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levanterhaze · 21 days ago

Text

gameboy ― bangchan

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] fratboy!bangchan x f!reader . unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, graphic sex details, if you don't feel comfortable, don't read! fingering (f. receiving), just pure smut.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[ 5.7k words ]♡― i wrote this in one night, i think i was inspired or something. it's been a while since i've written, but i found this one interesting. i'm still thinking about doing a second part!

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡―[part 2]

The music was a bit too loud, but that's just the vibe, right?

Eunji was super focused on her school skirt she had borrowed from Sohee, working hard to recreate Britney Spears' iconic style. The theme was Y2K, and the fraternity was buzzing with Cher Horowitz, Paris Hilton, and Beyoncé energy.

You took a refreshing sip of your drink while your friends spread out to mingle. Sohee was caught up in the moment, and she and Minho, her boyfriend, shared a lovey-dovey moment. Eunji was telling someone how tired college was making her, that she barely had time to go to a spa, which, for Eunji, was total nonsense.

You were sharing a room with the two of them, which was very fortunate as they were both top-notch people. You scanned the place, looking for something or someone. It was a bad habit, you knew. Going to frat parties meant sharing the same square metre as your nemesis – or nearly so.

Your friends were aware of your mutual dislike of each other, but as you couldn't seem to avoid going to parties or socializing with your friends, you made a conscious effort to be the bigger person and not let his presence upset you. That said, it wasn't always easy.

Bangchan got what he wanted most of the time. He was arrogant and overbearing, which drove you crazy. As a woman who fought hard against all kinds of ignorance, it was gross to see him bragging around campus as if he were the last man in the world.

What was even more annoying was that all the girls fell for his bullshit.

Sohee, who was the most blunt of the three, said this was "suppressed horniness" and that the moment you and Bangchan were alone, all this animosity would turn into libido and it would all be sorted in one good fuck. But that was far from happening if it was up to you. "Now we're talking," Hyunjin appeared in your line of sight. With his long black hair slicked back, he looked like a slightly slutty version of Patrick Bateman, with fake blood on his jaw and chest. "You look good.

With your hands on your waist, you turned around to show how much effort you'd put into your costume.

As someone deeply involved in theatre, you are always fully committed to any challenge. Whether it's a play or a fraternity party, you commit wholeheartedly. After much thought, you decided that you would be Suki. The lilac blouse was small and suited your upper body perfectly. The pink leather pants were almost identical, ending just below your bottom and with garters that went down to your thighs, exposing your skin by just a few inches. Suki is a sexy and iconic character, which is a perfect fit for you.

"You know it's not Halloween, right?" you shouted over loud music. Hyunjin gave a casual shrug and smiled, showing his teeth.

"There's always an excuse to dress up as Patrick Bateman."

There was a DJ at the party, apparently Minho's friend Jisung. He cranked up the music, and everyone gravitated towards the centre of the room, where most people were dancing. It was reggaeton and all the girls were rolling around and gettin down on the floor. Sohee was dancing with her boyfriend, whose hands were on her waist and whose face was close to hers, looking very pleased.

Eunji put her back to yours, glass in hand, and you danced together. As the alcohol took over your bodies, it was hard to hold back.

The beat was infectious and the energy was almost impossible to control. You danced together for three more songs until the alcohol had worn off and you desperately needed to find a toilet.

"Wait for me!" you shouted as you climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor access. It wasn't your first time in this dorm, but the drink had clouded your mind and all the doors simply looked the same.

You played a quick round of eenie, meenie, miney, mo, your finger landing on one of the many identical doors. Without hesitation, you turned the handle and pushed it open, expecting to find a bathroom. What you found instead stopped you dead in your tracks.

It wasn’t the bathroom. Not even close.

A girl was kneeling in the corner of the room, her blonde hair held by thick hands and enlarged veins. Your first impulse was to close the door, but for some odd reason you didn't. Standing there, eyes downcast and lips hanging open, was Bangchan.

You would never have believed it if you'd seen it.

The girl was working really hard, loudly moaning as she put it in her mouth. You stood there watching and thinking about what you saw. Bangchan had his dark hair covering his face, but then he lifted his head and you could see the thick veins on his neck.

Maybe the alcohol was having an effect. You tripped over yourself, making him look at you.

Your eyes went wide and you spun on your heels, running in the opposite direction.

"Oh no, oh shit."

At that moment, a girl came out of the bathroom, and you thanked God for finally finding a place where you could lock yourself in. Your cheeks were flushed and your skin prickled. Oh my god. That was too embarrassing. It wasn't something you should have seen, and even worse, it wasn't something you should have enjoyed witnessing.

After using the bathroom and washing your face with cold water, you went back into the living room and pretended that nothing had happened. If you drank enough, the sight of Bangchan groaning would quickly fade from your mind.

"You won't believe this," Eunji shouted, laughter spilling out with every word. "Some guy just stripped down to nothing but a cowboy hat and is now giving everyone his best Magic Mike impression."

Sure enough, there he was—a member of the basketball team, stark naked save for the cowboy hat perched jauntily on his head, gyrating in the middle of the dance floor like he was auditioning for Vegas.

"That's... dedication," you muttered, unable to tear your eyes away from the chaotic spectacle.

"That's fucking insane," Felix chimed in, suddenly materializing beside Hyunjin. He was dressed as a somewhat disheveled Romeo, complete with a feathered cap that looked suspiciously askew. His grin was as bright as the party lights.

"Is it?" Hyunjin asked dryly, eyeing the cowboy dancer like he was trying to calculate how much alcohol it would take to get someone to that point. "Seems on-brand for him."

"You know that guy?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hyunjin shrugged. "Not well enough to explain this."

Felix laughed, holding up a drink. "I don't know, kind of feels like art to me. Pure, unfiltered expression."

"Expression, my ass," Eunji snorted. "I give him five more minutes before campus security steps in."

Something caught your eye from across the room. Like a moth lured by a flame, your eyes found him. Bangchan was coming down the stairs with a girl in a Christina Aguilera costume. Her breasts barely tucked into her low-cut top, while he was now shirtless, wearing only an open sweatshirt over his abs.

Fucking ridiculous.

"Hyunjin!" you shouted, needing to get away from there as quickly as possible so that he wouldn't see you. You could picture the teasing or judgy looks he would give you. "Do you want to go with me to get a drink?" your voice came out sounding a bit desperate.

He was making his way through the crowd.

"The table's just over there, go get yourself," Hyunjin grumbled, but you rolled your eyes and took him by the hand.

"I'm asking you to come with me. Shut up and move."

The boy couldn't avoid it because you were pulling him through the crowd.

When you got to the table, you filled a cup with beer and drank it all in one go. Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, shocked at how determined you were. The second time, you were about to put the beer straight to your lips, but your friend was quicker and took it out of your hands.

"Okay. I think you've had enough."

You looked at your friends, and saw that Bangchan was looking at you and Hyunjin. There was something unusual in his gaze, something you couldn't and didn't want to understand. But something was causing you to feel uneasy. Especially in your panties.

You noticed the strange movement because in a second he was nowhere to be found. In the crowd, you saw Bangchan coming towards you.

“Hyun. Kiss me.”

Hyunjin froze, his brow arching high enough to vanish beneath his dark fringe. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“I need you to kiss me,” you repeated, your voice steady but your eyes darting toward the crowd. “Like, now.”

His hand stalled mid-motion, the glass he’d been holding clinking softly as he set it on the table. “What’s going on with you today?” he asked, studying you like you’d just sprouted another head. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Hyunjin, seriously,” you hissed, stepping closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Just act. I need you to do this for me. Now. Please.”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback, before his gaze narrowed slightly. “This better not be a setup for something ridiculous,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching. “But fine. If it’s that important...”

The boy shrugged. He was surprised by the situation, but he would never refuse a demand for a kiss, even if it was a fake one. Hyunjin grabbed your face and pulled you into a solid kiss. There was no tongue, and there wasn't much feeling either. There was no excitement or the usual growing heat between you. But that didn't mean your friend wasn't a good kisser.

You kept going for a few seconds, until you needed to catch your breath and pushed him away by squeezing his shoulder a little. Hyunjin raised his eyebrows and shrugged. A girl walked past you, looking surprised. One of Hyunjin's friends called out to him, and then he left.

You hadn't a clue what you were doing. The idea after executing it seemed like a disaster. Kissing your friend to throw Bangchan off sounded better in your head.

"You sure love being the center of attention, don’t you?"

The voice that followed caught you off guard, smooth and laced with confidence. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you quickly shrugged it off.

"Funny, coming from you," you shot back, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. He couldn’t see your face, but the eye-roll in your voice was impossible to miss.

And to be honest with himself, he could imagine a bunch of other things, too.

Receiving a blowjob from a student in his room was nice, but what made him come was having you watching. All this mutual hate made him more excited. It was like a competition, and every day he got closer to scoring.

He couldn't ignore your figure as you walked by, the way your pants clung to the curves of your body. Seeing you there, watching, made him think about doing all sorts of things, but none of them involved those pants.

"Kissing my friends in front of me? Bold move." He laughed at the look of disgust on your face. “If you wanted to join in, sweetheart, you could’ve just said so." His voice dropped, low and smooth, as he leaned closer. You could feel the dampness of his plump lips on your skin.

Frustrated by the interaction, you spun around and averted his gaze.

"You’re so full of yourself, it’s gross" But it didn't matter. The more you talked, the more he enjoyed himself. "And you're a disgusting, perverted..."

"If I'm all that, then why didn't you close the door, hmm?" He shot back, his smirk widening.

You were at a loss for words, your mind scrambling to form a coherent thought. Bold didn’t even begin to describe him. Bangchan wiped his lips with an infuriating nonchalance, stepping closer until the air between you was practically charged.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously smooth. “You wanted to be her, didn’t you?” Your eyes widened. "I know you did. Yeah. You watched 'cause you liked what you saw. You wanted it to be your lips wrapped around my cock.”

"You're..."

“Save it,” he interrupted with a cocky smirk, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t waste your breath. If you really want to find out, meet me there.”

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your pulse pounding in your ears. The sight of his broad shoulders and that silver chain resting against his toned abdomen only made things worse.

This was insane. Your head spun, and it wasn’t from the booze. His words, his presence, everything about him was too much—and yet, your body betrayed you.

Did you want to find out?

The whispers from theater rehearsals echoed in your mind. The girls who couldn’t stop talking about him, the things he supposedly did, the way he made them feel. Was he really that good? Was he as intoxicating as he seemed when you caught that glimpse earlier?

If none of that made sense, then why did your body tell you otherwise?

So you walked among a crowd of people. The noise of your thoughts overwhelmed the music. With each step, you found a reason to quit. Your friends were having fun, and they probably wouldn't miss you for a few minutes, right? What was wrong with you?

How could you even think about having sex with Bangchan?

Three doors were closed, but the same one was open. You closed your eyes, believing you had time to give up. But your body didn't cooperate. You had to feed the heat coursing through your body, otherwise you'd burn up — and you couldn't let that happen.

The room was dark when you pushed open the door. Your eyes scanned the darkness until you found him sitting on the edge of the bed. Bangchan's gaze conveyed surprise. It was a shot in the dark. He didn't think you would come.

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a charged silence that seemed louder than words. The dim light made everything sharper—the way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyes darkened as they lingered on you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, indecision clawing at you. Turning on your heel, you made a move to leave, but before you could take a full step, Bangchan’s hand wrapped around your wrist, firm yet electrifying.

“This is a dumb decision.”

"But here you are." Bangchan hesitated. The sight of your soft, cherry-painted lips looked so tempting that he could think of only one thing: devouring you. "Fuck it."

He reached back and clicked the door shut, the sound echoing in the heavy silence. You noticed the way his forearm flexed but quickly looked away, catching something else in his eyes instead—something raw, something dangerous.

“So,” he murmured, stepping closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “You know what?”

You swallowed hard, retreating step by step until your back hit the desk, the cool surface grounding you against the heat of his presence.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely steady. Holding his gaze felt impossible, especially when every nerve in your body screamed at you to close the gap.

But you didn’t move—not yet. Even though all you wanted was to tear down the distance and let the fire between you consume everything.

Bangchan’s hand found your stomach, his thumb brushing over the bare skin with maddening precision, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. The touch was light, fleeting, but it sent a ripple of heat through your body that settled low in your core.

Before you knew it, you were perched on the edge of the table, legs parted just enough to let him step between them. His presence filled the space around you, his confidence suffocating in the most infuriating way.

He took his time, gently touching your skin with his knuckles, brushing them over your arms, until he leaned forward and placed his lips on your jaw. The tingling sensation of his lips on your skin was like taking an opiate. You felt nothing and everything at the same time.

His breath fanned your skin as he kissed the spot just below your ear, drawing a soft gasp from you. He paused, his lips trailing to your jawline, and his voice, low and rough, broke the silence. "I wished it was you. With your pretty little mouth around me. Thinking about you made me come. So fucking hard."

A sob escaped your lips. The words were painful for your sore body. His tongue crawled over your chin. Bangchan held your face with one hand, making you stare into his eyes. Naked and raw. "You like that, hmm? D’ya like knowing that I think ‘bout you?” You wanted to fight back. You didn't want to let him dominate you.

“You're fucking ridiculous.”

Bangchan’s lips curled into that infuriatingly cocky smile, the one that set your nerves on fire.

That's his girl. With a clever mouth.

“Yeah, is that so?” He sucked on your lip, pulling you to him in painstaking haste.

“Yes.” You moaned copiously. You hissed, though the conviction in your voice wavered as his hand slid up your thigh, slow and measured. His knuckles brushed the soft skin there, and the ache he left in your wake was unbearable. With his other hand, he circled your inner thigh, climbing achingly up to your cunt.

“I want you to say that again when I make you cum. Mmm, what ya say?” He murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his other hand settled firmly on your hip. A low laugh rumbled in his chest as a shaky moan slipped from yours, unbidden but impossible to hold back.

His hand inched higher, and you fought to keep your composure, though the heat pooling low in your stomach made it a losing battle.

