmth rush over her core—deep, shocking, and… real. The strap no longer just sat against her body; it felt like part of her. She gasped as sensation flooded her nerves, like her mind had accepted the magic completely.

Wanda looked up from her spell work, her voice soft and a little unsure. “I hope it worked…”

She reached out, wrapping her fingers gently around the shaft—and Y/N let out a sharp, involuntary moan, her hips jolting forward.

Wanda’s eyes sparkled with fascination as she held the strap a little firmer in her hand. “It’s really warm,” she whispered again, almost to herself, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just created.

“Holy—Wanda,” Y/N gasped, her voice breaking as her hips twitched forward involuntarily. “I can feel it. I can actually feel it.”

Wanda’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching at Y/N’s reaction. Curiosity flickered in her gaze, and then—without looking away—she pumped her hand experimentally along the shaft.

Y/N let out a strangled moan, her head falling back as her fingers curled tightly into the sheets. “Oh my God—Wanda.”

Wanda’s eyes widened, her lips curling into a stunned, delighted smile. “You can really feel everything?”

Y/N nodded breathlessly. “Everything. Every move. Every—shit, Wanda—”

Wanda’s breath caught, her eyes darkening with desire as she slowly lay back against the pillows, her gaze never leaving Y/N’s. With a soft, commanding whisper, she said, “Then come here. I want you inside me.”

She spread her legs, inviting, open, already trembling with anticipation. The sight of her—flushed, needy, and completely unguarded—drove the air from Y/N’s lungs.

Y/N moved immediately, almost without thought, crawling up between Wanda’s thighs like she was answering a call only her soul could hear. Her hands gripped Wanda’s hips, reverent and hungry, and she lined herself up, the enchanted strap throbbing in time with her racing heart.

Their eyes locked, the moment thick with tension and longing. “Are you sure?” Y/N whispered, her voice hoarse.

Wanda nodded, biting her lip. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And with one slow, deep thrust, Y/N finally sank into her—into home.

As Y/N bottomed out, fully deep inside Wanda, the rush of new sensations—intimate, overwhelming— and Wanda’s wet, warm, walls tightening around her slammed into her all at once. Her body tensed, breath caught in her throat, and with a strangled moan, she came hard, hips trembling as the climax tore through her like a wave crashing against the shore.

Wanda gasped, her back arching when she suddenly felt something warm spill deep inside her.

Her eyes flew open. “Y/N—!” she cried, stunned and breathless, her body shuddering as her own orgasm hit her like lightning. The unexpected heat inside her pushed her over the edge, sending her spiraling into bliss.

They clung to each other, gasping, shaking, riding out their highs together.

When Wanda finally caught her breath, she blinked at Y/N, flushed and dazed. “D-did you just…?” she asked, stunned.

Y/N nodded weakly, her face equally shocked. “I think so—Wanda, I—I came. I’m so sorry…I…”

Wanda copped her cheeks “It’s okay, it was hot” Wanda smirk, “besides…I think you spilled something inside me”Despite her amusement she continues, “I didn’t know the spell would make that happen…”

Y/N blinked, her heart still racing, overwhelmed by the raw connection between them. Slowly, she eased back, carefully pulling out to check—more out of disbelief than anything else.

Her breath hitched when she saw the thick, white liquid slipping from Wanda. It was warm, glistening, and undeniably real—at least as far as the spell made it feel.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, a soft moan escaping her lips as the sensation sparked another rush of heat between her legs.

Y/N stared in awe, the strap between her legs stirring—rising again, as if responding to Wanda’s arousal, or perhaps her own. She gasped as the movement brought another pulse of pleasure, just as vivid and undeniable as before.

Wanda looked up, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted.

Y/N groaned, overwhelmed by the sensation and the way Wanda looked up at her—flushed, breathless, and utterly hers.

“I need more, babe,” she murmured, her voice low and urgent. “I need more.”

Without waiting, she slid back into Wanda, the magic-enhanced connection making every inch feel impossibly real. They both gasped, their bodies arching instinctively toward each other.

Wanda’s fingers dug into Y/N’s back as she whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Their rhythm found its own pace—one born not just of lust, but of the deep soul bond humming between them, stronger now than ever. Every touch, every thrust echoed through that invisible thread, tying them even tighter together.

“I can feel you,” Y/N whispered against Wanda’s ear, her voice trembling from the intensity coursing through her. “All of you.”

She pressed a reverent kiss to Wanda’s neck, lingering there as her hands gripped tighter at her hips. “You’re so tight,” she murmured, her voice low and breathless with awe.

Wanda let out a soft moan, her fingers threading through Y/N’s hair, pulling her closer. “It’s because it’s you,” she whispered shakily. “Only you.”

Their eyes met—glassy, hungry, full of something that went far beyond the physical.

The bond between them pulsed like a heartbeat, wrapping around them with each movement, each breath, making everything feel impossibly heightened. Like their bodies were just an extension of their souls finally finding peace—in passion, in love, in each other.

Neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

And neither of them ever wanted to.

Y/N moved slowly at first, savoring every inch of Wanda wrapped around her—warm, trembling, impossibly close. Her lips trailed soft, lingering kisses down the side of Wanda’s neck, drawing a sigh from deep in her chest.

She murmured Wanda’s name like a prayer between kisses, her mouth moving lower—over her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts, worshipping her with every brush of her lips. Wanda arched into the touch, her fingers curling against Y/N’s back as if anchoring herself in that moment.

Y/N looked up at her, breathless and reverent, before moving up again—peppering kisses back up her chest, her jaw, and finally meeting her lips in a deep, desperate kiss.

Their mouths moved in sync, just as their bodies did—needy, full of emotion that had nowhere else to go but into each other.

Inside her, Y/N moved with growing urgency, not just seeking release, but trying to convey everything she felt—how much she loved her, how much she needed her, how the bond between them had changed everything.

Wanda moaned against her lips, her thighs tightening around Y/N’s waist, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

And Y/N didn’t. She held her like she was everything she ever wanted—because she was.

Y/N’s rhythm deepened, guided by the way Wanda moved beneath her—each gasp, each roll of her hips urging her on. She kissed Wanda harder, pouring herself into every movement, every breathless sound between them.

“You feel so good,” Y/N murmured, forehead pressed to Wanda’s. Her voice was low, almost broken with how overwhelmed she felt. “Like you were made for me.”

Wanda’s hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. “I was,” she whispered fiercely, her eyes glassy with emotion. “I am.”

The bond between them pulsed, alive and electric. It hummed under their skin, making every sensation sharper, deeper. Y/N felt everything—not just physically, but emotionally. The way Wanda’s body clung to hers, the way her heart raced in sync with her own, the way the bond echoed with every thrust—it was almost too much.

Wanda’s back arched as another wave hit her, and she cried out, clutching Y/N tighter. Her magic sparked uncontrolled at her fingertips, swirling red along Y/N’s back like a caress.

“Wanda—” Y/N’s voice cracked, her body trembling as she fought to hold back. But Wanda looked at her with fire in her eyes, breathless and wild.

“Let go, detka!” she said. “I want to feel all of it. You—everything.”

With a moan that tore from deep within her, Y/N thrust one final time and came undone, her body collapsing against Wanda’s as pleasure coursed through every inch of her. Wanda followed, shattering around her with a cry that echoed in the room, the bond flaring so brightly it felt like the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them.

****

They stayed tangled in each other, breathing heavily, skin slick and flushed, the room humming with the aftermath of magic and love.

Y/N nuzzled Wanda’s cheek, whispering softly, “I’ve never felt anything like that… ever.”

Wanda smiled, eyes still closed. “That’s because nothing else compares. We’re soulmates, Y/N. This is what we were meant to be.”

Wanda’s heart swelled at the tenderness in Y/N’s voice. She wrapped her arms around her, holding her close as their bodies remained entwined, the warmth between them still lingering.

She smiled softly against Y/N’s lips. “You don’t have to thank me,” she whispered, brushing her thumb gently along Y/N’s jaw. “You’re mine. I wanted to give you everything. I always will.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with something deeper than lust—something ancient and certain. She kissed Wanda again, slower this time, reverent. “It felt like more than magic. Like… you gave me a part of yourself.”

“I did,” Wanda said simply. “And you took it like it belonged to you. Because it does.”

The bond between them thrummed again, not urgent this time, but steady and full—like a promise sealed in heat and heart.

They lay there in silence for a while, Wanda tracing patterns on Y/N’s back, the strap still nestled between them, pulsing faintly with the spell’s residual magic.

After a long moment, Y/N chuckled softly. “You know, now that I know what this feels like… we’re never going to leave this room.”

Wanda smirked, her fingers sliding down Y/N’s spine. “Good. Let them try to tear us apart.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to Wanda’s. “They never will.”

---

[glissadia]

Upon Further Examination

A professor does her best to figure out why her student's ritual circle isn't working, and discovers that the issue may be a bit bigger than she thought. 6k words.

"Three. Two. One. Ignite. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Failed," Selin states in time with my counting, doing a halfway-decent job of masking her frustration and disappointment. I nod approvingly, as I’ve done each attempt, because it’s still important to acknowledge the adherence to procedure.

"Quench," I respond, picking my earlier cadence back up. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Release. One. Two. Disengage."

Selin steps back from the now-inert ritual circle and I step forward to check her work. Today I’m acting as her examiner, rather than my usual role as her mentor, so I’m supposed to keep my observations to myself. However, I think we’ve gotten past the point where I need to stick to the standard process.

"Perfect," I speak aloud, and Selin jumps slightly. "Your inscriptions are more than within tolerance for preciseness, you’re following your derived procedures to the letter, your timing would put the carillon tower to shame, and I can’t identify a single fault with your channeling."

"Wait, so I got the ritual right this time?" Selin asks, her voice equally confused and hopeful. "Then why didn’t it work?"

I shake my head.

"You got it right every time," I tell her. "Even the first two attempts, which I intentionally sabotaged without your notice, according to academy procedure. You corrected and compensated without prompting."

I don’t have to look at Selin to anticipate the indignant response that revelation will elicit, so I simply hold up my hand to silence her.

"It’s not the moon, it’s not ambient interference, and it’s sure as hell not my materials. It’s not your procedures, your written report has no problems on paper and I tested it last night in this very room, so it’s not the location either."