“I fuckin' hate you.” you spat, though your breathless tone robbed it of any real venom.

“We'll see about that.”

His words were a promise, cocky and assured, and without leaving room for an answer, he devoured your mouth with devotion. Both bodies undulated against each other, desperate for friction, for warmth. Bangchan spread your thighs, pushing you backwards. It was so intense that your back was arching over, the two of you battling for control.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim. His hands moved with purpose, gripping your thigh and pulling you closer as his body pressed into yours, the heat between you like a live wire. The table groaned beneath you as he guided you back, his palm sliding up to part your legs further, making room for him to settle between them.

Your back arched against the cool surface, the contrast of heat and cold heightening every sensation. His lips left yours only to trail down your jaw, his breath hot and uneven as it ghosted over your skin. The tension in the air was suffocating, an unspoken challenge lingering between each frantic touch.

It was a fight neither of you was willing to lose, and yet, the way his hands moved, the way his lips devoured, it was clear he wasn’t about to let you win.

Your hands reached for the sweatshirt on his broad, muscular shoulders and tossed it to the floor. The gap between kisses was long enough for you to lift your own top and rip it off eagerly. You could have sworn you heard an almost beastly growl emanating from Bangchan, something completely charged with lust.

A large, calloused hand grabbed your throat, making you choke. His finger pressed against your lip, which you licked religiously, giving him a taste of what was coming. Bangchan pressed your body until you collided with the wall and your hands clung to the rim of the table. And in due time he nibbled your tit, snaking his tongue around it, savoring the tenderness of your skin.

You bit your lip down and held back a moan. Your gut rippled like the ocean waves as the intoxicating rush grew in your belly, down your legs, and scorched your toes.

You felt his hand come close to your wet core and your whole body went on alert. Bangchan bit your nipple and looked at you only to see the girl with her lips wide open, eyes bright and flushed cheeks.

This sight could kill him.

Just as he was about to come to your lips again, a knock sounded at the door. You instinctively ducked behind him, your heart hammering in your chest "Oops, sorry man!" The boy's voice echoed through the room, and with a snap, the door slammed shut.

A rush of adrenaline surged through you—not from what was happening, but the brief panic of being caught. It was ridiculous, but the sensation gripped you harder than you’d like to admit.

"Shit, I’ll lock it."

Biting your lip at the image of the man walking to the door and then to you. His lips swollen from kissing your body, the marks of nails on his chest, his messy hair, it was a perfect match.

"You know what, I'm rethinking the whole pant thing. Maybe I'll fuck you in 'em." Before he could finish, you cupped his face in both hands, stopping him in his tracks. His eyebrow quirked in interest, a silent question hanging in the air.

“I just remembered,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “A few minutes ago, you were, well... y'know. Right there.”

You both glanced toward the corner of the room, the absurdity of the situation hitting you at the same time. And, with a shared moment of clarity, laughter bubbled out of you, the tension briefly breaking.

"Right.'" He captured your mouth. Bangchan said, that familiar cocky smirk now full force. “I can fuck you anywhere,” he kissed you again, and then you lost your breath. "the backseat of my car," Again a kiss. "Any fucking place. But we can start here."

In a daze, you clung to each other like two animals. Every second you begged for air, he devoured your mouth more and more. His nimble hands fought against your pants. He wanted to touch you, to feel you.

Growling, he added. "Lift your hips for me."

You, overtaken by lust, quickly bent down on the table so that he could unbutton your pants and pull them all the way down, past your boots, which also reached down to the other side of the bedroom.

Bangchan held the back of your knees and marveled at the sight of your bare body. It was like a damn mirage. The skimpy pink panties were nothing, showing all your dampness. There was no trace of embarrassment on your face, just an unbridled urge to be taken by him.

Absorbed to your body, Bangchan held your neck with both of his hands, this time tilting your body backwards. With his own body, he splayed your legs with his free hand. Your intimacies were bare, your body bathed in the dim light streaming through the nearby window.

He captured your mouth and ran his fingers over the cloth. He squeezed his fingertips against your clit, making your clenched teeth grind together. Feeling his hand around your nape of the neck, the lack of oxygen in your lungs and the short circuit from the friction of his hand down there was electrical.

Bangchan wriggled over the fabric in slow, painful circular motions. He was excruciatingly hard inside the sweatpants. He wanted to take off and make a mess of you, but first he wanted to relish every second and push you to the limit.

"My God." Words slipped from your lips, preaching to the divine, as you felt yourself being ravished.

Bangchan stretched the fabric and stroked the core with his fingers, wetting them without caring. How he looked at you, how he looked at your tight pussy was erotic. The noises you made when he slid his fingers through your labia and then threatened to push in two fingers at the one time. It was the sensation near death. You could feel an orgasm coming gradually, in heavy, lusty waves.

If he didn't stop teasing you, you'd come too fast.

"Hang in there, baby." He brushed a finger across your lips, sliding them into your warm, wet mouth. Everything was intensified by the endearing pet name. You got proof that the rumors were true. "Spread for me... Like that." You raised your legs and placed your feet on the table, giving him a full view of your body.

You could feel the wetness everywhere. Bangchan took two fingers in your mouth and let you suck them like a piece of candy. Without taking your eyes off him for a second, you went along with it.

"Good girl."

And with the same fingers, he delved into you. His fingers in the precise curl, in the precise place that made you cry out. And if the music hadn't been deafening, everyone at the party would have heard you moaning under his fingers.

By sucking on your lower lip, he began a unique rhythm. According to the rhythm of your body snaking around him, Chan went harder and faster. Your lips opened impulsively, flowing under his. Wide-eyed, your face froze into an ethereal feature, fogged with bliss.

You took hold of his wrist, the hand in which he was thrusting into you, and forced him to go faster. You desperately wanted - needed - to reach the body-rattling orgasm. It was already becoming impossible to hide the screams that tore from your throat. He was just very skilled at doing it and left you craving more.

“Bangchan...” A pitying look on your face made him break out into a maniacal smirk. To hear his own name coming from your mouth was like a narcotic being shot into his veins. He wanted better, he wanted you to realize what you had done to him.

Letting go of your throat, which until then had been under his grasp, Bangchan got down on his knees and dived into your pussy. You groped your hand to stop yourself from bawling. Your raw nerves were on edge and any more stimulation would make you burst. But he was relentless. With his savvy tongue, he outlined movements on your clit, leaving your moistness to rub through his lips and all over your core.

“Shit, shit, shit...” You purred. Suddenly, holding onto the dark strands of the boy in front of you, bringing your body closer, provoking more friction. Bangchan took advantage of every second, kissing and suckling your vulnerable flesh, swirling around your core and tongue teasing your insides.

You were rolling on his face. Sweat trickled down your spine and temples. Incoherent utterances came from your lips as muffled moans tore from Bangchan's deep throat. That pain was building, growing in your stomach. Your body was moving in an illogical way and Bangchan had to place his palm on your lower stomach to keep you from moving.

And that's when, with his mouth still on your cunt, he pinched your clit, making you seize up. The orgasm struck you hard, spewing electric waves throughout your body, leaving you sluggish and weak. Bangchan kept hold of your body as you fell apart, an disembodied vision.

You cried out his name as you came and he made you swallow every single moan.

“Mmm, you're so fucking hot when you cum for me.”

You sat on the edge again, spreading Chan's arm muscles. Looking down, you caught yourself wondering at the sight of his hard cock framing the edge of his pants like a carving, too beautiful to just look at.

Your hands went down to the edge of the white sweatpants he was still wearing - quite unfair, given that you were only wearing a pair of panties that were now barely fit for anything. A cocky smile hung on the man's lips. He enjoyed it with his hands on the table as you took it off, gawping at the size of it. The girth. The form. It was surreal.

Bangchan was holding back. He'd dreamt of having your hands and mouth around his cock for a very long time. And now, you were there, stroking him back and forth, in a slow, excruciating rhythm. He could let you have a taste and get on your knees to him. He'd fuck your mouth so relentlessly that you'd never have another smart-ass word for him. You'd always remember that one moment.

But he was overwhelmed by the mirage of your body and the sounds it caused in you.

“Oh, fuck.” A guttural moan broke from his lips. With his mouth open, he looked at where you were fucking him, your soft hand stroking his length. It was too much. He wasn't going to last. “I need you to stop.”

“Why?”

Chan squeezed your thighs together, hating himself for not feeling your touch where he needed it most.

“As much as I want you on your knees for me, I really need to fuck you.”

You chewed your lip, sensing the heat coming back to your face and your core. "Save that pretty little mouth for next time. Yeah?"

Next time. The phrase lingered in your head, leaving you with a queasy feeling in your gut.

With one hand, he spread your legs and held your leg up high enough for him to have the reach he needed to make you come a second time. That was his trick. He knew what he was doing too well, and you loathed him for it.

“Chan...” You whimpered. He grunted and brought your bodies together. He held the shaft of his own cock and stroked it for a few seconds before brushing the tip against your slit. You gasped for air at the feeling. "Please. Chan." You pleaded, searching his eyes. It was too much of a torture and you wouldn't be able to bear it if he wasn't fast.

“Fuck, don't do it like that...” He whined, still thrusting into your hole with his own cock. “Fucking Christ.” Your wetness made him slide between the clit and the slit. Your eyes went wide, collapsing. Meanwhile, Chan was glued to the point where you connected.

Slowly, he slipped in. A moan in unison reverberated almost in praise.

He knew it wouldn't last long. Being deep inside you was driving him insane. You were making him slip, making the movements clumsy but so delicious. Bangchan pressed down on your calf, pinning it to his chest. You leaned over, holding onto his shoulder. The sight was like a fucking movie scene.

You entwined as one.

Bangchan took his time to lengthen his movements, first because he could feel every inch of your pussy swallow him up. It was so fucking good. He nibbled his lip tightly, gliding in a little more, causing you to whimper.

“Faster.” Pleas burst from your ruined lips.

“Fuuuuck.” Bangchan upped the pace, a frantic and luscious back and forth. “You're fuckin' surreal.”

He could have been saying anything, but your brain was thawing, your body morphing. Being stuffed until his balls hit your skin was opulent. Their bodies met halfway, each moving as fast as possible to get themselves there. Bangchan had to hold onto the table to avoid a hole in the wall. The furniture kept bouncing in line with your bodies.

The rapturous feeling fills you and takes you to the edge. What was left of the room was a mess of panting and skin on skin. Your hips rode the width of him. He was falling to pieces little by little, feeling his body combust.

From the way his veins seemed more prominent and thicker, his neck stiff, his sweat accentuating his smooth skin, you could tell. You rocked your body vigorously back and forth, giving him deep, dry thrusts. Bangchan then reached a point set aside to take you to heaven.

When the groans dared escape your lips, he devoured them, one by one, eating up the pleas, his name coming out of your mouth like a holy prayer that only he would hear. That was enough time for your body to succumb to the fierce orgasm and for Bangchan to pull out, thrusting with his own hand and letting go on your sweat-damp stomach.

You were still hanging on to his shoulder, trying to find your feet. Both panting and with your eyes closed, you seemed to recover some consciousness. His eyes were still clouded with desire, in a hue you had never yet witnessed.

“Well,” you said between chuckles. “I think you've just proved your point.”

Bangchan laughed and then helped you up from the desk. Your clothes were scattered around the room, your boots under a stranger's bed. You cleaned up and dressed. Make-up was intact, but your hair was a tangled mess. He watched from the corner of his eye as he put on his own underwear.

After a brief fix in the mirror, you turned around a little awkwardly, as if he hadn't just given you the best sex of your entire life.

“So, I'm going out first... Just in case... You know, anyone sees me.”

In fairness, he was quite taken aback. He hadn’t expected what had just happened to mean anything to you, but there was a part of him—just a sliver—that hoped it might shift your perspective. The realization stung his pride, but he masked it, keeping the quiet frustration buried deep inside.

"Yeah. Whatever."

You shot him a glance, your expression unreadable. "All right. Well, I guess... that’s it. I’ll see you around."

Your smile was soft, but there was an undertone of something more—a knot in your chest that wouldn’t let go. He nodded, his face as impassive as ever, his eyes giving nothing away.

With a soft exhale, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, eyes squeezed shut.

What the fuck had you just done?

1K notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 6 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Summary: Y/N knows Spencer is too good for her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), angst, light fluff

Warnings/Includes: porn with plot, additional warnings under the cut, cosplay, wearing dress, use of Y/N, alcohol consumption

Word count: 11.9k

a/n: idk man i really want him

main masterlist

part two part three

Additional warnings: breast & nipple play, fingering, oral (m&f), PinV protected, biting

The convention hall buzzed with excitement, filled with an array of fans dressed as their favorite characters from the iconic series, Doctor Who. The air was alive with the chatter of people discussing their favorite episodes, theories about the show's plot twists, and the inevitable debates about which Doctor was the best. Vendors lined the walls, offering everything from collectible sonic screwdrivers to handmade TARDIS keychains.

Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia were two of these enthusiastic attendees. Spencer was dressed impeccably as his favorite Doctor, the Eleventh, complete with a tweed jacket, bow tie, and fez perched jauntily on his head. Penelope, meanwhile, dazzled as the vibrant Thirteenth Doctor, sporting a rainbow-striped shirt, long coat, and bright yellow suspenders. Her hair was styled to perfection, and she wore a replica of the Thirteenth Doctor’s sonic screwdriver clipped to her belt.

They had spent the day gleefully exploring the convention together, indulging in all the nerdy joys the event had to offer. Panels, merchandise, photo ops with actors—they were having a fantastic time. They even participated in a trivia contest, which Spencer naturally excelled in, earning them a special edition Doctor Who poster. Everything was going splendidly until they ran into Penelope's ex, Kevin Lynch, who had the audacity to show up with his new date, a tall brunette who seemed to be equally as nerdy as Penelope.

Penelope's face fell as she spotted Kevin, her previous enthusiasm dimming slightly. She forced a smile and waved at Kevin, who looked surprised but waved back, a bit awkwardly.