Sure enough, when I tested Selin’s ritual myself in preparation for today, the brilliant purple spark had appeared in midair and fragmented into responsive motes, just as she had designed it to do. By her own accounts it had worked just as well while she was developing it, so we should be seeing at least some sort of magical response from the ritual besides the barest, halfhearted ionizing glow coming from the air above the circle, and yet here we were, twenty-two attempts later. I would normally have to penalize her for taking this many attempts, but that part of the rubric was written under the assumption that failure would be due to something on the student’s part. This, however…

"So what is wrong with it, Professor?" Selin asks as she slumps down into one of the armchairs arranged against the wall of my workshop. "I know you’re not supposed to tell me until after the exam, but…"

"Nothing," I say as I sit down next to her, with a bit more grace. "Absolutely nothing at all, besides the fact that it is simply not working. Selin, I genuinely have no idea what to tell you. I’m half-tempted to just award you full marks and some extra credit on top of it and call it a day."

"Well don’t do that," she whines. "How am I supposed to call it a success if it doesn’t work when it’s supposed to?"

"You do realize most students wouldn’t hesitate to accept that offer, right?"

"Well there’s a reason you’re mentoring me and not them," Selin says, and I concede the point with a chuckle. The girl has a work ethic and level of tenacity I haven’t seen in years. What makes her stand out even more is the fact that when she was my student in introductory classes, I had initially assumed she would wash out of the program. It took her almost twice as long as most of the other students to get her fundamental spell weaving up to par, and her magic still has a tendency to try and run away from her in a way that’s amusingly familiar. But what she lacks in control, Selin more than makes up for with her sheer breadth of comprehension of theory. With time and effort, she’s grown to become the most promising student in her year, and I was quite excited to see what she came up with for her end-of-semester project. It was ambitious, sure, but pulling it off should be fully within her capabilities, and yet success has eluded her thus far today. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to leave my quarters until the ritual succeeded, be it hours or until the end of the day or even longer. I myself would be remiss to end before she got it working, but at this point I genuinely have no idea what to do.

"Why don’t you take a break?" I suggest. "Just half an hour. You can ask Ember to make tea. I’ll stay here and work out the problem, then you can come back with a fresh mind and it’ll work this time."

I can tell Selin does not share my optimism, nor does she want to give up even temporarily, but exhaustion wins out and she nods, standing up and removing her apron and protective goggles before exiting the workshop. I remain, close my eyes, and focus my mind the problem at hand.

Fifteen minutes later and I’m only more frustrated. I tested this yesterday and it worked. There should be no effective difference between the two setups. What the hell is going on?

The softest, quietest tink of porcelain interrupts my thoughts, and I open my eyes to see Ember setting down a cup and saucer on the end table next to my chair. My maid’s lips quirk in dissatisfaction when she realizes that she wasn’t quite silent enough to go unnoticed, but quickly return to her usual warm smile.

"You’ll get me one of these days," I assure her, and she stifles an amused snort. "How’s Selin?"

"Antsy, but she’s staying in one place, at least," Ember responds. "I think the failure is getting to her."

"And to I as well," I sigh. "She’s executing the ritual even more precisely than I did, and nothing."

I pick up the cup from the saucer, then pause as I notice the contents and raise one eyebrow at Ember.

"What is hot cocoa if not tea made of chocolate steeped in milk?" she says, with an ever-so-slightly mischievous lilt to her voice. "I thought you both could use the comfort."

I roll my eyes, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. A small sip confirms that it’s been heated well beyond the boiling point, the enchantment on the cup preventing it from evaporating or scalding, and I breathe a sigh of contentment. She knows me too well.

"Would you like me to give it a look, my lady?" Ember asks. "Fresh eyes could spot something new, perhaps?"

"You’re welcome to, if you’d like," I tell her. I don’t honestly expect her to find anything, though not for any lack of faith on my part in my maid’s skill. I just can’t imagine there’s anything to find.

Ember walks around the outside of the ritual circle a few times, staring at it intently as I sip my cocoa. I try to keep thinking, picking apart the problem in different ways, but the answer continues to elude me. When Ember speaks up again, the distraction is very welcome.

"She’s using your mana siphon design. Integrated correctly, but still not standard. Is that a problem?"

"No, it should work just like the standard design for her. A bit more efficiently, even, which I assume is why she’s using it," I say. Ember knows this, of course, but it’s still good to talk things out. Maybe something will spark an epiphany.

"Hmm." She’s quiet for another moment. "And you recreated this last night exactly, including the siphon, correct?"

"It’s the design I have to grade, so naturally," I confirm. "It worked flawlessly, first try."

"Even with the compensation runes?"

I frown.

"I suppressed them temporarily, like I always do with that design. My magic only needs compensation when I’m reproducing the standard siphon design, you know this," I say, not entirely sure where she’s going with this. The runes hidden in the walls of my workshop and the classrooms I teach in are critical for ensuring rituals designed without my own little custom component actually function properly and don't just immediately fizzle out. My own magic doesn't play nicely with rituals, so any mana siphon attempting to use it to power one finds itself promptly overwhelmed unless it's built to handle that kind of mana (like my design is) or the volatility in my magic is compensated for, like the runes do.

"And they’re on now, because that’s their normal state," Ember hums. "Out of curiosity, what would happen if you tried this ritual with the compensation runes active?"

"Modifying the design to use a standard mana siphon? I can’t see any reason why I wouldn’t be able—"

"No," Ember cuts me off. "As implemented."

"It wouldn’t work, obviously. The siphon’s design is too specific for properly collecting my magic processed to behave like normal magic, it has to be either or. Standard siphons are more forgiving, but less efficient."

"So the siphon would get overloaded and fail relatively quickly?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I can see where you’re going with this, but it’s wrong," I say, leaning forward in my chair and placing the now-empty cup back down on the saucer. "To the runes, normal mana might as well not exist. They wouldn’t do anything to Selin’s, she’s the one igniting the ritual, and the ritual isn’t tandem nor does it collect ambient mana. My magic isn’t affecting things at all, I’ve made sure of it."

"What if her magic needs to be compensated for?"

"I—"

The notion is ludicrous. So ludicrous that I start to respond without thinking, but then cut myself off. If I was the one doing the ritual, then yes, I’d need to suppress the runes in order for it to work, just like I did last night. I never designed my improved mana siphon to work with them, because there was absolutely no need to and it would have just complicated the inscription. If I still tried anyway, though… the siphon would eke out the barest amount of mana, then promptly give up. The distribution lines would do their best to convey the mana to the rest of the circle, which would… which wouldn’t even get through the first step of the intended output. No spark. It would try, though, and if I had to guess, that weak, mana-starved attempt would probably look just like a faint purple glow in the air, and nothing else.

It doesn’t make sense. It makes too much sense. It explains everything nicely and raises so many more questions. I desperately want to hang onto any possible evidence it’s not true, because it couldn’t be. I would know. And there’s no way. No way at all. But…

"But she’s human," I say, voice a little weaker and more unsure than I’d like. Ember simply raises an eyebrow again.

"You thought you were."

I sigh. I don’t want to acknowledge even the remotest possibility of Ember being right, but at my core I’m too much of a scientist to not at least attempt to test the possibility.

"It’s been long enough; she’ll be itching to try again," I say, defeated. "You go get her, I’ll turn off the compensation runes."

"Of course, my lady," my maid says, in that way she’s perfected that conveys very little of the deference the title would imply. She exits the workshop, and I get back to my feet, turning around and placing my hand on the wall. A twist of will sees the rune contained within made dormant for a time, and I walk to and repeat the process with the other five walls, finishing just as Selin rushes in with Ember behind her.

"What’d you figure out?" Selin asks excitedly, already throwing her apron back on and pulling her hair back. "Are we good to go?"

"There’s… a chance we are," I hedge. "I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but I’ve tried something and there’s a very remote possibility it should work now, no other modifications necessary."

"Alright!" Selin cheers, tying the apron strings behind her back. "You don’t sound very hopeful, though."

"The lady has a tendency to temper her expectations to an unreasonable degree," Ember says, insolent little creature that she is. "I have faith in your abilities, Selin."

"Aw, thanks!" Selin says, grabbing the materials she needs for another attempt. "Anything I should do differently or just like I designed?"

"Just like you designed," I confirm. "And if this doesn’t work then please don’t feel discouraged."

"No promises!" she declares, working with remarkable efficiency. "Okay, prepped and reset for another go."

I give her work a cursory glance, but I have no doubt it’ll be perfect, just like all the other attempts. Alright. No time like the present.

"On my call," I say, and Selin nods. "Three. Two. One. Ignite."

Selin pours her magic into the circle once again, and the air above the ritual circle blooms, brilliant purple light coalescing into one single, shining point. I allow myself a fraction of a second to process, which is not nearly enough, but I have a job to do.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four," I call, and the spark fragments, much smaller points of light rapidly spreading out to fill the cylindrical space above the ritual circle. There must be thousands of them, and the density Selin has achieved is noticeably greater than what I managed last night with the exact same conditions. "Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Succeeded," Selin declares, voice full of pride. The results are plain to see, stabilizing well before the seven second mark and taking much less than four to interpret.

"Hold," I continue in cadence. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Stable."

Selin hesitantly sticks her hand into the field of purple, and the motes in a small radius around it drift towards her. She clenches her hand into a fist, and they rapidly move to coat her hand, before all suddenly jumping back into position when she opens her hand again. She beams at me.

"Well done," I say as I release a bit of the tension in my body, though not all of it, and catch Ember’s eye. She’s grinning at me very smugly, which I suppose is well-deserved. This… complicates things.

"Told you it works," Selin says, self-satisfaction oozing out of every pore. She pulls her hand back and the pinpricks of purple light stay where they are, having done their job in this demonstration.

"If you’ll recall, I never doubted that it should," I respond. Okay, time to start teasing this mystery apart. "Selin, your mana siphon. Why did you use my design over the standard one? It must have been harder to integrate."

"Huh? Oh, the siphon. Because the standard one sucks and yours is better?" Selin says as she pushes her goggles up to her forehead. Somehow I don’t think she means it solely as a compliment.

"It’s harder to inscribe than the standard version, though," I prompt her. "And reproducibility was one of the factors you were instructed to keep in mind when designing your project."

"Well yeah, of course I thought about that," she defends. "And I started with the usual one, like I’m supposed to, but I’m bad at inscribing it and I could never get it right so I just rebuilt the ritual around yours and I actually started getting results."

I freeze. She does not mean what I think she means. She can’t.

"What do you mean you’re bad at inscribing it?" I ask. "Your inscriptions are some of the most precise I’ve ever seen."

"Aww, thanks," Selin blushes. "And I mean I’m bad at it! I can only get it to work half the time, usually when you’re helping me. Anything that’s designed by you always works for me. It’s consistent!"

It’s consistent because I always deactivate the compensation runes in my classrooms and workshop when we’re working with rituals I’ve designed, because of the fact that they interfere with each other. And any time she’s tried a ritual with my mana siphon outside of those places, there aren’t runes to worry about. But no, that would mean…

"Selin, have you ever successfully completed a ritual using the standard siphon outside of this room or a classroom?"

"Uh, well… not really?" she admits sheepishly. Oh goddess. "I’ve just kinda taken to modifying the rituals when I’m at home, 'cause there isn’t an instructor there to tell me off for doing it wrong."

"You’re modifying rituals to include my mana siphon?" I ask, flabbergasted. "You can’t just put it in place of the old one; the integrations are completely different!"

"Uh, yeah?" Selin says, sounding confused. "It’s not that difficult to rework the distribution lines around it."

Yes it is. Yes it fucking is. I don’t say that to her, though, instead turning to the room’s other occupant, whose grin is almost too wide for her face at this point.

"Fine. Fine! You win, Ember," I declare, throwing my hands up in the air. "You were right, I was wrong. She can’t do rituals without compensating."

"I’m so glad your humility hasn’t left you, my lady," Ember beams. Selin, meanwhile, just looks confused.

"Sorry, 'compensating?'" she asks. "I’m not doing anything differently, as far as I know. What did you figure out? Why did it work this time?"

I sigh.

"You didn’t do anything different. It was a problem with my workshop, which I apologize for. But, we’re not quite done yet. This is not part of your exam, but I’d appreciate it if you humored me anyway. Light spell, as by-the-book as you can."

Selin’s confused expression only deepens, but she obliges me, holding up a hand and making a simple ball of light appear above it. It roils and shifts, maintaining a loosely spherical shape as it ebbs and flows. Selin’s magic has frequently expressed itself this way, and while I’ve drawn parallels to my own experiences, I never made the conclusion that it’s seeming like I should have.

"Hold it there, don’t lose focus," I instruct her as I walk back towards the wall. With a touch, I draw back out the mana keeping the rune within suppressed, fixing my eyes on the Selin’s light spell as I do so. It flickers, though not by much. I walk to two more walls and do the same thing, then return to my student. With half the runes in effect, the ball of light has calmed itself a bit, still far from static but significantly more under control. Selin looks to be concentrating hard on keeping it stable, her lips pursed, but I don’t offer her any insight, instead walking to the remaining three walls and reactivating the runes contained within. Walking back up, I can see that the little ball of light has become a perfect, static sphere, as textbook as I’ve ever seen. Selin looks up at me questioningly, but I preempt her with a question of my own.

"Are you sure you’re human?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" she asks incredulously.

"Like I asked earlier, please humor me," I say patiently.

"I… yes?" she says, and I can tell she truly believes it. "There’s some elven blood on my dad’s side if you go back like eight generations, but that’s extremely diluted, I know how this works."

And indeed, it should not have this kind of effect oh her magic. But, what I’m asking about isn’t something brought about by genetics.

"Release and disengage the ritual at your leisure, then you two start cleaning up," I order. "I need to grab something. Ember, don’t bias her while I’m gone."

"Bias me?"

"My lady?"

"I’m doing a test," I state, and Ember’s eyes go wide.

"Hey wh—"

The rest of Selin’s confused exclamation is cut off as I abruptly turn on my heel and yank myself through space, the workshop around me immediately transitioning into a new, much larger space. Cavernous walls of rough-hewn rock, globes of magical light suspended from the very high ceiling, and approximately forty fireballs spontaneously generated and fired towards me by the wards the second I take a step forward. My stride doesn’t falter as they hit and harmlessly wash over me, my robes being enchanted to protect themselves and anything contained within the many pockets from flame. That doesn’t include the wearer, but, well. The day I can’t handle a bit of fire is the day I die.

I was lucky enough to find this cave a couple of centuries back, and promptly sealed it up and warded it to high heaven to prevent anyone else from doing so after me. If anyone else besides me or my staff tried to get in here, they’d be faced with a lot worse than just fireballs. They’re more of a precaution, anyway. Plus, the heat is nice. These mountains don’t have any geothermal activity, so the entire cave system has to be heated magically, which takes a lot of energy.

It doesn’t take me long to reach the cave’s main event, since while this chamber is absolutely massive, so is the pile of treasure it contains. For years, I never really understood the appeal of having a hoard, but the very first time I held a gemstone the size of an apple in my hands, I was hooked. That was a long, long, time ago, though, and now my trove has grown to a size even the most ascetic of my kin would salivate over. Not that they’ll ever get to see it, of course, nor will any humans. Very few people know my true identity, and I like it that way. I doubt my life of tenured pedagogy would be quite so peaceful if the rest of the staff knew there was anything more to me than an experienced noblewoman with a penchant for magical research and a slightly strange magical response to rituals. Anonymity holds power, in this world, which is one of the many reasons why part of me greatly dislikes the idea of potentially revealing myself. But, I’m forced to admit, if I’m correct, the alternative would be worse for Selin, and I like the poor girl far too much for that.

I spend around half an hour searching through the piles, examining each splotch of color poking out from in between pieces of gold from this century and many past. My search criteria is very specific, and it’s not like I can just pull some random ruby out and be done with it. I’m loathe to part with even a single piece from my collection, as any self-respecting dragon would be, but I know that if this test succeeds then there will be no way I’m getting this back. Finally, though, I spot it. A brilliant purple, Selin’s favorite color. Round, roughly cut (though that just adds charm, in my opinion), and large enough that it’s awkward to carry in only one hand. Corundum. It’s perfect. …Now I just have to find something to carry it in.

When I return to my workshop, a large felt bag clasped in my hands, my eyes barely have time to focus before I’m assaulted with a shrill exclamation.

"You can teleport!?" Selin yells, and I wince before schooling my expression.

"Were you waiting the entire time just to ask that?" I say tersely.

"Well yeah, you just disappeared so what else was I supposed to do after cleaning up?" Selin responds, and I am pleased to see the workshop is looking spotless. "Ember won’t even talk to me and I am still very confused as to what is going on."

"I apologize for leaving you in the dark, so to speak, but this is very important," I sigh. "Yes, I can teleport, it’s rather advanced magic and relatively inaccessible to most people, but I will teach you, should you desire. In any case, I think things will very soon become clear. Come."

I turn and walk towards the door, navigating down the hall and to the sitting room. As expected, Ember is waiting there, tea already prepared. Cinnamon this time, I can smell, not chocolate. I sit down on one of the chairs, bag in my lap, and motion for the other girls to do the same. Selin picks the chair opposite me, looking at me intently, while Ember picks the couch to the side of us. She always gets squirmy when she’s excited, and that’s quite evident now, despite her attempts to sit still.

"So, first things first," I begin. "Nothing you are about to see or hear is to be discussed outside of my quarters, and never with anyone besides me or my staff. Do you understand?"

"'Staff,' plural?" Selin says, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Ember. "Are there more?"

"Cinder and Tinder tend to the estate while I’m teaching; you’ll be introduced to them eventually," I elaborate, and before she can think too much on the names I continue. "Besides Ember and I, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone else. I repeat, do you understand?"

"Yes," Selin nods, and I can tell she means it. Everything that’s happening is much too intriguing for her to just walk away.

"Good," I say, then reach into the bag and tug it off of the gemstone contained within, watching Selin’s expression carefully. "Secondly, congratulations on passing your practical exam. As I said earlier, I will be awarding you full marks, plus extra credit."

As I reveal the giant purple corundum, I see the spark in Selin’s eyes, and my theory is confirmed. A bittersweet feeling washes over me at that. As much as I was enjoying the relatively solo life (well, as solo as a girl can be with three kobolds), it’s nice to know that I’ll be mentoring my favorite student for a good while longer yet. I stand up, holding the gem in both hands, and walk over to Selin, holding it out to her.

"A gift," I tell her. "And hopefully a fitting start to your collection."

Her eyes grow even wider than they already were, and she reaches up, almost reverently, taking the gemstone from my grasp. I feel a pang in my heart as it leaves my hands, but I push it down. This is necessary. I’m not going to let her wander, lost, like I did.

"I… I don’t know what to say," Selin starts as I walk back to my chair and sit down. "This is… this is too much. What even… what?"

"Purple corundum," I state matter-of-factly. "The same thing that rubies and sapphires are made of, just with a different name and color. Near flawless, as best I can tell. I’ll help you weigh and grade it later. You’ll want to know."

"Professor, this is… how much is this even worth?" Selin nearly whines, most of her sense of decorum leaving her. Which is understandable.

"Oh, I have no idea," I tell her, semi-honestly, then lean forward in my seat. "If it’s too much, then simply give it back. I’ll find you something more appropriate."

She looks at the gemstone for a long while, longer than she thinks, I’m sure. Then, very slowly, she brings it down to her chest, holding and hugging it despite the weight. I nod approvingly. There really was no chance of anything else.

"Then, thirdly, your ritual," I say, and I think I manage to recapture most of her attention. "Like I said, the problem was with my workshop, not you or your execution. I would like to once again apologize for causing that unnecessary stress."

"That’s… alright," Selin nods. "What was the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?"

"The answer is rather complicated, but I’ll do my best to explain," I start. "While my preferences lie in other fields, I do consider myself somewhat of an expert in ritual magic, and I’d hope my teaching position supports that assertion. This is in spite of a rather curious quirk of my magic, which interacts with most modern ritual designs in a way that precludes them from working. Unless, of course, the ritual circle utilizes the mana siphon I designed some two hundred years ago to address this very issue. You, Selin, have this same quirk."

"Okay, wait, slow down," she says. "I’ve seen you use the standard mana siphon before. I’ve used it before. And my ritual used yours, but it wasn’t working. Also, sorry, did you say two hundred years?"

"Young lady, you should know better than to ask about a woman’s age," I admonish her, and savor the wounded expression on her face for the couple of seconds I can manage to prevent my mouth from cracking into a smile. "But yes, I am significantly older than I look. And in regards to your other questions, there is more than one way to mitigate the effects of this quirk, which I had to do before I designed my own ritual components. Built into the walls of my workshop and classrooms are runes that, when activated, compensate for the volatility of my magic, forcing it to behave as normal to standard mana siphons."

Understanding begins to dawn on Selin’s face.

"So when you had me do the light spell and it got less and less chaotic…"

"The runes were processing and calming your magic as I activated them, yes."