"Penelope!" Kevin said, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably. "It's, uh, great to see you here."

"Yeah, you too, Kevin," Penelope replied, her voice wavering slightly as she glanced at his date. She couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment and an awkward tension that hung in the air.

The encounter was brief, but it left Penelope feeling deflated. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she quickly excused herself and turned to Spencer, whispering that she needed a moment alone. Spencer nodded understandingly, his eyes filled with empathy, and watched as Penelope hurried off, clearly upset.

Now alone amidst the bustling crowd, Spencer found himself wandering around the convention hall, a bit lost without Penelope by his side. Despite being surrounded by thousands of people who shared his interests, he felt an uncomfortable sense of solitude creeping in. He adjusted his bow tie nervously, his eyes scanning the room for a friendly face or familiar sight.

As he wandered, Spencer couldn't help but feel self-conscious, almost like a lost puppy in a sea of strangers. The convention was vast, and though he loved the atmosphere, it was a lot to take in alone. He fiddled with his fez, trying to focus on the displays and booths around him, but the sense of being out of place lingered.

It was then that he noticed you, standing a short distance away, dressed as the most enchanting character from Doctor Who—Madame de Pompadour, The Girl in the Fireplace.

Your costume was a stunning recreation of the elegant 18th-century dress worn by Reinette, complete with intricate lace details, flowing skirts, and an opulent corset that captured the character's timeless beauty. A perfectly styled wig with cascading curls crowned your head, adding an authentic touch to your ensemble. You wore a delicate mask in your hand, which you twirled absentmindedly as you observed the convention floor, your eyes occasionally flicking toward Spencer with an amused curiosity. But what struck Spencer most was your warm smile, a beacon of kindness amidst the chaos.

You had noticed Spencer earlier, observing him with a gentle curiosity as he meandered through the crowd. Something about his endearing awkwardness and the way he carried himself drew your attention, and you found yourself walking over to him, compelled by a mix of admiration and empathy.

With a kind and playful smile, you approached him and said, "Hey, you look lost. Do you need help finding your parents?"

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise at your teasing comment, and he let out a surprised snort, momentarily caught off guard. He quickly recovered from his initial embarrassment and noticed the twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

"Uh, no, no thank you," he replied with a sheepish grin. "I was given permission to look around by myself."

Your laughter was infectious, and Spencer felt the tightness in his chest ease. It was as if your presence alone had a calming effect, grounding him in the moment and reminding him that he wasn't truly alone. Your genuine kindness and humor were like a breath of fresh air.

"I'm glad to hear it," you said, still smiling as you playfully curtsied. "I'm Y/N, by the way. A fellow time traveler, it seems."

Spencer hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly at the waist, feeling a little more confident now. "Spencer Reid," he replied, introducing himself. "And yes, it seems we both have a knack for getting lost in time."

Your shared laugh seemed to lighten the atmosphere, and Spencer couldn't help but feel grateful for your unexpected companionship. It was a simple moment, yet it carried a weight of significance—an unexpected connection made in the most delightful of circumstances.

As the vibrant crowd continued to flow around you, your conversation with Spencer felt like a moment suspended in time, a quiet bubble amidst the lively chaos of the convention. The laughter, chatter, and occasional shout of delight from fellow fans echoed through the hall, but you found yourself entirely focused on the man standing before you.

"So, Spencer," you began, looking around at the lively crowd, "what's been your favorite part of the convention so far?"

“Well, I won the trivia contest!” Spencer replied with enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up with pride. “I love seeing everyone’s costumes too, the creativity and thought they put into them is inspiring. And the food court! Did you see they have—why are you looking at me like that? Am I rambling? Oh, I am, hah, sorry.”

You chuckled softly, finding his rambling endearing. “Don’t stop on my account; I happen to think it’s very cute.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your compliment. “You… you do?”

“Indeed, Doctor,” you replied with a playful glint in your eye.

“How did you know I’m a doctor?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Um…” you pointed at his costume, a classic Doctor Who ensemble that perfectly captured the essence of the Eleventh Doctor.

“Oh! Right, you meant Doctor Who Doctor,” he realized, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, but are you really a doctor?” you inquired, intrigued by the idea of him being both a fictional and real-life doctor.

Spencer nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and pride. “I have three PhDs.”

“Oh wow, that’s hot,” you said, your voice teasing yet sincere, enjoying the way his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

“What?” he squeaked, clearly flustered by your unexpected compliment.

“Tell me, Spencer… do you have plans after the convention?” you asked, leaning in slightly, your interest in him evident.

“Um, no, nope. No, I do not. Totally free,” Spencer stammered, trying to keep his composure but feeling his heart race at the prospect of spending more time with you.

“Good to know,” you replied with a warm smile. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“I would love to,” he answered, his voice brimming with exhilaration.

“Wonderful,” you said, pleased with his response.

The two of you exchanged numbers, a small gesture that felt monumental, sealing the promise of further connection beyond the convention's vibrant confines. As you parted ways, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

As he watched you disappear into the colorful sea of costumes, you turned back to Spencer, your heart still racing with the promise of more time together. “I’ll see you later, Spencer,” you said, offering him one last lingering smile before slipping away into the crowd.

Spencer stood there for a moment, his mind whirling with possibilities and the thrill of new connections. As he adjusted his fez and prepared to rejoin Penelope, he smiled to himself, the Doctor Who theme echoing in the distance as he headed back into the lively fray.

—

Later that night, you and Spencer agreed to meet up at a cozy little bar nestled in a bustling neighborhood near your apartment. The day had been a whirlwind of excitement and adventure at the Doctor Who convention, but now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights twinkled, a new kind of eagerness filled the air.

You arrived at the bar first, filled with anticipation and nervousness. Gone was the elegant 18th-century gown you wore at the convention; you now wore a low-cut, tight shirt that hugged your curves and showed off a bit more cleavage than before. It was a bold choice, one that made you feel confident and sexy, and you hoped Spencer would appreciate it.

As you waited for Spencer to arrive, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of fever at seeing him again. Something about his awkward charm and genuine kindness had struck a chord with you, and you were eager to see where the evening might lead.

When Spencer walked in, your breath caught at the sight of him. Gone was the Eleventh Doctor costume, replaced by a classic sweater vest ensemble that was quintessentially Spencer Reid. He wore a crisp button-down shirt under the vest, paired with slacks that somehow made him look both dorky and endearingly handsome. You found it incredibly attractive, and a smile tugged at your lips as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, a bit shyly, his eyes darting around the bar before settling on you. When he noticed your outfit, he froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of your low-cut shirt. “Wow, you look... amazing.”

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled, running a hand through his hair in a self-conscious gesture. “I, uh, didn’t know what to wear, but I’m glad it works.”

“Oh, it definitely works,” you assured him, your gaze lingering on his sweater vest. “I have a thing for sweater vests.”

He laughed, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Good to know. I have plenty of them.”

You motioned for him to join you at the bar, where you ordered drinks and settled into a comfortable conversation. The atmosphere was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the hum of conversations surrounding you.

“So, how did you get into Doctor Who?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’ve always been a fan of science fiction,” you replied, leaning closer to ensure he could hear you over the chatter. “The idea of time travel, the adventures, and the characters just drew me in. Plus, the show has this amazing ability to make you think about life in new ways.”

Spencer nodded, clearly pleased with your answer. “I completely agree. The show is more than just entertainment; it’s a way to explore complex ideas and emotions. I think that’s why it resonates with so many people.”

“Exactly!” you said enthusiastically, enjoying the ease of conversation between you. “And what about you? What drew you to the series?”

Spencer shrugged, his eyes twinkling with the joy of discussing something he loved. “It started as a way to escape, I guess. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of friends, but Doctor Who was like a companion, in a way. It taught me a lot about empathy and bravery.”

You smiled, touched by his honesty. “That’s really great, Spencer.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking a bit bashful under your gaze. “I’m glad I met someone who appreciates the show as much as I do.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of words that brought you closer with each exchange. You found yourself laughing easily, the tension of earlier dissipating as you both shared stories and jokes, losing track of time in the warm ambiance of the bar.

As the night wore on, you noticed Spencer stealing glances at your shirt, his eyes flickering to your cleavage before quickly averting his gaze, trying to be polite. You couldn’t help but find his flustered reactions adorable, and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is there something interesting over here?” you asked, gesturing to your chest with a playful grin.

Spencer’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “Uh, no, I mean, yes, but—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You laughed softly, reaching out to touch his hand reassuringly. “Relax, Spencer. I don’t mind. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

He exhaled, clearly relieved by your response. “Well, in that case, yes, it’s very distracting,” he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Good to know I still have it,” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied expression.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You definitely do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled with the promise of more to come. As the night deepened, the conversation shifted from playful banter to something more intimate, the chemistry between you undeniable.

“So, Spencer,” you said, your voice dropping to a more sultry tone. “What does the rest of your night look like? Are you all booked up?”

“Um, no, not really,” he replied, his heart racing as he caught the glint in your eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” you said, leaning closer, “I was wondering if you’d like to come back to my place. We could continue our conversation somewhere a bit more private.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, his mind spinning with possibilities. “I would love that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Great,” you replied with a smile, feeling a thrill of anticipation as you both stood up, ready to leave the bar behind for the promise of what awaited you.

The walk back to your apartment was filled with a charged silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. You felt Spencer’s presence beside you, a comforting warmth that made your heart race with excitement.

As you reached your apartment building, you turned to him, your eyes meeting in a shared understanding. “This is me,” you said, gesturing to the entrance.

“Nice place,” Spencer commented, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves bubbling inside him.

You unlocked the door and led him inside, your heart pounding with each step. The atmosphere was electric, one that promised something incredible.

Once inside, you turned to face Spencer, a playful smile on your lips. “Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing to the cozy living room. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just some water would be great,” he replied, trying to steady his racing heart.

You nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two glasses of water. As you handed one to Spencer, your fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through you both.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his voice warm and sincere.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, sitting down beside him on the couch. The proximity was intoxicating, and you could feel the tension building with each passing second.

“I have to say, I’m really glad we met today.” Spencer said, his voice slightly shaky.

“Me too,” you agreed, your gaze locked on his.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world fading away until it was just the two of you, enveloped in a bubble of connection and desire.

As you leaned in closer, your lips mere inches from his, Spencer’s breath hitched in suspense. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the magnetic pull drawing you together.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft caress.

“Yes?” he replied, his eyes searching yours, filled with longing.

“Would you like to stay the night?” you asked, your words laced with an invitation that left little room for doubt.

Spencer swallowed, his heart racing as he processed your offer. “I’d love to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with promise and possibility, a moment that transcended the ordinary and ventured into the extraordinary.

Spencer kissed you back with a low whimper as he began to ravish you. His lips were soft and urgent against yours, moving with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the strain in his body as he pressed against you, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to spark and crackle in the air around you.

You responded eagerly, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling the silky strands slip between your fingers as you deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of the lingering sweetness of the drinks you'd shared earlier and something distinctly Spencer that made you crave more.

Spencer's hands moved with a purpose, exploring the curves of your body with a gentle yet insistent touch that left you breathless. His fingertips traced the outline of your spine, sending delightful tingles through your skin as they traveled lower, coming to rest on the small of your back. You arched into his touch, pressing your body more firmly against his, savoring the feel of him against you.

With a quiet moan, Spencer shifted, guiding you backward until you were lying beneath him on the couch. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath warm and ragged against your lips as he gazed down at you with a smoldering intensity. The look in his eyes sent a thrill through you, a promise of the pleasures to come.

Spencer leaned down, capturing your lips once more as his hands continued their exploration. His touch was both tender and demanding, a perfect balance that left you yearning for more. You felt his fingers trail over your exposed skin, slipping beneath the fabric of your low-cut shirt, and you shivered in anticipation as he began to explore further.

The sensation of his hands against your bare skin was electrifying, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, an insistent ache that begged for more as Spencer's touch became more insistent. His hands roamed over your body with a confidence that contradicted the initial shyness you had seen in him earlier.

Your shirt slipped further up your torso, and Spencer's lips left yours to follow the path his hands had traced moments before. His mouth moved with a deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your jawline, down the column of your neck, and across your collarbone. Each kiss was a promise, a vow of what was to come, and you found yourself lost in the sensations he was creating.

As Spencer's mouth traveled lower, you let out a soft sigh of pleasure, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater vest. The texture of the material beneath your fingertips was a comforting contrast to the fiery sensations his lips and hands were invoking, grounding you even as you felt yourself soaring.

Spencer's lips moved over the swell of your breasts, his touch reverent yet possessive, as if he were memorizing every inch of your skin with his mouth. You felt a thrill at the thought of being the focus of his attention.

Spencer’s lips ghosted over your skin, each kiss sending waves of heat coursing through your body. As he reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his fingers gently teasing the hem as he looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Are you planning on keeping this on all night?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You chuckled softly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well, Doctor, I thought I’d give you something to unwrap. Consider it a mystery.”

Spencer grinned, his fingers deftly pulling your shirt higher until it slipped over your head, leaving you exposed beneath him. His gaze raked over your bare skin, appreciation evident in his eyes. “Mystery solved,” he whispered, his tone filled with a mixture of desire and admiration.

You felt a rush of heat at his words, your skin tingling. “You’re a fast learner,” you replied, your voice sultry as you reached up to pull him back down to you. “But let’s see if you can handle what’s next.”

His eyes darkened with intensity at your challenge, and he captured your lips in another heated kiss, his hands exploring your newly exposed skin with renewed vigor. The sensations were dizzying, each touch and caress a testament to his growing confidence and desire.

Spencer’s hands traveled down your sides, tracing the curves of your waist and hips before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You let out a quiet moan, arching into his touch as he began to work them down, his fingers deft and sure.

“Getting a bit bold, aren’t we?” you teased, nipping at his lower lip as he freed you from the confines of your clothing.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” he retorted, his voice tinged with amusement as he leaned back to admire his handiwork.

You reached for the hem of his sweater vest, tugging it upwards with a playful smirk. “I think it’s time we even the playing field, don’t you?”

He chuckled, raising his arms to help you remove the vest, followed by his button-down shirt. You couldn’t help but appreciate the lean muscles beneath his clothing, the way his skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

“Not bad, Doctor,” you quipped, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest appreciatively. “Maybe I should have gone to med school.”

Spencer let out a low laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I doubt they teach this in med school.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a course or two,” you replied, your fingers trailing lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.

He inhaled sharply, his body responding to your touch in a way that made you both feel like you were on fire. “I think we’re about to graduate to something more advanced,” he murmured, his voice a mix of fieriness and teasing.

You grinned, pulling him back down to you, your lips capturing his in a passionate kiss that promised more than words ever could. The heat between you was intense, a consuming fire that left you both breathless and wanting more.

Spencer’s hands continued their exploration, mapping every inch of your skin with a reverence that made your heart race. You could feel the tension building, a delicious feeling that promised to leave you both satisfied yet craving even more.

As you shifted beneath him, your body pressed against his in a way that made your intentions clear, you whispered, “What do you say we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. “Lead the way,” he replied, his voice husky with desire.

With that, you guided him toward your bedroom, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air like an electric charge. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the enticing possibilities that lay ahead.

Once inside your bedroom, the atmosphere shifted, the intimacy of the space amplifying the pull between you. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, creating an intimate bubble that felt like it was just for you and Spencer.

You turned to face him, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you slowly backed toward the bed. “I hope you’re ready for this, Doctor.”

He followed, his movements confident and sure as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you,” he replied, his voice low and filled with want.

As you sank onto the bed, Spencer joined you, his body warm and inviting against yours. The tension between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that drew you closer with each passing second.

You reached for him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw before pulling him in for another searing kiss. His lips were soft and insistent against yours, his touch possessive as he pressed you back against the sheets. The mattress dipped under your combined weight, and you felt the cool, crisp fabric of the sheets beneath your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Spencer’s body.

Spencer’s breath mingled with yours, warm and intoxicating with desire. His hands traveled with a deliberate slowness, exploring the curves and contours of your body as though committing every inch to memory. You felt his fingers skim over the bare skin of your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The sensation was electric, sending delightful tingles coursing through your veins.

As he deepened the kiss, a low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating through your body and sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. Your hands found their way to his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin as you pulled him closer, craving the warmth and weight of him against you.

His lips moved with a languid, teasing rhythm, exploring the delicate skin of your neck with gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent your heart racing. You tilted your head back, granting him better access as a soft sigh escaped your lips, filling the room with a quiet sound of pleasure.

Spencer’s kisses trailed lower, his breath hot against your skin as he made his way down your collarbone. The sensation was intoxicating, a delicious mix of tenderness and urgency that left you breathless. You felt his hands slide up your sides, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ribcage before coming to rest on your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers threading through his hair as you arched into his touch. “Get to the point, Doctor.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and enticing, as he shifted his weight to hover above you, his eyes dark with longing. The air between you crackled with intensity, a potent mix of suspense and need that seemed to draw you even closer together.

Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a shuddering gasp as you surrendered to the pleasure building inside you. Spencer’s touch was like a drug, addictive and all-consuming, leaving you dizzy with longing.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a silent question lingering between you. You nodded, giving him the permission he sought, and he smiled—a small, intimate curve of his lips that made your heart skip a beat.

Spencer hands deftly working to remove the last barriers between you. The sensation of the cool air against your skin was a delicious contrast to the heat radiating from his touch, sending shivers of need cascading through your body.

The room was filled with a symphony of soft sounds: the rustle of fabric as Spencer undressed you, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the rapid, excited beat of your own heart. The smell of your mingled scents—his cologne, a hint of your perfume, and the unmistakable musk of arousal—filled the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightened every sensation.

As Spencer’s hands continued their journey, his lips followed, pressing soft, heated kisses to every inch of exposed skin. The feel of his mouth against your body was electric, each kiss a spark that ignited a fire deep within you. You could hear the quiet, appreciative noises he made as he explored, a low hum of approval that vibrated through you, making your skin tingle with fever.

His mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, and he lingered there, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin and his teeth scraping behind. The sensation was exquisite, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as he continued his ministrations.

His mouth continued its journey, trailing kisses down the length of your torso, his breath hot and humid against your skin. Each touch of his lips was a promise, a hint of the pleasures yet to come. You could feel the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin, a delightful roughness that added to the sensory overload.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your thighs, his fingers curling around the soft flesh as he gently parted them, creating space for himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a sweet ache that thrummed through your veins as you waited for his next move.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm and heavy against your inner thigh as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. The look in his eyes sent a jolt of electricity through your body, a silent communication of his intentions that left you breathless.

When he finally moved, it was with a purpose and a tenderness that took your breath away. His mouth found its mark, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the most intimate part of you. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pleasure that left you gasping and trembling beneath him.

Spencer's tongue traced a path of fire, the wet heat of his mouth a stark contrast to the cool air around you. The feeling of his tongue against you was indescribable, a perfect blend of softness and pressure that had you writhing with need. You could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of his movements, a deliciously sinful symphony that filled the room and drove you wild with desire.

The taste of you seemed to spur him on, his movements growing more insistent, more confident as he explored every inch of you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as he lavished attention on you, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

You could feel the tension building, a tight coil of desire that wound tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your hands clutching at the sheets as you tried to hold on, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations Spencer was creating.

And then, with a final, masterful stroke of his tongue, the coil snapped, sending you spiraling into a blinding wave of ecstasy. Your body arched off the bed, a cry of pure pleasure escaping your lips as you surrendered to the intense release. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite, the pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

Spencer didn't stop, his movements gentling but never ceasing as he guided you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were spent and boneless beneath him. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the beating of your heart.

As the world slowly came back into focus, you felt Spencer's weight shift, his body sliding up to join you on the bed. He gathered you into his arms, his touch gentle and soothing as he held you close. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your cheek, the warmth of his skin a comforting presence that grounded you.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "I may have misread you…" you murmured, your voice still breathless from the intensity of the experience.

Spencer looked at you, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he tried to read your expression. "How so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent another wave of heat through you.

“I thought you were some nerdy dork who wouldn’t know what to do,” you confessed with a teasing grin, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You proved me so wrong.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm like honey, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. The touch was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the intense passion you'd just shared.

As the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, a flicker of awareness crept into your mind, reminding you of the vulnerability of your current position. Spencer was undeniably pretty, fun, and, as you had just discovered, incredibly talented with his mouth. But letting him get too close, emotionally, was a different matter—a potential disaster waiting to happen.

You felt a pang of uncertainty, a reminder that you'd let yourself get carried away in the heat of everything today. The thought of letting him see more of you, of exposing the parts of yourself you kept hidden, was both thrilling and terrifying.

Gently, you scooted away, creating a small space between you on the bed. Spencer watched you with a slight frown, his brow furrowing in concern as he noticed the shift in your demeanor.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… taking a breather.”

He nodded, understanding but still curious. The moment hung between you, a delicate balance of intimacy and distance that you both navigated carefully.

Wanting to redirect the focus and return the favor, you shifted onto your knees, your movements deliberate and confident. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he watched you, questioning flickering in his gaze.

You leaned forward, letting your hands glide over the planes of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The sensation was intoxicating, each touch sending a spark of desire through your body as you explored the contours of his torso.

“Now, Doctor,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “I think it’s my turn to show you what I can do.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched you with rapt attention. “I’m not going to stop you,” he replied, a playful edge to his voice as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows to give you full access.

You grinned, pleased by his response as you moved lower, your hands trailing down the length of his body. The texture of his skin was smooth and warm under your touch, each muscle firm and defined as you explored every inch with a deliberate slowness that made his breath catch.

The room was filled with the quiet rustle of sheets, the soft sounds of your movements as you shifted to straddle his legs, your body settling comfortably between his thighs. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a charged energy that seemed to crackle with each passing second.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your lips. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of power and intimacy that left you wanting more.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his head falling back against the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations you were creating. The sound sent a thrill through you, a confirmation of the effect you had on him, and it spurred you on, encouraging you to continue your exploration.

You let your hands wander lower, tracing the line of his waistband before slipping beneath the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. Spencer’s breath hitched again, a soft, needy sound that made your heart race.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice a teasing whisper as you glanced up at him, enjoying the way his eyes were half-lidded with desire, his lips parted in want.

Spencer nodded, his voice a breathless murmur. “Mhm.”

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him so open and vulnerable beneath you. It was a heady feeling, one that made you want to give him everything you had, to explore every inch of him and discover all the ways you could make him come undone.

With a gentle touch, you eased his pants lower, revealing more of the skin you so desperately wanted to explore. The cool air kissed his skin, sending a shiver through him as you continued your ministrations, your hands and lips moving with a purposeful intent that left him gasping.

The texture of his skin under your fingers was smooth and warm, a contrast to the slightly rough fabric of his pants as they slid down his legs. You could feel the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. The cool air seemed to heighten every sensation, sharpening the feeling of your touch against his bare skin.

As you explored lower, you could hear the soft, almost involuntary sounds Spencer made in response to your touch—a quiet gasp, a low moan, the sharp intake of breath when you grazed a particularly sensitive spot. Each sound proving the effect you were having on him, encouraging you to continue your exploration with renewed confidence.

You leaned in, your lips brushing over the expanse of skin just above his waistband, savoring the slightly salty taste of him. The feel of your mouth against his skin drew another low groan from Spencer, a needy sound that reverberated through your body and filled the room.

The slight roughness of his sparse hair beneath your lips was a contrast to the smooth skin of his abdomen, and you reveled in the differences, your fingers dancing over every inch as you memorized the planes and angles of his body. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to explore further.

With every touch and kiss, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a palpable energy that seemed to thrumming in the air around you. His muscles tensed under your hands, responding to your every movement with a sensitivity that only served to heighten your own arousal.

His hips shifted slightly, an involuntary movement that brought him closer to you, seeking more of the sensations you were creating. The friction of your touch against him was a delicious torment, each caress, each brush of your lips a promise of the release he so desperately craved.

You continued down, your mouth trailing lower with a deliberate slowness that was as much for your pleasure as it was for his. The taste of his skin lingered on your lips, a reminder of the connection you shared, the chemistry that burned brightly between you.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you closer to his bulge that you had been neglecting, his touch both gentle and insistent. The slight tug at your scalp sent a shiver through you, a thrill of eagerness that urged you to continue your exploration with even more fervor.

Your lips traveled lower, past where he wanted you, tracing a path along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with your lips and tongue, where you could feel the taut muscle beneath. The sensation of his skin against your lips, the warmth of his body, the subtle tremor that ran through him as you pressed a lingering kiss to his hip—all of it combined to create a heady mix of sensations that left you breathless.

The soft rustle of the sheets beneath you was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet, rhythmic hum of Spencer’s breathing and the occasional low moan that slipped past his lips. You could feel the way his body responded to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own. It was a dance of give and take, a perfect harmony of movements and sensations that left you both on the edge of control.

Spencer’s hands tightened in your hair, a gentle reminder of his presence, his need, and you responded by drawing him deeper into the sensations, your touch sure and steady as you worked to bring him closer to the edge.

Finally, putting the poor man out of his misery, you hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his briefs down. Exposing him to the cool air, causing him to shiver. Then, because you’re not a monster, you licked a slow stripe up the side of his red, hard cock, causing a very loud groan to fall from between Spencer's lips.

The moment stretched out, filled with a tension that was both electric and tangible. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet rhythm that underscored the intense moment.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, tracing a delicate path along the line of his hip bone. You could feel the subtle tremor that ran through him. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to continue your exploration with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperate.

Spencer’s body was a study in contrasts—the hard lines of muscle beneath the softness of skin, the way he shivered under your touch even as he leaned into it, seeking more of the sensations you were creating.

The cool air caressed his exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your touch. You watched as goosebumps erupted along his flesh, a physical manifestation of his heightened arousal. The sight sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a reminder of the power you held in this moment.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cock as you placed a soft, lingering kiss along the tip. The taste of him was addictive, a heady mix of salt and musk that left you wanting more. The feeling of his skin beneath your lips was electric, sending shivers of excitement through your body.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, a low, primal sound that reverberated through the room and sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. His hands found their way, deeper somehow, in your hair, his grip firm and steady as he urged you closer, his need evident in the way he moved you.

His cock twitched in response to your touch, the sensation was dizzying, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that left you breathless. You allowed your fingers to explore further, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the length of his shaft. The texture was smooth and warm, a perfect contrast to the cool air that surrounded you. You could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, a testament to his struggle to maintain control in the face of such intense sensation.

“Please, please do something,” Spencer nearly whined, his voice tinged with desperation as he watched you with wide eyes, his body trembling with need.

As you finally leaned in, allowing your mouth to join the dance of sensation and touch, you heard Spencer’s breath hitch in his throat, a quiet sound of desire that filled the room. The taste of him on your tongue was intoxicating, a rich, heady mix of salt and musk that left you craving more.

The moment your lips made contact, Spencer released a shuddering exhale, his body responding to the heat of your mouth with a visceral intensity that took your breath away. His hips shifted involuntarily, each movement sending ripples of sensation through your body as well.

The sound of your mouth against his skin was almost hypnotic, a rhythmic whisper that echoed through the room, mingling with Spencer's soft moans and the quiet rustle of the sheets beneath him. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his abdomen as he tried to steady his breathing, the quiet hitch in his breath every time you shifted, adjusted your grip, or took him deeper.

His taste lingered on your tongue as you bobbed your head along his shaft. The feeling of his smooth, taught skin between your lips only caused the mess between your thighs to grow. You were soaking wet at the sight of the man who so confidently took you apart, writhing at the feeling of your mouth on him.

Spencer's hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to hold onto the last ounce of his control. His touch was gentle but insistent, a silent plea for you to continue, to explore every inch of him until he was lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you were so skillfully creating.