"That… makes a surprising amount of sense," she says. "The standard siphon only working for me in the classrooms and your workshop, not at home. Wait, but what was the problem with my ritual, then? I was using your design, that takes care of the issue, you said."

"It does, yes," I nod. "The problem was that I, not knowing about your situation, left the runes activated for your exam. The siphon does not process my magic after it has been affected by the runes, due to the specificity of the design, and neither was it processing yours. When I deactivated the runes, as I do whenever I deal with rituals of my own design, that allowed your natural magic to fuel the ritual as normal, and thus leading to the success. The compensation runes have no effect whatsoever on magic without this quirk, so I did not expect them to have any effect on your performance."

"Huh," Selin responds, thoughtfully. "I assume you’re willing to show me the runes so I can use them myself?"

"I do plan on doing so," I nod affirmatively. "They’re not exactly simple, but I have no doubt you’ll be able to reproduce them with relatively little effort."

"Well, okay then!" she beams. "That’s good to know. Use your siphon when I can, use the runes for the standard version, don’t mix and match. That all seems pretty clear. I don’t really get why this is such a secret, though."

I sigh. Here’s where we get to the more significant part of this conversation.

"Selin, you are the twelfth person I have met in my life besides me with this condition. This is over many centuries, and I know there are a number more I have not met but experience the same thing, since it follows a very clear pattern. I hope you believe me when I tell you how rare this is, and that I am very confident when I say it is indicative of more overall characteristics of the person the volatile magic comes from. I was initially extremely unwilling to believe that the runes were responding to you, for the very simple reason that the runes do not respond to humans, nor most other races. Yet your magic is of the variety they were designed for, which only stems from one source."

"So, what are you saying?" she asks me, pulling the gemstone a little tighter against herself. "That I’m not human? How the hell could I not be?"

"In this case, it’s a matter of the soul," I tell her. "I do not know the exact mechanism behind it, for there are so few of us to be studied, and I am still not entirely sure how similar it is for other races. But, sometimes, very rarely, a person can be born with a soul not befitting of their body, and this leads to a mismatch. One that could potentially go unnoticed for their entire lives, given a lack of the right circumstances. Such a case is certainly a tragedy, which means that it is my responsibility to prevent the same from happening to you."

She takes a deep breath.

"Just… out with it. Stop dancing around whatever it is."

Well. Here we go.

"Selin, every single person whose magic behaves like this is a dragon."

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh.

"Bullshit," is her response, soft, too quickly. I say nothing, and simply draw my hand down my face, letting my human visage fall away and the deep blue scales of my true form shine through, though still in a somewhat humanoid shape. Selin gasps at my sudden reveal, then glances over to Ember, whose disguise falls away at the same time mine does, leaving a short orange kobold sitting on the couch instead, tail rapidly wagging. She’s still wearing a smaller version of her maid uniform, though, and waves happily to a stunned Selin.

"I hope you understand why I asked you to keep this a secret," I say, only managing to hide around half of the amusement I’m currently feeling. Not much of my body is visible with the robes, but it should certainly be enough.

"I… yes," Selin responds, finally managing to find her voice again. "But you’re… that’s not… I’m not…"

"Here’s a proposal for you," I say to her, leaning forward to give my folded-up wings some space. "Hand the stone back to me, or fail my class."

The immediate look of shock and betrayal on her face is just what I expected, so I escalate, holding out my scaled palm and summoning a roiling ball of flame above it.

"Hand the stone back to me, or die."

She tenses up, eyes narrowing. I know that look, and while it is what I’m fishing for, I don’t particularly feel like ruining my sitting room with a mage battle, so I extinguish the flame and raise both my palms up deferentially while lowering my head.

"Easy, easy," I placate, letting my human form wash back over me to break her concentration. She blinks, eyes refocusing, so that hopefully did the trick. "I’m not going to take it away, I promise. I’m sorry."

"G-good," Selin says. Then, after a moment, her eyes widen. "Wait, holy shit, I didn’t mean to… fuck, I am so sorry, um—"

I lower my left hand, letting the right one remain up to stop her.

"It’s exactly the reaction I was provoking; there’s no need to apologize," I assure her. "It’s natural to get defensive over items in your hoard."

"My hoard?" she asks incredulously. Then, softly. "Oh. Fuck."

I nod at her.

"Are things starting to make a bit more sense?"

"…Getting there," Selin says, demurely. "There’s still a lot I don’t understand."

"Well, we have all the time in the world to get to remedy that," I assure her. "And as it turns out, all the time is the world is going to be a lot longer for you than either of us thought."

"Aaaa, this is going to be so much fun!" Ember squeaks, and I can’t help but agree with her. Even Selin lets a hint of anticipation show through on her face, which makes my smile grow even wider.

Goodness, I love being a teacher.

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | the secret’s out

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: finally time for some other beloved pitt characters to join the fray!! also can you tell i’m not the most knowledgeable about how buying a house actually work? bc i can lol

next time is baby shower!!

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, age gap, language

< part 12 | part 14 >

At work, most of Jack’s personal life remains a mystery. He considers himself close to Robby, being genuine friends outside of the walls of the hospital. The others, not so much.

The bottom line is that Jack’s a private guy, and doesn’t want to air out his business to be discussed and speculated about down every hallway of the hospital.

One thing he does love, though, is the feeling of smug satisfaction he feels when he surprises people.

“Ellis, Shen,” he calls to his night-shift coworkers as he sees them, backpacks on and ready to leave early in the morning.

They both turn towards him, waiting.

“What are you guys doing on Saturday afternoon?” he asks.

They both open their mouths to speak, but Jack interrupts them before they can make a sound.

“Well, you’re invited to a baby shower, so actually don’t do anything,” he instructs with a carefully crafted look on neutrality on his face. “My house, 1pm.” he finishes with a smile.

The two doctors in front of him gape, questioning looks on their faces as they stare him down. He keeps his smile bright.

Shen snaps out of it first, unflappable as always.

“Cool man, I’ll be there.” he agrees.

Ellis shakes her head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I’ll need a few more details,” she says sarcastically, “what?”

“A baby shower.” Jack reiterates.

“Yeah, I got that. For who?” she asks.

“Typically they’re kind of for a baby.” he replies matter of factly.

“Oh my god,” she mutters under her breath. “Who’s pregnant?” she asks.

“My girlfriend.” he tells her with another smile.

“You-“ she stutters, “since when do you-?” she stops herself. Sighing and rolling out her tense shoulders. “Whatever, I’ll be there.” she agrees.

“Awesome, thanks, I’ll send you guys my address.” he smiles, leaving them standing there with unanswered questions as he walks back toward the hub, looking for Robby.

He finds him, hands on his hips as he observes the boards. They had already done turnover, so the ED is alight with movement and all the day shift doctors.

“Hey man,” Jack greets as he claps Robby on the back.

“Hey,” Robby greets as he takes on his glasses.

Dana looks up from her computer, eyeing Jack skeptically.

“You better get out of here Jack, we know you and sunlight don’t get along.” she jokes.

“Yeah, yeah; I’m getting better about it, though.” he says, pointing at her.

“Baby shower, Saturday at one, can you make it?” he asks Robby.

His friend nods his head, “Yeah, yeah I’ll get it covered.” he agrees.

“Invite whoever isn’t working from day shift, just send ‘em my address, they’re all invited.” he tells Robby.

Dana slides herself along the counter closest to the two, looking at Jack expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, “I think my ears are playing tricks on me. Baby shower?” she asks.

Jack nods. “Obviously, you’re invited too, I hope you’re not working Saturday.”

“I’m not.” she says, deadpan. “You’re having a baby?” she asks, a wide smile crawling over her face.

“Sure am.” he confirms, a matching smile on his.

“Well I’ll be…” she trails off with a grin.

“Invite the people,” he says, turning back to Robby, “and come early to set up.” he tells him.

“Aye aye, captain.” he agrees.

Jack turns and leaves, watching as Dana’s eyes turn to Robby with a look like she’s about to sink her information-seeking claws into him and not let go.

He heads home, eats a quick breakfast, and falls asleep hard.

He’s in the trenches of trying to buy that house, so he wakes up earlier than he wants to be able to exchange some messages with the working public while the day isn’t almost over. Working night shift makes doing normal human tasks much more difficult.

He’s able to exchange a few texts with you while you work, smiling as you tell him about your work problems.

You had sent Jack pictures of decorations you wanted for the baby shower, so he picks himself off the couch to head to a party supply store.

Yes honey, whatever you want honey, he had told you when you stressed to high heaven about how you would have enough time to get all the decorations, send invitations, cook the food, and set up for the party before Saturday came. He volunteered to get the decorations, assured you that you don’t need invitations, and asked what food you wanted to be catered, not made my either of them.

He enjoyed life much more when you weren’t stressed about things that didn’t need to be stressed about, and happily does whatever he can to take some of the stress off of your shoulders.

Today is shaping up to be a good day, he thinks, after dropping the baby bomb on his coworkers, successfully buying everything on the list you had made for him, and especially now, he things looking down at his phone.

He had just gotten an email from his realtor that his offer on the house was accepted, and he was now under contract. With how quickly that went, he has a sliver of hope that they could move in before they have their December baby.

Right now, Jack Abbot could not be happier with his life, and can’t wait for Saturday.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog @starswin @celiacallsitcausal @vinceelser @glamorizethechaos @nerdgirljen @namgification @li22ie2017 @misshoneypaper @gardeniarose13 @peachjellyy @babybatreads @spooky-librarian-ghost @foolishseven @cannonindeez @wisps-writes-fic

let me know if you want a tag, too!

[loosesodamarble]

I fell down a rabbit hole because of @meo-eiru's yandere character Micah and I had thoughts about a potential plot for Micah and a darling of his. Apologies if it's sloppy or ooc but my brain kept coming up with ideas!

..........

It all begins when Micah is walking through the streets of the town he serves as a priest in and sees an unfamiliar face.

The person in question is a young woman in plain clothes. The colors are faded and faint patches that look like they might've been mud stains could be seen. The woman carts around a wheelbarrow full of flowers still in soil. When people approach her, the woman greets them, smiling, before gesturing to her wheelbarrow.

Micah observes as the woman plucks a few flowers and ties them together with twine before handing them out to people.

"Please come to my family's shop when it opens!" the woman tells the people she hands flowers to.

The woman pushes her wheelbarrow until she and Micah cross each other. She offers Micah some of her flowers. Micah looks over what she has and notices some blossoms that he doesn't recognize and asks for those.