As you continued your ministrations, you couldn't help but revel in the power you held over him, the way you could make his body respond to your every touch, your every movement. It was intoxicating, the thrill of being the one to unravel him, to bring him to the edge and watch as he teetered there, a breathless, trembling mess beneath you.

The quiet, involuntary sounds that slipped past his lips were music to your ears, a symphony of pleasure and need that urged you on, pushing you to explore further, to discover every hidden reaction, every secret spot that made him gasp and moan.

Spencer's breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each breath as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a living thing that pulsed and throbbed in your mouth, begging for release.

With each pass of your mouth, each flick of your tongue, you felt him draw nearer to the brink, the pleasure building to a fever pitch that left you both trembling with need. You pulled up to his tip, sucking harshly and greedily taking down the precum you were rewarded.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/N. You have to pull off, I’m gonna—”

Finally, as you felt him begin to unravel beneath you, his grip on your hair tightening, you knew he was on the verge of release. The realization sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a sense of accomplishment at having brought him to this point, this state of utter abandon.

But, you pulled off, just as he asked.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed with desire, and a mixture of relief and frustration washed over his features. The air between you was charged with electricity, thick as you gazed up at him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“Thank you,” he breathed, his voice a low, rough whisper filled with gratitude and a hint of desperation. His hands remained in your hair, holding you there as if afraid you might disappear, the heat of his skin still pulsing beneath your touch.

You sat back on your heels, his hands falling, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you surveyed the man before you. Spencer lay sprawled across the bed, a beautiful mess of tousled hair, flushed skin, and a very hard cock leaning on his tummy.

“Didn’t want to spoil the fun too soon?” you teased, your voice sultry and full of promise.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement and unabashed desire. “I didn’t expect you to be so... good at this,” he admitted, his voice still tinged with awe as he watched you with a newfound appreciation.

“Surprised?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached out to trail your fingers lazily along his thigh, feeling the residual tremor of his muscles beneath your touch.

“Pleasantly,” he replied, his voice rich with honesty as he met your gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“Well, the night’s not over yet,” you said, your tone full of suggestion as you shifted your position, moving with a deliberate slowness that kept Spencer’s gaze locked onto you. The dim lighting cast a warm, intimate glow over your skin, highlighting every curve and angle as you made your intentions clear.

Spencer watched you, his eyes darkening as he realized what you were doing. You were presenting yourself to him, offering yourself. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat through his already overwrought senses.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, a sensual dance that had Spencer transfixed, his breath catching in his throat as he watched you. You turned slightly, your back arching gracefully, presenting your body to him in a way that left no doubt about what you wanted. The smoothness of your skin and the glistening of your core caught the light, every curve accentuated by the shadows, and Spencer couldn't help but let his gaze travel over you, taking in every detail, every nuance.

“You like what you see, Doctor?” you teased with a shake of your hips, your voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine.

His response was a low, almost guttural sound that spoke volumes, a wordless expression of the desire that burned so brightly within him. He shifted slightly, his body tense as his hands reached out as if drawn to you by an invisible force.

“I like it very much,” he murmured, his voice a husky blend of awe and hunger as he drank in the sight of you. The way you held yourself, the confidence in your gaze, the promise of what was to come—it was all intoxicating, drawing him in and leaving him utterly captivated.

Spencer moved closer, the soft rustle of the sheets beneath him a quiet accompaniment to the sounds and sensations of desire that filled the room. Your skin was warm under Spencer’s touch as his hands found their way to your hips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that left you both breathless.

The feeling of his hands on you was electric, a perfect blend of tenderness and urgency that made your heart race and your senses sing. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers of pleasure racing through your body, leaving you aching for more, your skin hypersensitive to every nuance of his touch.

Spencer’s hands traveled with a gentle insistence, mapping the contours of your body with a touch that was both reverent and possessive. You could feel the subtle tremor in his fingers, the heat of his palms as they pressed against your ass.

His breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low murmur as he whispered, “You’re so sexy.” The words sent a thrill through you, a spark that ignited a fire in your belly and left you yearning for more of his touch, more of the sensations that seemed to flood your senses with every passing moment.

You turned your head slightly, your lips finding his in a kiss that was equal parts tenderness and demand. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of warmth and spice that made your heart race and your senses reel.

Spencer pulled away, and you felt the bed shift as he repositioned himself behind you. The room was filled with a quiet hum of anticipation, the air thick with the charged tension between you. You could feel his gaze on you, a tangible heat that seemed to sear into your skin.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low, rumbling purr that sent a shiver down your spine. There was an earnestness in his question, a genuine desire to ensure that you were comfortable and ready.

“Positive, Doctor,” you replied, the words laced with playful confidence as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his gaze. The term of endearment had become a safeguard to you, not wanting to get too used to saying his name.

Spencer’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm and relief, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have a condom?” he asked, his tone laced with a hint of embarrassment as he admitted his unpreparedness.

“You don’t?” you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. It was a playful jab, meant to lighten the mood and add a touch of humor to the charged atmosphere.

“I didn’t expect this to happen…” Spencer admitted, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as he chuckled awkwardly.

“That’s really sweet, actually,” you replied, your voice softening as you took in the sight of him. The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. “Yes, I do,” you confirmed, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Let me up real quick.”

Spencer playfully groaned, a sound filled with exaggerated reluctance as he shifted to give you space. But before you could move, he leaned down, leaving a small, teasing bite on your asscheek—a cheeky gesture that sent a spark of pleasure through you.

“Down, boy!” you teased, your voice a mock admonishment as you slipped out of his grasp, your feet finding the floor with a soft thud. You cast a playful glance back at him, enjoying the sight of him sprawled on the bed, watching you while he pulled on his own cock.

As you turned back to the bed, condom in hand, you found Spencer watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—was both thrilling and humbling.

“Got it,” you announced, your voice a playful sing-song as you waved the packet in the air. Spencer’s eyes lit up with amusement, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he watched you return to the bed.

You climbed back onto the mattress, feeling the familiar give of the sheets beneath your knees as you settled in beside him. The warmth of his body was a comforting presence, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room that brushed against your skin.

Spencer reached for you, his touch gentle and insistent as he guided you back into position. His hands were warm against your skin, the chemistry seemed to crackle between you.

Spencer tore open the foil packet, the soft crinkle of the wrapper a prelude to the main event. You could smell the faint scent of latex from the condom, mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne—a spicy, woodsy scent that was undeniably masculine and entirely Spencer.

Spencer moved with a practiced ease, his fingers deft and sure as he prepared himself, rolling the condom down with a kind of confident precision that spoke of experience. The sight of him handling himself with such ease sent a thrill racing through you, your breath catching at the implication. It was a heady rush of desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

As he finished, Spencer's eyes locked onto yours, a smoldering intensity burning within them that made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, a touch that was as intimate as any caress. You could feel the desire radiating off of him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His tone was full of promise, a dark velvet sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace, holding you captive in its depths.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely a whisper as it slipped from your lips, heavy with need. Your body ached for his touch, every fiber of your being attuned to the promise of pleasure that awaited you.

Spencer leaned forward, his hands finding your hips with a surety that left you breathless. His touch was firm and possessive, a silent promise of the pleasure he intended to deliver. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, a delicious contrast to the cool air that still lingered around you.

His lips brushed against your ear, a featherlight touch that sent a thrill racing through you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. The confession was both intimate and incendiary, stoking the flames of your arousal until you were burning for him.

“Shit,” you whispered back, a high pitched sound that left your lips before you could think better of it. Spencer responded with a quiet, breathy chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, the pressure of his fingers was grounding.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the sensation sending a jolt through your body. The tip of him brushed against your core, a featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your heart race.

Slowly, carefully, he began to push forward, the pressure building with each inch as he entered you. The feeling was exquisite, a slow, delicious burn that stretched you around him, filling you completely. The friction was intoxicating, a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure that had you gasping for breath.

Spencer let out a low, shuddering moan as he sank into you, his fingers digging into your hips with a possessive urgency that left you breathless. The sound was raw and primal, a testament to the pleasure that coursed through him, mirrored in the sensations that raced through your own body.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet combination of gasps and moans that mingled with the rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, a heady mix making you hyper aware of every touch, every sensation.

As he began to move, Spencer set a steady, deliberate pace that left you reeling with sensation. Each thrust was a measured blend of power and precision, a rhythm that built slowly, methodically, until it had you teetering on the edge of control.

“You feel so fucking good,” Spencer breathed, his voice a low, gravelly growl that sent a thrill racing through you.

“So big,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to find words in the midst of the overwhelming sensations that flooded your senses. The feel of him moving inside you, the way he filled you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Spencer’s hands moved with a purpose, tracing the curves of your body as he drove you higher, his touch both grounding and incendiary. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the way his muscles flexed with each movement, feeling the strength and control he wielded.

His lips found your neck, trailing a line of heated kisses along the sensitive skin that sent shivers down your spine. The feel of his mouth against your skin was electric, a tantalizing mix of heat and teeth that left you gasping for breath, your body arching into his touch.

The sensation of his body moving against yours, the delicious friction as he drove deeper, harder, was a pleasure that threatened to unravel you completely. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy radiating through you.

“Spencer,” you gasped, the word slipping past your lips as a breathless plea, a desperate cry for more.

His response was immediate, his pace quickening as he drove into you, each movement a perfect blend of power and precision that left you on the brink of release. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled you back to meet each of his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious friction that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You could feel the strength in his fingers, the way they dug into your flesh with each powerful motion, grounding you even as you felt yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge. The heat of his hands against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, adding another layer of sensation to the already heady mix.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of wet, rhythmic slaps and breathless gasps that only heightened your arousal. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure rippling through you, building in intensity with every movement until you were teetering on the edge of control.

Spencer’s breath was hot against your ear, each exhale a ragged sigh that sent shivers down your spine. “How are you still so tight?” he groaned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that resonated through your entire body. The words were a potent mix of praise and desire, pushing you even closer to the brink.

Your own breath came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle as you fought to hold on to your control. “Spencer,” you moaned, your body aching for release.

His response was a deep, primal growl that vibrated through his chest and into your back, his hips snapping forward with a renewed intensity that left you breathless. His hands guided your movements, pulling you back to meet each thrust with a force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

The pressure within you built to a fever pitch, a tight coil that wound tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations, the feel of him driving into you, the sound of his voice in your ear, the taste of salt on your lips as you bit down, trying to hold on just a little longer.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his voice a rough, desperate sound that sent a thrill racing through you. “I’m so close.”

The admission was your undoing. The coil within you snapped, sending a wave of blinding ecstasy crashing over you. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as you cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Spencer continued to move, driving you through the waves of your release with a steady, relentless rhythm that left you trembling and gasping for breath. The feeling of him moving inside you, filling you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, each thrust sending new ripples of sensation through your already oversensitive body.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, Spencer’s pace grew more erratic, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. You could feel the strain in his muscles, the way his fingers dug into your hips with a new urgency.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft, breathless plea as you turned your head to catch his gaze. The look in his eyes was a perfect reflection of the intensity you felt, raw desire and desperate need that sent another wave of heat through you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he reached his own release. The sound of his pleasure—a low, guttural groan—sent a shiver of satisfaction through you.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of your mingled breaths, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the fading echoes of your shared passion. Spencer’s grip on your hips softened, his touch becoming a gentle caress as he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice a soft, reverent murmur that sent a final shiver of pleasure through you.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you caught your breath. “So are you, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with affection and lingering desire as he gently helped you shift to a more comfortable position. The warmth of his body against yours was soothing, a perfect counterpoint to the lingering heat of your shared passion. You nestled into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace and contentment settle over you as you allowed yourself to relax in his arms.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting weight of his presence, lulled you into a state of drowsy contentment. You felt safe and secure in his arms, the events of the night playing through your mind in a haze of satisfaction and warmth.

Slowly, the pull of sleep became too strong to resist, and you allowed yourself to drift off, cocooned in the comforting embrace of the man who had brought you such intense pleasure. The last thing you remembered before slipping into the depths of slumber was the gentle press of Spencer's lips against your forehead, a tender kiss that spoke volumes.

—

Morning came all too soon, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains and casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke slowly, the memories of the night before still vivid in your mind as you lay in the warmth of Spencer's embrace. For a moment, you allowed yourself to savor the feeling, the sense of belonging that came from being wrapped in his arms.

But reality soon intruded, and you knew that you couldn't stay. With a quiet sigh, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, moving with practiced ease to avoid waking him. Spencer's face was peaceful in sleep, a small smile playing on his lips that made your heart ache with affection and regret.

You knew he’d be confused when he woke up in your apartment alone. The realization that you had made a mistake by bringing him here weighed heavily on you. You quickly dressed, the rustle of your clothes sounding loud in the otherwise silent room. Every movement felt like a betrayal, a departure from the intimacy you had shared just hours before.

Grabbing a sticky note pad and a pen from your desk, your mind raced as you tried to think of what to write. The pen felt heavy in your hand, the blank surface of the note a stark reminder of the conversation you couldn't have face to face.

Spencer, you wrote, your handwriting shaky and rushed, Thank you for last night. There’s a key under the mat, please lock the door on your way out. Take care.

You placed the note where he would see it, the yellow square stark against the dark wood of your dresser. You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of him one last time, memorizing the peaceful curve of his lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead.

With a heavy heart, you turned and quietly left the room. You headed for a friend's house, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. You needed to stay busy, to distract yourself until you were sure Spencer had left your apartment. As you knocked on the door, you resolved to cherish the memory of the night you had shared with Spencer, even as you moved forward with your life.

—

It had been a month since Spencer's encounter with you. At first, he was extremely confused and hurt, thinking there was a real spark between the two of you. Upon leaving your apartment that morning, he realized he never got your last name or your phone number. He didn't even know your address properly. Technically, he could figure it out quite easily, but he knew if you wanted him to talk to you again, you would have stayed.

For about two weeks, he thought about you every day and night, replaying the moments you shared and trying to understand what went wrong. Initially, he was sad, then worried something might have happened, and finally, he became livid at the thought that you might have used him. But now, it had been a month, and he had resigned himself to forget you and move on with his life.