He takes the new flowers back to the church and plants them in his garden. He doesn't think much of the unfamiliar woman aside from the fact that he appreciates that chancing upon her led to him gaining something new for his garden. Unless that young woman begins attending church, Micah doubts he'll see her again.

.....

A few days later, Micah goes out to the church's garden to do some tending. It’s too early to tell how well the new flowers have taken to the soil so he wants to put a little extra effort into their care. When he arrives in the garden, he sees someone there crouching down by the flowers. It is the young woman with the wheelbarrow.

“Ah, it’s you,” Micah says, making his presence known.

The woman is standing up and facing Micah in seconds. Her eyes are wide and her expression bashful.

"Uh, hi?" she says while she waves to Micah.

"What business do you have here in the church’s garden?" Micah questions her.

"Uhp! W-well... I heard this building had a garden and I wanted to see it for myself," she answers after a moment's hesitation. “If I’m trespassing— I probably am, what with the wall…” Her face is turning bright red. “Sorry.”

Micah chuckles. "The church welcomes visitors of all kinds, not only those living within the convent or those of the faith," he explains with a gentle smile. "If you wish to visit the garden every now and again, you are more than free to do so."

"Really?" A smile breaks out across her face. She faces the flowers and bushes again. "Hopefully my family's flowers can bloom just as magnificently."

"If your family's business is to sell flowers, then the best of luck to you in cultivating them," Micah remarks.

For a moment, Micah wonders why he is bothering with this conversation with this woman who seems to not even understand what the church is. But the smile on the woman's face during the brief talk... The sparkle in her eyes as she glances around at the garden... And the way she spoke with Micah, not with any sense of reverence but still showing a gentle cordiality...

Her presence is... it's not a bother at least.

.....

Micah begins to see her more often.

It’s not every day Micah sees her, but she visits often enough that the nuns and acolytes start to recognize her. Early on, the woman remains within the garden. She approaches each flower, bush, tree with such a delicate hand and truly admires Micah’s work in bringing the garden to life. She speaks words of adoration to them like they’re her beloved children. The woman and Micah exchange their experiences with raising plants. Given her profession being the selling of flowers - and herbs, as Micah comes to learn - it comes as no surprise that she takes gardening seriously. She is almost as meticulous as Micah when it comes to the topic.

Almost.

The woman has an air of fancifulness to her methods. She talks of making the plants “happy” and “encouraging” them. She apologizes when she has to trim away diseased parts of a flower. She never disposes of any plant that doesn't grow as quickly or as fruitfully as its peers but instead gives them more time and attention until they flourish. The woman sees her own garden not as specimens to cultivate and prune away as she sees fit, but as individuals to care for as they came into their own.

Micah finds himself amused by how different her view is from his.

The way he sees it, plants are like humans. It is true that flowers can grow in the wild and people can take care of themselves well enough, but without proper guidance and diligent oversight, neither can truly prosper. If human hands don't bring water regularly or cut away parts afflicted with disease, then plants would wither and die in no time. Humans languish in ignorance and let themselves be led astray by temptations. And if one, plant or human alike, fails to meet the expectations set by those around them then they have no right to take space from those more deserving and are removed.

Their ways of thinking are different.

But Micah finds himself wanting to listen to the woman go on about how any flower, any person, can thrive if shown enough love. Her view is so simple... Naive... Pure...

Yet it never leaves Micah's head.

…..

Micah entertains the woman's presence at the church each time she visits the garden. And he uses her to entertain himself. Asking questions and learning more. He tries to piece together what about her he feels so drawn to.

Micah learns that the woman had never been familiarized with the church. She'd met the odd clergyman while on the road but faith, scriptures, and the like were all foreign to her. When Micah explains it all, she apologizes profusely for her lack of respect towards him.

The woman has a beauty and purity to her that was unlearned, something that came naturally to her.

The woman tells Micah that her favorite plant is the ivy. An ironic choice to say the least.

"I didn't realize it could mean so much. I just kind of liked it because no matter the time of year, some form of ivy was there for me to find," she says while helping Micah water the garden one day. "But knowing they mean something to your church makes me love them more."

She is surprisingly impressionable. Taking almost anything she hears to heart. Doing so is sure to hurt her if she's not careful who she listens to.

The family she speaks of, Micah comes to know, is nothing more than a list of people she's met and left. Her parents passed due to disease and from then on, she'd been on the move. Made friends in various places and always left with new seeds to add to her garden.

It's a contradiction. A world widespread and full of people she thinks of with love. Yet she was ultimately alone with only the lives she grew from the ground keeping her company. Micah finds it strikingly different to himself, where he's surrounded by many who adore and rely on him yet he's struggled to think of anyone with affection.

"I'm very glad I moved here. The soil is fertile here. The townspeople are kind. And most of all... you're here, Micah."

The fondness in the woman's eyes is different from what she looks at plants with. She is looking at him not to care for him, but to be cared by him.

Something clicks in Micah's head.

If that is what you wish, Micah thinks to himself as he steps forward and brushes back a bit of her hair. Then let me tend to you the proper way.

The woman had been letting herself grow like one of her plants, with care but no guidance.

Micah will change that. He will trim away all influence that he finds unsavory for her. He will give her a place, confined but cozy, to call home. He will guide her and she will bloom as he sees fit, even if that means hurting her along the way. After all, if she believes love can help both plant and human thrive, then she will have to appreciate the love he will give her to grow.

[romerona]

The swan Princess; Westeros Version.

Okay so, I can’t this out of my brain so just imagine this with me:

The reader-insert Targaryen Princess, the younger sister of Rhaenyra by about 16-17 years, and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it).

However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, setting the stage for a classic love-hate relationship.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: kids being kids.

Next

The towering walls of Harrenhal surround you like sentinels, their dark history hidden beneath the banners of red and black for your name day celebration. It's your sixth name day, and the great hall is alive with music, laughter, and the scent of roasted meats. Nobles mill about in their finest, offering you warm smiles, expensive gifts and endless congratulations. You curtsy, thank them, and do all the things a proper princess should.

You’ve been told countless times how loved you are—how your bright smile and kind words can soften even the grumpiest lord. But the truth is, your feet ache from standing, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and you missed you sister Nyra, she couldn’t attend. You’re already planning your escape.

Your father’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Come, sweetling,” King Viserys beckoned warmly, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “There is someone I would have you meet.”

With his guiding presence, he led you across the hall to a man of imposing stature, his broad shoulders and solemn expression marking him unmistakably as a lord of the North—Lord Rickon Stark. Beside him stood a boy, perhaps a few years your elder, with a mane of dark curls and piercing grey eyes that seemed to observe the world with unnerving precision.

“Lord Stark, I trust your journey was swift and uneventful?” your father inquired with the easy grace of a king accustomed to courtesies.

Lord Rickon inclined his head in a deep bow, he straightened from his bow, his voice deep and steady, carrying the weight of northern formality.

“Your Grace, the journey was as kind as one could hope this time of year. The North sends its regards, and I am honored to stand in your presence once more. Thank you for the honor of hosting us.” He glanced at you and also bow, “May the princess’s name day bring joy to all who celebrate it.”

You smile politely, dipping into a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you and your family.”

Rickon gestures to the boy at his side. “This is my son and heir, Cregan.”

Cregan steps forward, bowing stiffly. It’s obvious he’s not used to it. He’s taller than you expected, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that reminds you of the knights in your father’s court—serious, reserved, and trying far too hard to look older than he is.

“Princess,” he says in a deep, measured voice, “happy name day. I hope it has been a joyful celebration.”

You smile at him, tilting your head.

“Thank you, my lord. It has been lively.” Your tone is polite, but you can’t help teasing him a little. He seems so serious, like he’s never laughed a day in his life.

Your father turned to speak with Lord Rickin about something you honestly had no interest in. Instead you turn to the boy, the young Lord, Cregan Stark.

“Do you always speak like that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Cregan blinks, clearly taken aback. “Like what?”

“So formal,” you say with a grin. “Do you practice in front of a mirror?”

His ears turn red, but he doesn’t lose his composure. “It’s important to speak with respect,”

You’re about to tease him further when your father nudges you gently. You remember your manners and curtsy again, leaving Cregan to stare after you as you’re whisked away to greet the next guest.

Later that evening, after what feels like hours of endless conversation and feasting, you finally find your chance to slip away. The gardens outside Harrenhal are quiet and cool, a welcome escape from the noise of the hall. The moonlight dances on the fountains, and the scent of night-blooming flowers fills the air.

You’re wandering down a stone path when you spot him—Cregan Stark. He’s crouched under a tree, poking at the dirt with a stick.

“You’re not supposed to leave the hall,” you say, your sudden voice startling him.

He shoots to his feet, hastily brushing dirt off his tunic as though it might erase his guilt.

“Neither are you,” he counters, his tone careful yet edged with a hint of accusation.

You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “I’m the princess. I can do as I please.”

“That’s not true,” he retorts, his grey eyes narrowing as he mirrors your posture. “The king said the garden is off-limits.”

A sly smirk curls your lips, your lilac eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, my father isn’t here, is he?”

Cregan’s frown deepens, his expression growing more serious. “If something happens to you, it’ll be my fault.”

Ignoring him, you take a step closer, letting your gaze drop to the stick he clutches. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Were you digging for treasure?”

His shoulders stiffen as he quickly moves the stick behind his back. “That’s none of your concern.”

Your grin widens, delighted at his discomfort. “So you were digging for something!”

“I wasn’t!” he insists, his ears tinged with a flush of embarrassment.

“Let me see,” you say, darting forward with a burst of energy and snatching the stick from his hand before he can react. You hold it aloft like a trophy, inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. “What is this supposed to be?”

“It’s just a stick,” Cregan replies, his tone laced with exasperation, as if he couldn’t believe you were making such a fuss.

You tilt your head, pretending to examine it like it’s some ancient artifact. “Were you digging for dragon eggs? Gold, perhaps?”

His cheeks flush, and he glares at you. “Stop teasing me!”

But teasing him is far too entertaining to stop now. You smirk, twirling the stick.

“Or maybe you’re looking for a duel,” you say, taking a step back and mimicking a defensive stance you’d seen knights adopt in the courtyard during their sparring sessions.

Cregan raises an eyebrow at you, incredulous. “I’m not fighting a girl. And a princess, no less.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your grin growing wider. “Why not? Afraid, Stark?”

He bristles immediately, straightening his posture. “I am not afraid,”

“Really? Then prove it,” you challenge, tapping the stick against the ground like a knight preparing to strike.

Before he can respond, you jab the stick lightly at his side, making him jump. “Ow!”

You laugh as he lunges for the stick, easily sidestepping him.

“You're slow," you taunt, spinning the stick like you've seen the knights do.

It's far too big for your small hands, but you make it work, grinning all the while.

Cregan narrows his grey eyes, his jaw tightening.

"I'm not slow," he says, his voice low and deliberate.

"Prove it, then," you say with a smirk, backing away a step. "Show me what the great Stark of the north can do."

He hesitates, glancing down at the mud smudging his boots, as if weighing the consequences.

“It wouldn't be honorable," he says stiffly, his tone full of the self-importance you've come to expect from boys who think they're men.

You roll your eyes. "You're no fun, Stark. What's the point of being a lord if you can't even defend your honor from a girl with a stick?"

His cheeks flush redder. "It's not proper to fight a princess!"

"Then you'd better run," you say, raising the stick and charging at him.

Caught off guard, Cregan stumbles back, his hands flying up in defense.

“Stop that!" he growls, but you've already jabbed him lightly in the side.

"First blood!" you declare triumphantly, poking him again before he can react.

"That's enough!" he snaps, grabbing for the stick, but you dance out of reach, laughing all the while.

"Not until you admit l've bested you," you tease, circling him with the mock seriousness of a seasoned warrior.

"Never," he mutters, his brows drawing into a stormy line.

But you don’t stop. You jab him again, then again, each time with just enough force to make him flinch. His face turns red—not from pain, but from anger—and you can’t help but laugh at how easy it is to rile him up.

“That’s enough!” he snaps, lunging forward and grabbing for the stick. His sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble, the stick slipping from your grasp.

The two of you freeze for a moment, glaring at each other, breathing hard. Then, as if on cue, the tension explodes again, and the scuffle resumes, this time with both of you trying to wrestle control of the stick.

The tugging begins. You yank the stick one way, he pulls it back with equal force. The push and pull grows more intense with every second, the dirt beneath your feet slipping as you both struggle for control.

“Let go!” he growls through gritted teeth, his stance wide and firm.

“You let go!” you fire back, gripping the stick with all the determination of a dragon refusing to yield its hoard.

You yank the stick back with all the determination your small hands can muster, and Cregan pulls harder in retaliation. The scuffle becomes a tug-of-war, and with one final, unsteady pull, you both lose your footing.

You fall first, landing ungracefully on the grass. Thankfully, you’re spared the mud, but the same cannot be said for Cregan. He topples beside you, landing with a loud squelch in the wet muck.

For a moment, the garden is silent save for your uneven breaths. You push yourself up, brushing grass off your skirt, and glance at him. His tunic is streaked with mud, his hair tousled from the fall, and a dark streak smudges his cheek like a careless smear of war paint.

You press your lips together, trying to stifle it—but it’s no use. Laughter bursts out of you, uncontrollable and bright.

Cregan turns his head sharply, his grey eyes narrowing as he sits up stiffly.

“Why are you laughing?” His tone is formal, but there’s a sharp edge to it, his annoyance barely restrained.

You hold your sides, laughing harder at his expression.

“Because—” you manage between giggles, pointing at his face, “—because you look ridiculous! Like a pig in a mud pit!”

Cregan stiffens, his jaw tightening. “You are hardly in a position to jest, Princess. You’re the one sitting in the dirt!”

His words make you laugh even harder, and for a moment, it seems like he might let it go. But then his temper flares, and with deliberate precision, he scoops up a handful of mud.

Before you can react, the cold, wet clump splatters across the front of your gown. You gasp, your laughter replaced with sheer outrage gasp.

“You big brute!” you exclaim, rising to your knees. You scoop up your own handful of mud and hurl it back at him with all the righteous indignation of a wronged queen.

The mud hits his shoulder, leaving a dark smear on the fine fabric of his tunic. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks genuinely shocked. Then his lips press into a thin line, and he glares at you with all the gravity an eight-year-old can muster.

He grabs another handful of mud, flinging it with far more force this time. You shriek as it lands on your sleeve, and without hesitation, you retaliate.

The garden becomes your battleground. Mud flies through the air as you dodge and lunge, your giggles ringing out as Cregan growls in frustration. He tries to maintain his formality even as he hurls clumps of dirt at you.

“Your behavior is unbefitting of a princess!” he calls, though the mud streaking his face makes him look anything but dignified.

“And yours is no better for a lord!” you reply gleefully, tossing another clump that narrowly misses him.

By the time your attendants arrive, the scene they stumble upon is one of complete chaos. You’re both caked in mud from head to toe, your gown a ruined mess, and his tunic utterly unrecognizable.

“Your highness!” one of your handmaidens exclaims, rushing forward. “What in the name of the Seven happened here?”

“She attacked me!” Cregan says immediately, straightening his posture despite the mud dripping from his hair.

“You threw the first mud!” you counter, pointing at him with a haughty tilt of your chin.

The attendants exchange exasperated looks as they pull you both to your feet, fussing over the state of your clothes and muttering about what your fathers will say when they see this.

The second encounter.

[beloveds-embrace]

I’m loving Duchess with a backbone!!!!! Please can we see her finally put John and Simon in place?

The air in the drawing room is frigid, despite the crackling fire in the hearth.

You sit near it, posture perfect, gloved hands folded in your lap, but the warmth does not touch you. Not truly. It is there only in flickering light, in the faint scent of burning wood, not in the hollow of your chest or the chill in your bones.

Across from you, John and Simon stand as if waiting for something- perhaps waiting for you to acknowledge them. You do not, because you know they have already heard.

Johnny and Kyle had been shaken when they told them, voices uneasy, recounting the moment you stood before them, spine unbending, and reminded them exactly who you were. You had let them stammer through their weak protests, had let them fumble with excuses and empty justifications before you struck them down with the simple, inarguable truth:

You are the Duchess of this house. You will be respected within it.

And now, here they are. John, your dear husband, with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Simon, standing just behind him, silent as ever. They are lords in their own right, men of power and presence. You cannot pull rank on them the way you did with Johnny and Kyle, but you do not need to.

Your silence is its own weapon, and today it is what you’ll be wielding.

John exhales sharply, shifting his weight as if he cannot bear the way you refuse to look at him. “I heard you had words with Johnny and Kyle.”

Still, you say nothing.

Simon watches you closely, the scrutiny of his gaze burning at the edges of your vision, but you do not grant him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes.

John sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “We need to talk, Duchess.”

“Do we?” Your voice is cold, distant, detached.

His brows draw together. “Indeed, we do.”

You finally look at him then, your face unreadable. “…And why is that?”

A flicker of something passes through his face; frustration, perhaps, but there is something else beneath it. Something brittle. He does not like this version of you, you are unsurprised to note. A version of you that no longer leans desperately toward him, that no longer reaches for the warmth he once withheld. No longer begs for a single ounce of affection.

Good.

Simon does not speak. He only observes, fingers curling against his sleeves as if holding himself back. His silence is different from yours, though. Yours is deliberate, a wall carefully built, reinforced, fortified against the damage they have done. His is wary, calculating, as if he is still trying to find the best way to approach something he does not quite understand.

“Duchess.” Simon’s voice is low, and unhappy. It rankles you that he thinks he can speak to you like this; John’s lover he may be, you are the Duchess of this house, and yet he fails to show you even a sliver of respect for it.

You lift a brow, tilting your head just slightly, like one might when observing something of mild interest. “Yes?”

He hesitates. You can see it- the way he wants to tread carefully, the way he senses the ice beneath him is thin.

John, less patient, sighs again. “Are you just going to pretend we’re not here, then?”

You inhale slowly, exhaling just as carefully. “I am not pretending anything, my lord.” The title is precise, distant.

It is the first time in your marriage you have called him that.

John flinches- flinches- just slightly. His lips part, but for once, he does not have the words.

Simon exhales through his nose. “We were wrong.”

It is a confession, but it does not move you.

“Indeed.”

Another silence, heavier now, and John steps forward slightly. “We should have-“

You stand abruptly, and it makes them pause. Smoothing down the fabric of your gown, adjusting it with delicate fingers, before you finally, finally look at them both directly.

“You will not placate me with words.” You do not raise your voice, but it cuts through the space between you like a blade. “You can’t. Not after everything. I don’t care for your empty apologies, and I don’t care to stay here and be disrespected any longer.”

John swallows hard. “We-“

You shake your head. “No, my lord.”

A simple command. A final word.

You step past them, your presence colder than the winter winds outside. You do not look back, and care not for however they might react or whatever expressions they may have.

[jaggedamethyst]

clandestine

viktor (arcane) x stripper f!reader

pairing: viktor (arcane) x f!reader

content: 18+ minors dni, smut, not thigh but lap riding, strip club obviously, some cursing, porn some plot idk, established relationship, secret relationship, not proofread

notes: i am not personally a stripper, but I have somehow seen a lot of movies and youtube vloggers explaining the culture and mindset they have…about doing this to get them to a next phase of their life. some people may not feel that way at all, and just do it to feel empowered….or literally just because its a job. no reason is more valued than the other, and I hope I did this justice because I have the utmost respect for every job. please let me know if anything isn’t hitting the way it should in that regard and i will make the edits <3

also, not an au… this was kinda inspired by lest. idk if it was ever confirmed, but the character kinda reads to me as a sex worker and I do love that. normalize including those stories in media.

word count: 2.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Stepping into the building always felt particularly specific for Viktor. The music was melodic but slightly too loud. Flashing lights almost always sent him off balance, leaning into his cane. A vibration pulsed—bouncing off every wall hard enough to make him physically swat the feeling away with his head. Yet, whenever he’d find his seat and glance across the room—all of it faded away.

Had there not been a physical spotlight, Viktor could still find you a mile away. He was completely entranced, mesmerized by the way you moved—even more so by the fact that it was an act. You were sweet, saccharine even, and you never showed it. That side was all for him. Only him.

When you were at the club, there was a veil over you—projecting a unique exterior. Dancing allowed you to disconnect and channel an identity you didn’t in everyday life. Often, you were misunderstood. Even more common was for you to be ignored—it wasn’t like that at work. You were respected and held at the same regard as everyone else. There were rules, and everyone followed them. You were an equal and you appreciated that.

Regardless of that feeling on stage, the money was also damn good. You grew up in the Undercity and you knew what it was like to have nothing. This fact was something you and Viktor bonded over initially. Later, both of your intellect and fondness for academics. He empathized, too, with you having no family…even more the fact that you started this venture to pay for your studies. That’s how the two of you found yourself dating. There was an unwavering kindness about Viktor, you loved that. The secrecy made every interaction all the more interesting, especially in the confines of the Piltover club.