Back to regular life, Spencer walked into the bullpen, immediately sensing something unusual. Everyone was not-so-subtly glancing toward Hotch’s office, their expressions twisted with curiosity and surprise.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“There’s a woman in Hotch’s office,” Emily replied, her eyes flicking toward the closed door.

“Okay?” Spencer prompted, waiting for more context.

“She knew my name, man,” Derek added, sounding both impressed and slightly confused.

“Uh oh, did you forget one of your many lovers?” Spencer joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not cool, kid. I’d remember a pretty face like hers,” Derek said, shaking his head.

“How else would she know you?” Emily asked, her curiosity mirroring Spencer’s.

Just then, the door to Hotch’s office opened, and you stepped out, accompanied by Aaron. “Guys, this is Agent Y/N Y/L,” Hotch said, introducing you to the team. “She will be joining us while JJ is on maternity leave.”

Spencer’s heart stopped as he saw you. He felt all the blood drain from his face, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. There you were, the woman who had loved him and then left him without a trace, now standing in front of him in the bullpen.

You seemed calm and composed, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Spencer. You gave a polite smile and nodded at the team, your eyes briefly locking with Spencer’s before moving on, not recognizing him immediately, or not caring.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, your voice steady and professional. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

The rest of the team greeted you warmly, exchanging pleasantries, while Spencer remained rooted to his spot, his mind racing. Finally, your eyes fell on him and really looked.

“Hi, Doctor,” you said calmly, your voice steady and composed.

“Y/N,” he replied, his tone clipped and strained.

“Hold up, do you two know each other?” Derek asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I remember you!” Penelope cut in, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “You were at the Doctor Who convention! Madame de Pompadour! You looked beautiful.”

“Thank you!” you responded with a warm smile. “I don’t recall meeting you, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, we didn’t meet, sweetie,” Penelope giggled kindly. “I saw you talking to Reid here.”

“Ah,” you said, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes as you glanced back at Spencer.

The strain between you and Spencer was tangible, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Spencer’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to process the fact that you were now standing in front of him, a part of his professional life.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Emily asked, her eyes darting between the two of you.

“We… met at the convention,” Spencer said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“Yes, we did,” you confirmed, keeping your tone neutral. “It was a brief encounter.”

Spencer's jaw tightened at your choice of words, the hurt and confusion from a month ago resurfacing with a vengeance. He knew he had to keep it together, at least for now, but the unresolved feelings were making it difficult.

“Small world, huh?” Derek said with a chuckle, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension.

“Indeed,” you replied, your eyes flicking back to Spencer. “I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

Spencer nodded stiffly, his mind still racing with questions and emotions. He knew he needed to talk to you, to get some answers, but now wasn’t the time. He would have to wait for a more private moment to confront you about what had happened.

For now, he had to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside his personal turmoil to maintain his professionalism. But as he watched you interact with the rest of the team, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

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lakeaether · 2 months ago

Text

bella notte | l.sm

PAIRING: lee seokmin x gn!reader GENRE: fluff, suggestive, established relationship SUMMARY: in which you and seokmin have a spaghetti night and recreate an iconic movie scene WARNINGS: food, kissing, terms of endearment, seokmin lifts and carries the reader, allusions to sex at the end but no actual smut (lmk if i missed anything) WORD COUNT: 1.4k NOTE: i cooked with this one (pun intended)

Hand hovering over a steaming pot, you drop a handful of pasta into the boiling water and gently stir with a wooden spoon, the savory aroma of herbs, spices, and simmering sauce filling the air. Steam rises in delicate spirals, curling around your face as you smile to yourself, satisfied with your progress.

“Sweetheart, is the food almost ready?” A familiar voice calls out from behind you.

“Just a couple more minutes, sunshine,” you reply, flashing a brief smile before turning your attention back to the noodles. You lift the spoon, tapping it on the rim of the pot before setting it down on the counter, to grab a clean one. Dipping it into the rich, simmering sauce, you scoop up a small sample. “Here, tell me how this tastes,” you say, holding the spoon out to him, your hand cupped beneath to catch any drips.

Seokmin steps closer, leaning down to take a taste. The moment the sauce hits his tongue, an abundance of flavors erupts in his mouth. “Wow, that’s incredible!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up and a grin spreading across his face.

“Perfect,” you say, your chest swelling with pride. “Can you set the table, please? I’ll bring everything out in a bit.”

“On it,” he replies with a cheerful hum, heading to the upper cabinet, carefully taking out the fancy dinnerware reserved for special occasions, and making his way to the dinner table. With care, he gently places down two wine glasses and one plate. Wanting to enhance the intimate atmosphere even more, he lights a couple of candles that fill the room with a soft floral scent.

Looking at the perfectly arranged table, the memory of what inspired tonight’s dinner surfaces in his mind. During one of your cozy movie nights, two of you watched Lady and the Tramp. The iconic scene, in which the two dogs shared a plate of spaghetti on a starry night, had Seokmin immediately jump up from your cuddled position.

“Baby, that’s the cutest thing ever!” he exclaimed, pointing to the screen and bouncing. “Can we try that too? Pretty please?” He asked, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes—as if you could deny him anything when he did that.

Seokmin’s pulled from the memory by your approaching footsteps. Turning around, he sees you carrying a steaming plate of spaghetti and meatballs, the centerpiece of tonight’s evening. He steps aside to let you place the dish on the table, your smile proud.

As you reach behind you to untie your apron, Seokmin’s voice stops you. “Wait,” he says softly, stepping closer. “Can I?”

Caught off guard, you look at him with wide eyes. “Sure,” you nod with a grin and raise your hands to your sides.

His fingers brush against your waist, the soft touch sending a small shiver up your spine. Looking up at him, you notice the affection in his eyes as he unties the bow on your apron, letting the sides hang. His movements are slow and gentle as he pulls the neck strap over your head. You feel his lips press a quick kiss to your forehead before he drapes the apron over one of the unoccupied dinner chairs.

With a flourish, he pulls out a chair for you. “Your seat, my love,” he says with a playful bow. Smiling shyly, you sit, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you�� as he takes his seat beside you.

“This is going to be amazing!” he says, rubbing his hands together. He picks up his fork and twirls some noodles onto it. “Say ah,” he calls out, holding the fork out for you.

Laughing, you lean forward and take a bite. “My turn,” you declare, grabbing your fork and mirroring his actions. He opens his mouth dramatically and takes a bite, making you both dissolve into laughter.

After a few more playful exchanges, Seokmin sets his fork down and rests his chin in his hand, his expression turning thoughtful. “Can we try it now?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with a hint of nervous excitement as he looks up at you.

“Try what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“The noodle kiss,” he replies, his cheeks glowing faintly.

Your face warms, but you nod. “Sure, let’s try it.”

Seokmin’s face lights up as he picks up a single noodle strand with his fingers. You do the same, gripping the other end with trembling fingers. Slowly, you both begin eating the noodle, moving closer and closer with every bite. Your breaths mingle, and before you know it, your lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss. The contact is brief but electrifying, leaving both of your hearts racing.

Pulling back first, you avert your gaze, biting your lip to hold back a nervous laugh. Seokmin watches you with fondness, his smile as warm as the candles on the table.

A nudge against your shoulder catches your attention. You turn and watch as Seokmin leans his head down to your shared plate and softly nudges one of the meatballs with his nose, rolling it toward you. As his head rose, you immediately burst into laughter at the sight of the bright red marinara staining the tip of his nose. “Hold still,” you say between giggles, grabbing a napkin and gently dabbing the sauce off. His eyes cross as he tries to follow your movements, his cheeks reddening.

The rest of the dinner passes in easy conversation and shared laughter. Once the plates were cleared, Seokmin stood up, grabbed the plate and glasses, and brought them over to the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. Since you cooked tonight, he thought it was only fair that he washed up tonight.

As he’s on his last plate, Seokmin feels your arms slowly wrap around his waist from behind.

"Is it okay if I hold you for a sec?" you murmur, your voice soft against his shoulder.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and meeting your gaze with a longing look in his eyes and a soft smile. “More than okay,” he replies, his voice warm with affection and leaning slightly into your embrace.

You hum contentedly, pressing your cheek against his back and letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you. As the last plate joins the others on the drying rack, Seokmin, refusing to move your bodies more than one inch from each other, turns carefully within your arms, his hands finding your hips.

With a mischievous grin, he moves you toward the counter and effortlessly lifts your body onto the marble, drawing a surprised gasp from you. Sometimes you forget that outside this absolute sweetheart of a man is one of pure muscle and strength who could move you around with ease. You try not to indulge too much in that thought.

Instead, you part your legs to make room for him. Seokmin grins, stepping closer and wrapping his arms snugly around your waist, yours looping around his neck.

"Thanks for indulging me tonight, honey," he whispers delicately, his forehead resting against yours.

"Of course, sunshine," you reply, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose. "It was my pleasure."

Seokmin’s smile widens, his eyes turning into moon crescents as he takes in the earnestness of your words.

His eyes glimmer as he leans in, brushing his nose against yours in a flutter. The soft gesture causes you both to break out into a fit of giggles.

As the laughter fades, he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know,” he begins, his lips brushing lightly against your ear, “I think I owe you a proper thank you for tonight.”

Your breath hitches, and you glance up at him through your lashes. “Oh?” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper and cheeks heating up.

He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Can I show you how much I appreciate you?” he asks, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

Your lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze drops, cheeks flushed as your fingers toy with the neckline of his shirt. Finally, you give him a shy nod. In one fluid motion, Seokmin slides his arms under you and lifts you effortlessly, wrapping your thighs around his waist. “Hold on tight,” he whispers, his gaze never leaving yours as you look up at him.

As he carries you toward your shared bedroom, his lips brush against your neck, leaving a series of soft, lingering kisses that send shivers throughout your body. The anticipation hangs thick in the air as the door clicks shut behind you, sealing the promise of an unforgettable night.

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emeritusemeritus · 11 months ago

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Hear me out! Possessive sex + Overstimulation + Brat Taming + Breeding. Both of the Weasley Twins please. 🤭

I just always have this thought of just teasing the shit out of them when they’re work and fleeing afterwards. It’s almost as if we took their job of teasing us, and I could just imagine how pent up and frustrated they can be when they can’t do anything since there’s kids and adults around. The joke shop is suppose to be an appropriate place especially when it’s meant mainly for kids..Perhaps, add a part where we purposefully flirt with one of our old classmates. You can choose who! If you don’t like this idea, I completely understand! Feel free to add some kinks if you like or story elements. 🫶

Hi Anon! I’m so sorry it has taken so long to get this out, writing has had to be on the back-burner for now but I’m slowly getting back! Sorry for the lack of smut, it’s more of the setup as I’m abit smutted out 🖤

Warnings: Sexual tension, brat behaviour, Dom!sub relationships, polyamory, teasing, sexual references, mild swearing. Flirting, mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, breeding kink.

Word count: 2.5k

Wonder Witch

You knew what you were getting into the second you opened up your wardrobe and changed into the outfit you'd carefully prepared for today. Your husbands had already long since departed the flat to set up the shop for the day, leaving you just a little later to sleep in, which you were thankful for.

Today was the big launch of new wonder witch products that the twins had been tirelessly working on, perfecting the range ready for the big launch today. You'd helped with ordering violently pink balloons to decorate every orifice of the shop, had banners printed and had even managed to convince Madame Puddifoot's to make some limited edition iced biscuits for the celebration, all in the same sickening shade of pink.

The icing on the cake was the costume that you'd picked out ready to hand out and display the new items, recreating the wonder witch icon on the packaging.

The dress in itself wasn't too risky, an array of pink and gold overlapping fabric that fell just above your knee, with a pointed witches hat in a smilies style. But it also had exposed shoulders with dropped sleeves and a corseted middle which hoisted in your waist to create a rather dramatic shape, highlighting your hips in a way that you knew would drive your husbands crazy. You carefully curled your hair and applied a healthy dose of mascara to really make your eyes pop before applying an equally vibrant lipsticks that you'd found matched the colour of wonder witch perfectly. You added a little highlighter around your cheeks to give you a little bit more of a playful look and slipped on your shoes to really help bring the look together.

When you looked in the mirror, you were more than pleased with yourself. You looked hot.

Checking the clock, you saw that it was 8:53am, just in time for the store to open. You could hear the twins flapping, mainly George, the moment you opened the door towards the staircase. They were bustling ready for the big opening and the unsurprising lack of Verity meant that she was probably going to be late again.

"Angel can you put these products on the... shit." George says the second you walk down the stairs, noticing the outfit almost immediately.

"What's up with you?" Fred asks, walking over to George under the staircase until he comes into full view, noticing that his twin seems to be frozen on the spot. He turns, looking towards the direction George seems frozen at and you watch as his eyes widen also comically wide. "Holy Godric."

"Morning," you say cheerfully, leaning up to press a kiss to George's cheek before doing the same to Fred as they look at you in complete shock, mouths slightly parted. "Where do you want me?"

"Um," George says, clearing his throat though his eyes hardly move from the curve of your breasts, a prominent feature of your dress. You fight the urge to laugh, wanting to keep up your little innocent play, pretending that you had no idea why they were looking at you like that.

"You want these on the shelf?" You ask, batting your eyelashes at them, watching as Fred's tongue pokes out to wet his lips.

The little clock on the wall chimes, signalling the store opening, just as you bend down to grab the box of products and you look up with pouting lips, watching as the twins hardly react to the chimes.

"You gonna unlock the doors big boy?" You ask Fred with a singular raised eyebrows, noticing how he doesn't even attempt to pull out his wand. A frantic knock on the doors pulls him out of his thoughts and you all turn to see Verity knocking to be let it, surrounded by a large crowd of customers ready to shop the new products. You flash a little wink at George as Fred unlocks the doors with a flick of his wand, the fireworks and the tricks beginning all in perfect synchronisation. When you look back up after picking up the box of products and see your two men still staring at you, completely unaware of the swarm of customers bursting through the doors, you knew today was going to be fun.