The shift started like any other. You were on stage, moving to the rhythm of your song, Lest in your peripheral. You’d often recall how she was the first person to make you feel truly comfortable. She’d linger during your sets, calling security when needed, even speaking up for you when she realized you couldn’t. Lest gave you the push to take control, and the money really showed it.

You glanced down a bit, seeing some of your money get swept to the side. Lest had your labeled basket in her hands, grabbing some out of the way for you. In that split second, you saw a glint toward the back corner. You smirked, seeing your boyfriend spread on a chair—observing you through low eyes. You sped your tempo up, the stage now cleared enough for you.

Viktor noticed your arched a brow and stifled a chuckle. As you picked up the pace, he leaned back more comfortably in the chair. A hand held onto his cane, knuckles paling at the forceful grip. His other hand rested on the chair. His legs spread entirely, something he knew you loved. He was locked in, eyes roaming over every inch of your body as you danced. Your back was to him, then, ass shaking seductively in a way he’d always appreciated. You bent simultaneously, making a show of your legs before dropping into a split. You rolled your neck, looking toward Viktor. He watched your hand trace over your leg before tapping on it twice with a smile.

You’d definitely seen him back there.

Lest gave a knowing smirk, nodding over her shoulder “I see you spotted your regular.”

“Sure did.” You laughed at that, swinging your legs around. “It’s gonna be a fun night.”

“Oh I can tell.”

Lest didn’t know the two of you were dating, nobody did. That was the allure. Viktor could be the “regular” who showed up and dotted on you while you played the helpless stripper who so desperately needed his money. Neither were true, except that Viktor did love to spend his money on you.

Lest spoke up again, “You should head back there, before he gets restless…you know how they are.”

You moved to stand, doing a final spin and wave to the audience. “You’re right…can’t miss out on the money.”

“Exactly.” You moved to help add the rest of your money to the basket, Lest gripping it for dear life. “I’ll put this in the usual spot. We can do count after you rake in the big bucks.”

You high-fived Lest, watching as she turned immediately. You turned away, too, knowing that the chance of any of your money being taken was close to zero. You’d trust her with your life—so much so that you often debated telling her more about yourself outside of the club. Part of you figured she knew about your relationship and just played along. The thought of that made you love her friendship even more.

There was a drag in your step. You purposely made your strides slow as you inched toward the corner Viktor had chosen for tonight. His eyes had yet to leave you, but his free hand circled the arm rest. He was pent up, which was perfect, you thought.

He watched as you finally reached him, standing over his seated figure with your hands on your hips. You spoke first, yelling a bit over the music. “Funny seeing you here.”

He played along, eyes raking over your body. “I frequent here relatively often, do I not?”

You shrugged, looking away, “One could say that.”

He smiled, moving to stand up. You were a bit shorter than him, but slightly taller now thanks to your heels. He glanced down at them in adoration, loving the feeling of looking up at you. “You were stellar, love.”

You raised your head, flicking your hair. “Thank you, baby.” Your eyes lingered on one another, the genuine feeling of affection sitting between you both. Leaning down to whisper in his ear, you broke that sweet feeling. You played to his true intention; you knew why he was here. “Wanna go somewhere more private?” You let your lips linger for a second, hands coming up to rub his neck and behind his ears with your thumbs. “I know a place.”

He watched you pull back, looking up through his lashes. The smile on your face absolutely melted him. He reached down, slowly searching his pocket. He flipped up a bill that was settled between two fingers. “Lead the way.”

You plucked the money from him and grasped his now empty hand. The exchange had its own unspoken rules—Viktor would always pay, you would let him. The inherently degrading nature never found its way to your relationship but was instead a way to keep up appearances. For Viktor, it was yet another way to show his love for you. He’d give it all if he could—you deserved it.

He followed you, stalking behind your enticing figure. You’d shift every so often, your reflection moving with the tone of the lights. The sound reverberated off of you both, pulsing between your interlocked fingers. The bass slowly faded as you walked down the long hallway, even more so as you entered the secluded room.

The lights were low, a quiet music lulling in the room. Candles lit the area and added a hint of vanilla to the air Viktor appreciated—it smelled like you. He closed his eyes at the thought, enveloped by the scent and feeling of your skin on his palm. You glanced up, observing that the light on the cameras had been switched off. You huffed gratefully, knowing you had to thank Lest again later.

Viktor felt the pull of your hands and mindlessly followed until his back met the couch. He cleared his throat, looking over to you beside him. “So,” he paused, “How was your day?”

“Do you actually want to know how my day was?” You pursed your lips, sarcasm riddled all over them. “Or are you just indulging me so you seem like a gentleman?”

Viktor was frazzled at that, “What? No…” He brushed a hand to move his hair out of his face, “No! I would like to know-“

A kiss to his cheek interrupted him, “I know.” You nodded slowly. “But you should just ask for what you really want…I’m a busy woman after all.”

The flicker in his eye was one you genuinely loved—the switch from caring boyfriend to infatuated client.

“And what is it you think I want?” A hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb slowly finding its way to your lips. He looked down, rubbing his fingers across your skin.

You reached down, then, a hand firmly landing on his thigh. You maintained eye contact as you spoke—sliding a hand further up his leg. “I think I have a pretty good idea…”

“Is that so?” Viktor leaned back further to adjust his lap and purposely push his hardened length into your palm.

The two of you leaned in closer, the pull of each other undeniable. Slowly, your lips collided. There was an urgency, yet neither of you acted on it—an attempt to savor the moment. You maneuvered then, lips still connected. Viktor hummed against your mouth—a sound that left you smiling as you pushed a leg over his lap.

The once soft push of your lips together was now bordering on frantic. Every so often, Viktor would move to pull and suck on one of your lips—urging you on. You were lost in the motion—in him. Your hands snaked up the back of his neck and tangled with the hair at the base of his neck. With a forceful tug, you pulled him back. He was looking at you now, face flushed and lips completely swollen and glistening. Looking at him this way already had your underwear dampening. You refused to break eye contact, lowering yourself just on top of Viktor. Sucking in a breath, he tilted his head back—leaning into the couch cushion.

You began to circle your hips. The friction of the restrained material had you feral. “Fuck…” You continued, slowly circling and moving up and down his erection. “Fuck, Viktor.”

He matched you motion suddenly, circling his hips up into you. The motion had your insides pulsing. You couldn’t keep up the act, leaning down into the warmth of his neck. You felt him kiss and suck on your neck. He trailed kisses up and around your ear—moving around your hairline. His hands found your back, pulling you into him even more. Erratic breaths filled the room. All that was missing, you thought, were the lewd sounds of slapping you so desired. You’d give anything to be fully naked right now, letting him work all over you. But there was no time. The thought only spurred you on.

He spoke suddenly, “I needed this.”

“I know,” You push and pull into him faster, “Me too.”

The fabric barrier between the two of you was soaked now, a mixture of both of you. You slid back a bit, arms length distance away from Viktor. His mouth was agape from the lack of sensation, but quickly lost any will to argue when you began to swirl on his tip. He was always so sensitive there—and you were close. The rubbing on your clit had your breath shallow, your motions less rhythmic. He noticed, grabbing your waist to guide you to a speed that had both of your eyes rolling back.

“I’m close….”

Viktor pulled you into a kiss and mumbled into your mouth. “I am too.”

With a few more pumps against each other, you were finishing all over each other’s clothes. You accidentally broke the kiss, gasping for the breath that escaped you at the burning sensation in your body. Viktor didn’t stop, though, pulling you in impossibly closer. He worked the both of you through, choking out a whine as he shot out ropes into his pants.

The two of you sat there, embracing each other for a while. The feeling of each other was enough in the moment—drowning out the sensory overload of the club. Your finger tips traced over his features. You smoothed over his brows, the moles by his eye and lip, the divets in his cheekbones. He was entirely mesmerized by you—a devotion all over his face.

Light taps at the door broke the moment. You knew it would be Lest; she’d often drop by when you took a bit longer than management would like for just one customer. Opening the door a crack, you saw a pile there—a change of clothes for you and a smaller hand towel. You scooped them up quickly, moving back into the room.

Viktor was still watching you, a hand finding its way back to his cane. His grasp wasn’t as tight as before, you smiled to yourself at that.

You stripped quickly, moving to clean yourself and change your clothes. “Missed you today.”

Viktor pushed himself forward in the seat. “And I, you.” He staggered over to you, a hand pushing in and out of his pocket. He held up a bill again, “We should do this again sometime.”

A small chuckle escaped you. “Sure, baby.” You pecked a kiss on his cheek as he walked by you. “I’ll see you at home.”

[k4vehrtz]

WHORETICULTURE. various jjk men / sub gn. reader

synopsis. filled with lust for some fucking guy.

who. nanami kento / satoru gojo / toji fushiguro / heian era! sukuna . ✦ . what. one night stand / unprotected sex / mild religious themes/ thigh riding / slut shaming / against a wall / mean dom (or just brat)! satoru / exes with benefits / exhibition / recreational drug use + alcohol consumption ergo dubious consent / oral (r giving) / body betrayal / brat! reader / implied cnc kink + masochism / domination loss / mild degradation + nipple play / double penetration

notes. terms are kept general thus gender neutral reader but it’s entirely up to your interpretation. a mini compilation of thirsts i had while attempting to fight writer’s block and an unforgiving schedule.

⸻ ## I KNEW IT WHEN I. . .

MET HIM !

[ NANAMI KENTO ]

nanami kento was the embodiment of the traditional man in every sense. he was a businessman — clad in a white button–down, black slacks, and a matching tie hanging around his collar. five days a week, monday to friday, nine a.m. to five p.m. a true provider.

that much you can assume from observation alone. he’s not like the usual crowd; the man stands out. so, it’s only natural that you become curious.

“i’m not above sex before marriage,” and when he speaks, he takes his time to carefully enunciate each word with practised precision. something you didn’t know you were attracted to until now, straddling his thighs.

“somethin’ tells me you’re not just a—” he presses a finger to your lips, interjecting, “if you’re suspicious of me we can always stop,” and you quiet down, rocking your hips back and forth as you feel his erection grow beneath your crotch.

the backseat of his car is a tight fit but it makes it all the more intimate. remnants of nicotine on his breath waft across your face, warming your skin.