The store was packed right from opening, a never-ending swarm of people crossing through the doors until the shop was almost too full of people, all wanting to get their hands on the new merchandise. It was an overwhelming success, the new line of wonder witch products and cosmetics and you were thankful, fortunate and insanely proud of your husbands for pulling off the ideas you'd created together. You should have been tired, drained from the day as it neared closing time but truthfully you were on an adrenaline high, on cloud nine from teasing your husbands all day and seeing their increasing desperation.

All day you'd made sure to be a little bit of a brat, an utter tease whilst trying to portray yourself as an innocent Angel- something you knew for a fact that they didn't believe in the slightest.

George was easier to rile up, always quicker to respond to your more subtle teasing. You'd brushed past him a number of times today, the packed shop only aiding your need to slowly brush your ass against the front of his trousers as you squeezed past him or to pass something up to Verity on the stairs, ensuring that he got a face full of cleavage as you stretched up. You'd caught him staring at you more times today than you could count on all your extremities, especially when you climbed the stairs above him, ensuring that he knew your bare thighs were right above him.

Fred didn't always respond to subtlety, so you knew your efforts had to be boosted when it came to him. You'd purposely licked and sucked at one of the dark mark lollipops in the most outrageous way whenever he was paying attention and you'd even heard him choke on his own spit when he noticed.

You knew you had him when you were explaining to a group of seventh year girls about the patented daydream charms and how how they worked, passing out the colourful boxes items around the group as they accepted them with eager and curious eyes.

"Up to thirty minutes of pure, blissful imagination; let me tell you it will create a very realistic daydream of your choice so you know that boy you're crushing on? You're going to have the best thirty minutes of your life."

You're met with a round of playful giggles as you smile at them, knowing you were in for a good sale.

"Have you used it?" One of the girls asks and you nod eagerly with a smirk, knowing that Fred was just behind you from the way you could feel his presence, hearing him talk only moments before.

"Not since I married him," you say with a smirk as you receive another round of girlish giggles. "Between us, those thirty minutes with Fred were some of my most imaginative creations, believe me these little things are special," you say, twisting the box in your hands. "Just don't tell George." You watch as the girls' eyes light up and they quickly shove them in their baskets. You turn then, catching Fred's eye as he pretends not to have been listening and you act as if you're bashful about what he might have heard, placing a strand of hair nervously behind your ear as you walk away, making sure to sway your hips ever so slightly, knowing he'd be watching.

By lunchtime, you'd effortlessly riled them up to a point that it was so painfully obvious what they were trying to hide that you found yourself biting back a smirk for most of the day. They were so easily and deeply affected that it was rather fun to watch, but none more so than when Dean Thomas came into the shop just after the dinner time rush. You'd taken a quick break and had reapplied your lipstick, carefully checking you appearance before you walked down the stairs back to work. Dean had been talking to both of your lives near the stairs when he spotted you, eyes briefly widening as he took in your appearance. Unfortunately for him, Fred had been mid sentence and had definitely noticed Dean checking you out, making his go silent and cause a thunderous look to cross his face.

"Y/n, hi! It's good to see you!" Dean smiles as you approach them all, careful to avoid looking at the faces of your husbands who had now both caught on to Dean's over-pleasant demeanour.

"Dean, good to see you too!"

"You look good! Who knew that y/n (*maiden name) would become wonder witch!" His hands gesture towards your outfit and then to the display of new products to the side with your likeness on.

"It's Weasley," both twins said a little too quickly, in perfect synchronisation, making you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop a laugh spilling out at their obvious jealously.

"Of course," Dean says somewhat absently, not picking up on the sudden hostility aimed at him by the shop-owners. "So what have you been up to? Do you see the others much?"

"Didn't ask us this many questions," you hear George mumble under his breath to Fred, who has crossed his arms across his chest and is hardly blinking, watching Dean closely.

"The usual," you smile, shooting a fleeting glance at your two husbands who's red faces seem to match their hair. "Keeping these two in line, keeping the shop afloat," you joke.

"So no little Weasley's running about yet?"

You could almost sense the little eye twitch George did at the words and you were certain that Fred seemed to stand even straighter, making himself even taller to tower over Dean.

"Hopefully soon," you say, biting your lip and George's eyes flicker to you with a fire in them, your words affecting him more easily than you'd anticipated. Fred seemed to incidentally lose his footing and was knocked off balance for a second, breaking the rather playful mood that had settled between you and Dean.

After Dean had left with a few things he'd come for, you finally accepted your fate and let the veil slip enough to drop the innocent act you'd been playing all day. Fred had cornered you beside the till, a stolen moment of peace as you reached high up to re-stock the daydreams, flashing him with a glimpse of your stocking.

"Really Freddie?" You pretended to admonish as you felt his rather prominent evidence of arousal against your hip as he started to get grabby with you, nearing the end of his restraint. "This is a respected establishment Mr Weasley, there are children about!"

You shuffled past him with a little tut, hiding your smirk behind your hair, leaving him stranded with mouth agape at your sudden boldness. George wasn't faring much better, his eyes still fixed on the curve of your breasts whenever he caught a glimpse, silently watching you rile him up further and further as your act slipped away.

With one last attempt at completely flipping the switch inside of them, throwing them over the metaphorical cliff, you doubled down your efforts. It was nearly closing time and you walked slyly over to the cash register whilst George was cashing up for the night and began stretching, pointing out your chest and making some very questionable noises. You adjusted the little cold shoulder straps on your dress and readjusted your breasts in the dress, sensing your attentive audience of George who was close by and Fred who had stopped what he was doing to watch you from across the shop. You suddenly turned and walked behind George, placing your hand on his hip as you squeezed past to reach for a carrier bag, carefully dragging your hand over his lower back as you leaned down. When you began to turn and walk away, you felt a large hand shoot out and grab your wrist.

“Angel.”

His tone was clear and clipped, telling you everything you needed to do.

“I know exactly what you’re doing,” he says, moving to stand behind you in the near empty shop, an obvious erection pressing into your behind. “Keep going little brat, you’re only fuelling the fire.”

When he lets you go and turns back to his task with no other reaction, you knew it was time to slip away. You rushed up the stairs, carefully avoiding both of them, ready for the next step of the plan. You’d prepped dinner on your lunch break, wanting to get ahead for the night and flicked the oven on with a flick of your wand as soon as you made it upstairs. You kicked off your shoes, pulled off your panties and waited, busying yourself to ward off the desperate arousal you were feeling, anticipating a good but long night ahead.

As soon as you heard the familiar, incoming footsteps on the landing, you bent over in your skirt to slip the pie into the oven, giving them quite a show when they walked in.

“Fucking Godric,” you heard Fred exclaim when he stepped through the door, followed by a similar curse only moments later by his twin as they see your pussy on full display for them, peeking out from below the short skirt as you bend over.

“Princess,” he says, beginning to stalk over to you as you pulled yourself up, closing the oven. You looked at them innocently, big doe-eyes and fluttering lashes as you watched them darkly approach you.

“You were naughty today,” George says, his hand reaching out to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you into a devastatingly sinful kiss that immediately makes your nipples harden under the dress. You gasp into his mouth when you suddenly feel a hand creeping up your inner thigh, underneath your dress.

“Remember what you said to Dean, princess?” Fred asks, voice dangerously low, prompting you to nod whilst trying to catch your breath. You knew exactly what you’d said, what you’d hoped for.

“Reckon we should start now?” He asks, his hand ghosting over the curve of your ass, feeling the bare flesh underneath his fingers. “Want you knocked up right fucking now.”

“Agreed,” George adds, somehow looking and sounding ever darker and more determined than Fred. George suddenly reaches out and turns off the oven with a harsh flick of his wrist, smirking when you look up at him in confusion at him turning off the oven.

“We’re not gonna be done with you that soon,” he says with a devilish smirk. “Gonna cum in you over and over, taking turns filling you. There’s gonna be so much cum in you that you won’t know where you start and we end, get you all round from us. Now.”

“Get on the bed.”

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley #george weasley x you #weasley twins x you #weasley twins x reader #Weasley twins smut #requests #anon answered #request closed

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rottenpumpkin13 · 2 months ago

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HC:

Genesis is addicted to Reddit because Drama™︎. He is ready to call out all the assholes & give advice for wedding time vengeance. He has so many tabs open. So many.

Everyone has had to drag him off to bed & confiscate his PHS at some point. Their greatest weapon so far is a sleepy, adorable & grumpy Cloud who just wants Genesis to come to bed, maybe carry him, please? Before Cloud threatens to bite him like the tired little Nibel dragon he truly is inside.

Depending on the schedule, if Sephiroth is there he goes full cat mode & just flops down on Genesis, pinning him to the bed. Can't move a cat. It's illegal.

Sometimes Genesis is just at the center of a fiercely cozy snuggle pile of silver, gold & obsidian. Sometimes it's okay.

...but then his PHS chimes because no one turned it off && he needs to know if brideaway123 succeeded in getting one over on her snippy, downright insulting, obsessively micromanaging MIL! He needs to, Angeal!

Oh this I can get behind. The man loves life and drama, so he takes to lurking in every subreddit, from his fan clubs to SOLDIER, to endless Loveless. But his true love is r/AmITheAsshole, where he's defo written a post or two that's carefully worded to paint himself as the misunderstood hero.

*Genesis sits down across from Sephiroth at lunch*

Genesis: Am I the asshole for borrowing Masamune because a hero's blade adds poetic gravitas to mundane moments, then using it to recreate the sword-raising scene from Act III, but then scratching the blade when I plunged it into the wall to kill a spider?

Sephiroth:

Genesis: The Reddit thread has 10k upvotes and they say it's 'iconic behavior.' Also, the spider was fine.

Sephiroth: Am I the asshole for murdering the person sitting across from me?

Genesis: What do you mean? You're not—

*Masamune materializes at Genesis' throat*

Genesis: HELP

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #crisis core #headcanons

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lilmisssona · 1 month ago

Text

☃︎♡Dynamic And Vibing ☃︎♡

☃︎♡Pairing - Hyunjin × Fem Reader

☃︎♡Plot - You always thought only women got nervous meeting their boyfriend's family, but your boyfriend proves otherwise. He’s adorably stressed about finding the perfect outfit for Christmas dinner, and a shopping trip leads him to a sparkling pair of iconic boots. Little did you know, those boots would be the start of some unexpected holiday drama

☃︎♡Genre - Comedy, Crackhead Energy, Fluff

☃︎♡Warnings - crackhead energy, non idol au, strangers to lovers au, established relationship, comedy, fluffy ,dramatic

☃︎♡Word Count - 8.7K ☃︎♡ Screenshot Count - 1

☃︎♡A/N - Belated Happy New Year! Episode 4 of Staymas is here, and it's all about Hyunjin + chaotic family drama with a side of the sweetest fluff so buckle up! This is just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂‍↕️

☃︎♡SKZ Masterlist ☃︎♡ Staymas Masterlist

Chuseok at your parents’ house was always a beautiful chaos: comforting, loud, and brimming with life. It was everything you’d missed while studying abroad. For two years, you’d spent the holiday alone in a foreign city, attempting to recreate the flavors of home with store-bought tteok and shaky video calls with your family. But now, finally back in Seoul, the world felt familiar again, as if the missing pieces had finally clicked into place.

The past year had been a whirlwind....finishing your degree, landing a great job, and, most unexpectedly, meeting Hyunjin.

He wasn’t just an artist; he was the artist. The kind of guy who wore paint-streaked hoodies like they were high fashion and could make you laugh until you cried over his “accidental masterpiece” of spilling glitter on his sneakers. Hyunjin had an extraordinary gift for turning the ordinary into unforgettable moments, though most of those moments came with a dose of mild disaster.

But this Chuseok, Hyunjin wasn’t with you. He was neck-deep in preparations for a massive art festival, surviving on caffeine and two hours of sleep a night. Lately, your time together had been reduced to rushed coffee dates and late-night video calls.

“I promise I’ll be there next year,” he had said during one of those calls, holding a paintbrush like he was making a solemn vow. “But this festival…”

“I know,” you had reassured him, even as you wished for his presence now more than ever.

“Gotta go!” he’d added abruptly. “I need to channel my soul into these paintings, babe!”

You’d rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but deep down, you missed him - the chaos, the charm, the electric energy he brought into your life. Being home for Chuseok after two years felt monumental, but you couldn’t shake the wish that he could experience it with you.

Your family? They would’ve either fallen in love with him or been completely bewildered. Probably both.

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

The chaos hit you the moment you stepped through the door of your parents’ house. Your mom’s voice greeted you before her eyes did.

“Close the door before all the heat escapes!” she scolded, not even looking up as she deftly flipped jeon and rolled mandu in the kitchen. The dining table was a vibrant mess of ingredients: bowls of sesame oil, chopped scallions, and a pile of persimmons waiting to be transformed into something beautiful. On the stove, galbijjim simmered away, its rich, savory aroma filling the house.

Your dad was at the table, valiantly attempting to fold rice cakes into their traditional half-moon shapes. As always, his songpyeon were hilariously lopsided, with sweet sesame filling threatening to spill from every edge.

“I think they look artistic,” he said, raising an eyebrow at your mom, who shot him her signature look of disapproval.

You smiled, imagining Hyunjin in this setting. He’d definitely find some poetic beauty in your dad’s uneven creations and probably call them “symbolic of imperfect perfection.”

“These songpyeon look like they need a rescue team,” your brother teased from his corner of the kitchen, where he was supposed to be grilling sweet potatoes. Instead, his phone was firmly in hand while the sweet potatoes burned, their charred skins proof of his negligence.

And then there was your grandmother, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, beaming as soon as her eyes landed on you. “Ah, my big-city granddaughter is back!” she exclaimed, patting the floor beside her. “Do they celebrate Chuseok over there?”

“They have Thanksgiving, Halmeoni. It’s… different,” you said, settling down next to her.

“Thanksgiving?” she repeated, her voice dripping with playful skepticism. “Do they have songpyeon?”

“Nope. That’s why I’m back here.”