“the windows are tinted,” he murmurs, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb, “it’s as private as it’s going to get,” before inserting the aforementioned finger into your mouth.

you smile to the best of your ability, wet muscle swirling around the salty digit as you maintain your grinding. slow and steady, purposeful movements that prompt just the right amount of friction between the two of you.

“isn’t this—” nanami interjects once more (you can barely get a word out), by way of pressing his thumb against your tongue thus causing a copious amount of saliva to cascade down your face. it’s wet and messy and done entirely for his own amusement. “we’re not celibate.”

[ SATORU GOJO ]

“do you—” he pauses mid–sentence, startling blue eyes fixated on his cock sliding in and out of your puffy entrance before continuing, “usually sleep with the stranger that saves you from a creep at the club or am i special?”

if you could’ve, you would’ve rolled your eyes. he’s talkative — too talkative but you find yourself enjoying the sound of his voice anyway. your hole quivers and tightens, gripping him like a vice at the implication that hangs between the two of you.

“i’m not easy ‘toru,” you protest in a weak attempt to sound firm though it leaves your parted lips as a breathy whine instead. and satoru smiles at that, chest rising and falling rapidly as he laughs.

“when did i say you were easy, stupid?” he asks, feigning innocence as he tilts his head to one side, bringing one hand up to your face to pat your cheek.

the action being somewhat degrading in its own sense. but ‘toru — satoru — was just like that. saying one thing and meaning or doing another. you couldn’t wrap your head around him.

and he revels in the fact, his smile continuing to grow; the type that meets his eyes and makes them crinkle ever so slightly.

“you wound me,” he tsks, bringing his lips closer to your ear as your body jolts upwards against the wall in sync with his cock bullying your hole, “all i meant by it was that we just met and look where we are now.”

‘it’s the same thing’ you think, but that’s all it is — a thought. when your lips part, you only vocalize a string of  moans. satoru was a labyrinth and you were lost in him — or rather the pleasure he provides.

“bet you’re already justifying this in your head.”

⸻ ## I LOVED HIM WHEN I. . .

LEFT HIM !

[ TOJI FUSHIGURO ]

“what —” he lifts the shot glass to his parted lips, “are you thinkin’ about?” before swallowing a mouthful of cheap liquor, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he does so.

it’s a good question; one you don’t know the answer to, but a good question all the same. you’re thinking about everything and anything while simultaneously not thinking at all — a blunt dangling haphazardly between your lips.

“you want to know what i’m thinkin’ about?” so you answer his question with a question like a smart ass instead, leaning in until you’re nose–to–nose with the man you swore you’d never see again. and he doesn’t hesitate, a half–smile playing on his lips as they ghost yours. they’re warm, lighting a fire beneath the surface of your skin in its wake.

“no, i don’t want to know,” he sing–songs in response, catching you somewhat off guard. what blindsided you though was him lowering the waistband of both his grey sweatpants and his boxers. his cock, exposed to the cool air of the alleyway, standing at full mast—a vein running from the base to the tip.

suddenly your mouth feels dry and your knees feel the slightest bit weaker. it’s muscle memory — or its evil cousin that encourages your body to betray you.

you’re sinking to your knees, blunt discarded somewhere on the concrete (for god’s sake, you don’t care). your lips part, cheeks hollowed and throat relaxed. quiet anticipation coursing through your veins as you feel the weight of his cock in your palms.

“you know what to do,” he rumbles from above you, picking at the beds of his nails. and he’s right, you do know what to do; how he likes it.

you take him into your mouth, dragging your tongue along the outline of his piercing some ways below the head of his cock. and toji lets out a satisfied groan. once, twice, and then a third time before you focus on taking his full length into your mouth inch by inch until he’s hit the back of your throat.

from there, you move your mouth along his length, tracing every inch of it with your tongue — imprinting its shape in your mind all over again. it’s more like refreshing an old memory rather than creating a new one.

“knew you’d—” he clenches his jaw, cock throbbing in your mouth as saliva mixed with his pre–cum slips past your lips stretched to capacity around him, “come back t’me.”

 [ HEIAN ERA! SUKUNA ]

“i’m—” your breath hitches, catching in your throat in sync with the rise of your shoulders, “many things my lord, but sorry isn’t one of them,” as your hips stutter.

momentarily. one hundred and twenty seconds.

it takes sukuna less than thirty seconds to capitalize on your fault. two hands wrap around your hips, nails pressed into the tender skin forming crescent-shaped indents. you’re forced to move to his rhythm now; cruel and unforgiving.

“should’ve focused on what’s important little one,” he clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment. he’s far from disappointed though, his cocks — both of them — buried to the hilt throb inside of you. and an onslaught of tears blur your vision; your mind is clouded by a myriad of sensations.

you’re somewhere between excruciating pain and unbelievable feats of pleasure.

“this isn’t—” you try, albeit with great difficulty as your words come in between gasps. but sukuna interjects, the corners of his lips curling upwards: “fair? stupid, this game of ours was never meant to be but you know that already.”

two more hands make contact with your skin after that exchange; two fingers on one hand pinching your nipple whereas the other holds your face in place so that you maintain eye contact with him.

and sukuna rolls his eyes as soon as your gazes meet though it’s a somewhat playful gesture. something most would find difficult to picture. but not you — never you.

“stop pretending to be a damsel in distress i’m not a—” he pauses mid–sentence, smile growing as he thrusts his hips, “well, i’m not that kind of monster,” the sound of his skin colliding with yours echoing throughout the room.

you whimper, staring at him through half–lidded eyes and a curtain of lashes wet with unshed tears: “i like what i like.”

 © k4vehrtz — all rights reserved. do not, under any circumstances, plagiarize / repost / translate my work.

[witchyverse]

Undeniably Yours (Unfortunately)

Pairing: Theodore Nott × Reader Word Count: ~3.9k Warnings: Flirting, protective Theo, interrupted moment, tension, denial, snark, light angst, coworkers who see too much Summary: You and Theo are very much not dating. And he’s very much not in love with you. So when someone walks in on a very compromising moment and your next mission goes sideways, he handles it in the only way he knows how—by acting like he totally doesn't care. (He does.) A/N: A part 2 to Coffee Stains and Closed Doors, but can be read as a standalone. The trope is workplace romance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were not dating Theodore Nott.

You were just... emotionally entangled. Occasionally tangled physically. Sharing way too many biscuits. And one time, you fell asleep on his shoulder and he didn’t hex you off.

That didn’t count.

You’d made it three full weeks without anyone catching on. A miracle, considering he stared at you like you hung the stars, and you looked at him like you were trying to memorize the shape of his mouth.

Still. You had rules.

No touching at work.

No looking at each other like you're in a romantic drama.

And absolutely, under no circumstances, let anyone walk in on anything suspicious.

Which is exactly why you were sitting on his lap in your office chair, half-laughing, half-kissing him, when the door burst open.

"—Hey, do you guys have the—holy shit."

You froze.

Theo's hand was still on your waist. Your fingers were in his hair. His face buried in your neck.

Slowly, like he could somehow make it worse, he turned toward the doorway.

Thomas Avery stood there, blinking.

“Oh my God,” Thomas said again, louder. “Oh my actual God.”

You scrambled off Theo’s lap, tripped over the chair, and nearly broke your kneecap on the filing cabinet.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you blurted.

Thomas blinked again. “So you just sit on each other recreationally?”

Theo muttered something that sounded like kill me now. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The news spread like wildfire.

By lunchtime, you counted three raised eyebrows, two badly-concealed winks, and one floo message from Daphne Greengrass that said:

"I KNEW IT. YOU OWE ME TEN GALLEONS."

Theo, to his credit, looked exactly the same as always: expressionless, cold, mildly inconvenienced by everyone’s existence.

But he didn’t speak to you the entire day.

You cornered him in the file room after your shift, arms crossed, frustration simmering just under your skin.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re hiding.”

He looked up from the folder in his hands, gaze steady but tired.

“This was easier when no one knew.”

You stepped closer, hurt blooming across your chest before you could stop it.

“You think I don’t know that?” you said. “You think I don’t wish we could go back to sneaking around and pretending we’re just coworkers?”

He didn’t say anything.

You turned to leave.

His voice was soft when it came.

“I just didn’t want them to ruin it.”

You turned back.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Just holding the file like it was a shield.

You stepped in again, slower this time. “They didn’t ruin anything, Theo.”

He finally met your eyes. And this time, there was no wall behind them.

“Promise?” he asked, so quietly it nearly broke you.

You nodded.

And that was the end of that conversation.

But not the end of everything else. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, you were sent into the field together. Low risk, easy observation. No big deal.

Except Theo was quiet the entire way there.

“Okay,” you said, finally snapping, “what is it?”

“I don’t like the way that guy looked at you.”

You blinked. “What guy?”

“The clerk. At the coffee shop.”

You stared. “Theo. He asked if I wanted a receipt.”

“He was smiling.”

“Oh no,” you gasped. “The horror.”

He shot you a glare. “You’re not funny.”

“I am funny. You’re just wildly jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

You raised a brow. “Theo. You almost hexed a nineteen-year-old because he gave me extra whipped cream.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It was an iced latte.”

“I don’t like whipped cream.”

“You don’t like feelings.”

He said nothing.

You grinned. “It’s cute when you get possessive.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

He glared.

You poked his arm. “I like it.”

That shut him up real fast. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission was supposed to be boring.

It turned out to be not boring at all when your target noticed you tailing him and hit you with a nasty Disarming Charm in a crowded alley.

You hit the ground hard, breath knocked clean out of your lungs.

And then Theo was there.

No hesitation. No pause.

Just wand out, sharp curse in his throat, spell slamming into the attacker hard enough to send him flying.

He ran to you immediately.

“Hey,” he said, voice tight. “Look at me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’re gonna yell at me, aren’t you?”

“I just—fuck, you scared me.”

You blinked again.

He looked pale. Angry. Terrified.

And when his hand touched your face—gentle, shaking—you realized this wasn’t about the case at all.

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “Really.”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, breathing like he’d just survived Voldemort reincarnating than a mission gone wrong. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at headquarters, you sat beside each other in the locker room in total silence.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”

You turned to him slowly. “I wasn’t planning on dying.”

He looked straight ahead, jaw tight. “Still.”

You nudged his leg with yours. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being honest.”

“You are jealous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You smiled, warm and slow. “I like you jealous.”

He side-eyed you. “Don’t push it.”

You bumped his shoulder. “Then kiss me and I won’t.”

He hesitated.

Then leaned in and did exactly that.

Right there. In the empty locker room. Like nothing else mattered.

And maybe, right then, nothing did.