“Well, come on, you haven’t forgotten how to shape songpyeon, have you?” she asked, handing you a ball of rice dough.

“I think I have,” you admitted sheepishly, eyeing the tray of perfectly crafted rice cakes.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a wink. “You’ve got me to teach you before you run off again.”

But Halmeoni wasn’t one to sit still for long. Before anyone could stop her, she was up on her feet, a piece of jeon in one hand and a fork in the other. “You don’t get legs like these by sitting around!” she declared, twirling across the room with a flair that belied her years.

Her laughter echoed through the house, and soon you were all joining in, your cheeks sore from smiling.

The house was alive with everything you’d missed - the clatter of pots, the hum of overlapping conversations, your mom’s occasional scolding, and the playful bickering between your brother and dad. After being away for so long, you’d almost forgotten how full, how warm, a home could feel during Chuseok.

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

Later, as you helped your mom set the dishes, you couldn’t help but think of Hyunjin. He would’ve turned the whole process into a comedy sketch, complete with exaggerated groans and theatrical hand gestures. You could almost hear him whining, “Why do mine look like deflated dumplings?” as he somehow managed to get sesame filling smeared all over his face.

At dinner, the table overflowed with every Chuseok dish you’d dreamed about while abroad. Your mom didn’t hold back, piling your plate high with galbijjim, japchae, and perfectly steamed songpyeon.

“Eat, eat,” she urged, watching you with that particular kind of satisfaction only a mother can feel.

“Mom, I can’t eat all of this,” you protested, though you knew you’d try anyway.

“You’ve been living on convenience store food for years. You need to eat properly now,” she said, her tone playful but her eyes filled with concern.

As the meal went on, the chatter and laughter filled the room, with everyone reminiscing about old times and grilling you about your life abroad.

Your brother, his devilish grin fully intact, suddenly decided to strike. “No boyfriend again this year? Does he even exist, or did you make him up?”

“What’s his name again?” your mom asked, peering at you over her glasses.

“Hyunjin,” you replied with a sigh, already exasperated.

“He’s real, bro, by the way,” you added, flicking your brother’s forehead in mock annoyance. “He’s just busy with an art festival.”

“Oh, an artist!” Grandma exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with intrigue. “Does he paint bowls of fruit or naked ladies?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Neither, Halmeoni. He’s more… abstract.”

“Abstract? Like splatters of paint on a canvas and calling it deep?” she asked, unimpressed, raising an eyebrow.

“More like…” You hesitated, recalling the time Hyunjin had proudly shown you a painting and described it as “a metaphor for a squirrel discovering capitalism.” Clearing your throat, you finished, “…Yeah, let’s go with that.”

At that moment, your dad set down his chopsticks, his posture shifting into something thoughtful. He leaned back in his chair with the kind of slow deliberation that meant he was about to drop some classic dad-level wisdom.

“This artist boyfriend of yours,” he began, voice low and serious, “does he know how to hold chopsticks properly?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… yes?”

“Good,” your dad said with a solemn nod, as if he’d just concluded a critical evaluation. “Then I want to meet him. Christmas dinner. Bring him over.”

The entire table went silent.

“Wait, what?” you stammered, your heart rate spiking. Was this a heart attack or just sheer panic?

Your brother perked up instantly, a Cheshire grin spreading across his face. “Oh, this is going to be so good,” he said, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Why Christmas?” you asked, your voice rising with desperation.

“Because,” your dad replied matter-of-factly, “I need to see if this ‘artist’ is worthy of my daughter. And Christmas feels right. Festive, but serious.”

“Festive, but serious?” you repeated, incredulous.

“Oh, this is a classic move,” your brother chimed in, clearly savoring your discomfort. “Dad’s going to ask him all the hard-hitting questions. Like, ‘What are your future plans?’ and ‘Do you plan on starving for your art or earning a real income?’”

Your dad shot him a sharp look. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you thought it,” your brother teased, not missing a beat.

“Dad,” you began, struggling to keep calm, “Hyunjin is not… he’s not just some random guy. He’s—”

“Exactly,” your dad interrupted. “He’s not some random guy. He’s someone important to you, which means I need to make sure he’s… let’s say, ‘qualified.’”

“Qualified? For what?!”

“For you,” your dad said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your grandma, still contentedly munching on songpyeon, decided it was her turn to chime in. “Oh, don’t scare the poor boy too much. Artists are sensitive, you know. One wrong word, and they’ll write a tragic poem about it.”

“Or paint a metaphor about a squirrel’s heartbreak,” your brother added, snickering.

You groaned, slapping your palm against your face. “He’s never going to agree to this.”

“Oh, he’ll agree,” your dad said confidently, like he’d already won. “If he cares about you, he’ll show up. And don’t worry, I’ll be nice. At first.”

“Dad,” you warned, your voice a mix of disbelief and dread.

“What?” he said innocently, blinking at you. “I just want to get to know the man who might steal my daughter away someday.”

“That’s a lot of pressure, Dad.”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “If he can’t handle me, how’s he going to handle the rest of this family?”

Your grandma chuckled knowingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll back him up. Unless he says something stupid.”

“Like what?” you asked, your frustration mounting.

“Oh, you know,” she said airily, waving her hand. “If he starts talking about ‘artistic expression’ and goes on about how it reflects the struggles of the modern soul.”

“That actually sounds like something Hyunjin might say,” you muttered under your breath.

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

The conversation shifted to dessert, but the looming prospect of Hyunjin’s impending “interview” with your dad hung over the room like a storm cloud. Naturally, your brother, ever the instigator, couldn’t resist stirring the pot.

“You know, Dad,” he began, leaning back in his chair with a grin that rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s, “you should start with something dramatic. Like, ‘What are your intentions with my daughter?’”

“Good idea,” your dad replied, stroking his chin as though preparing for a high-stakes interrogation.

You shot them both a withering glare. “This isn’t the 1800s. He’s not proposing with a cow and a handshake.”

“Well, he’d better not come empty-handed,” your mom chimed in, her tone light but firm. “A nice bottle of wine or a fruit basket would do. Something thoughtful.”

“Fruit basket?” your brother echoed, practically doubling over in laughter. “What is he, visiting a hospital?”

Your grandma, completely ignoring him, nodded sagely. “Yes, a fruit basket is good. Grapes show generosity, and apples mean good health.” She paused, then added with utmost seriousness, “But if he brings bananas, I’ll have questions.”

“Halmeoni!” you gasped, nearly choking on your water as your brother descended into uncontrollable laughter.

“What? They’re too casual!” she said, completely unfazed. “Bananas say, ‘I remembered this on the way over.’”

Your dad tapped his chopsticks on the table, like a judge calling for order in court. “Let’s focus here. This young man...Hyunjin, right?—he’s an artist. So, I need to know…” He trailed off dramatically.

“…Know what?” you asked, your patience thinning.

“If he paints with his heart or just his hands.”

“Are you serious?” you asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“Absolutely,” he replied, deadpan. “And if he paints with glitter, we’re going to have a long talk.”

“Why?” your brother asked, barely containing his amusement.

“Because,” your dad said with a grim finality, “glitter is the devil’s confetti. Once it’s in the house, it’s everywhere.”

You slapped a hand to your face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Oh, it’s going to get better,” your brother teased, practically bouncing with glee. “Dad should ask him about his five-year plan. You know, see if he’s planning to be a tortured artist or someone who can actually pay for a date.”

“I pay for dates, thank you very much!” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Good,” your dad said with a nod of approval. “That means you’ve got a backup plan.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

“No, no,” your mom said soothingly, patting your shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Just tell him not to take your dad’s poker face too seriously.”

“My poker face?” your dad echoed, visibly offended. “I don’t have a poker face!”

“Yes, you do,” your mom, grandma, and brother said in unison.

Your dad huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. But I’ll keep it light.”

“Define ‘light,’” you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

“I’ll just ask him simple things. Like, does he prefer oil paints or acrylics? Does he have any famous artist friends? And why is he dating my daughter instead of focusing on his career?”

“Dad!”

Your grandma waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t scare him too much. Artists are resilient. They’re like weeds...they’ll grow anywhere.”

Your brother cackled, adding, “Or like glitter. Impossible to get rid of.”

Your dad raised a finger triumphantly. “Exactly. And we’ll see if he’s the kind of glitter we want sticking around.”

That night, as you slipped into your room, still chuckling at your family’s antics, the evening felt like a scene from a sitcom. Your dad’s mock-interrogation plans for Hyunjin, your grandma’s deadpan commentary about “sensitive artists,” and your brother’s relentless teasing played on a loop in your mind.

Beneath the laughter, though, your thoughts wandered to the day you first met Hyunjin.....

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

It had been months ago, during a wedding planning consultation. Your client, overwhelmed by the details, had sent a friend to meet you instead. “Don’t worry, they know everything,” your client had reassured you. “Hyunjin’s a good friend. You’ll be fine.”

You’d arrived at the café expecting someone serious, maybe a bit frazzled but focused. Instead, Hyunjin walked in like he was auditioning for a rom-com. Confidence radiated off him...until he tripped over the rug and went sprawling across the floor in a spectacularly ungraceful tumble.

For a moment, you were too stunned to react, staring as he scrambled to right himself. Then he looked up, grinning, and waved as though this were all part of his plan. “Hi! I’m Hyunjin,” he said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just wiped out. “I’m here to meet the wedding planner?”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh. “That was… an entrance.”

Hyunjin shrugged nonchalantly, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. “I like to keep things interesting,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But don’t worry...I’m all business now.”

“Business, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Totally,” he said, sitting down and immediately knocking over a sugar packet with his elbow. “The bride sent me. They’re handling the important stuff...catering, keeping Aunt Jeon from overdrinking, you know ? The essentials. I’m here to make sure the wedding’s a masterpiece.”

You stifled a laugh. “A masterpiece? Are you a wedding planner or…?”

“Artist,” he said, leaning back with a dramatic flair. “I paint, sculpt, create installations...basically, I make a mess and call it art.”

“An artist?” you repeated, surprised. “Then how did you end up here, planning a wedding?”

Hyunjin waved a hand as if it were no big deal. “The bride’s my friend. They needed someone with vision, and who better than an artistic genius? I don’t know anything about weddings, but I’m great at making things beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “So… you’re suggesting we turn a wedding into an art exhibit?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “Like, why have a boring tiered cake when you could have an abstract sculpture? A cake that’s a statement piece!”

“An avant-garde wedding cake?” you teased.

“Why not?” he replied, completely serious. “It’s not just dessert; it’s a metaphor. And seating? Who needs assigned seats? Let people pick where they feel inspired...it’s freedom, an artistic rebellion!”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re really leaning into this chaos, huh?”

“Chaos is just art waiting to happen,” he said with a wink.

The rest of the meeting was a whirlwind of wild ideas, each one more absurd than the last. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but enjoy his infectious energy. Hyunjin was unpredictable, chaotic even, but there was a charm to the way he embraced his quirks so unapologetically.

Over the weeks, he continued showing up to meetings, always armed with another outlandish idea. You never knew what to expect, but his presence made the planning process more fun than you’d anticipated.

One rainy afternoon, as you walked back from yet another meeting, a car sped through a puddle, sending water flying toward you. Before you could react, Hyunjin darted forward, attempting to shield you. Instead, he caught the full force of the splash.

Soaked from head to toe, he turned to you with an apologetic grin. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Next time, maybe skip the heroics?”

Hyunjin shrugged, dripping water but still smiling. “Hey, it’s the thought that counts.”

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

After that day, you and Hyunjin started spending more and more time together. Between wedding meetings, he’d randomly show up with plans for coffee runs, surprise visits to art galleries, and quirky little outings. Whether he was making you laugh unintentionally or with deliberate mischief, you found yourself falling for him, one laugh at a time.

One particularly stressful day, you were drowning in wedding prep, timelines, budgets, and last-minute crises piled high on your desk. Hyunjin waltzed in unannounced, his usual grin plastered across his face.

“You look like you need a break,” he said, pulling up a chair beside you. “How about a little distraction?”

You sighed, leaning back in frustration. “I don’t have time for distractions, Hyunjin. The wedding is in three days, and everything is falling apart.”

He tilted his head, studying you thoughtfully. “Okay, counteroffer: one hour at an art gallery. I promise it’ll clear your head.”

You frowned, torn between the mountain of work and the temptation in his eyes. Finally, you relented. “Fine. One hour.”

One hour turned into two. By the time you returned, the weight of your stress had lifted, replaced by the calm and joy of Hyunjin’s chaos. His ability to ease your burdens with simple, thoughtful gestures was just one of the many reasons you’d started to fall for him.

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

The months with Hyunjin had been a whirlwind of laughter, spontaneity, and moments that left you breathless. It wasn’t just his charm or his creativity that captured your heart-it was how he made the mundane feel extraordinary, as if life itself were art, waiting to be experienced.

That magic followed you tonight as the two of you wandered along the Han River under a warm, starlit sky. The breeze carried the faint scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of cicadas. Lanterns strung along the walkway cast a golden glow, illuminating his face as he animatedly talked about his latest project...a series of paintings inspired by emotions that couldn’t be put into words.

“One of them is all jagged, sharp strokes for when you want to laugh and cry at the same time,” he explained, gesturing enthusiastically. “And another is this swirl of soft, pastel shades...it’s supposed to feel like when you’re overwhelmed but kind of happy about it. It’s chaos, but that’s the beauty of it!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Hyunjin, your whole life is chaos. How do you manage to make it look so effortless?”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling like the river reflecting the city lights. “That’s the secret! Chaos isn’t something you manage...it’s something you embrace. Like a dance.”

“A dance?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So, my life should be an interpretive dance of chaos?”

“Exactly!” he said, snapping his fingers as if he’d made a groundbreaking discovery. “And who better to teach you than me, the master of chaos?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming, you mean?” he quipped, his dimples making an appearance as he flashed you his signature cheeky grin.

But before you could retort, he stopped walking, his expression shifting into something softer, almost hesitant. The playful light in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a vulnerability that made your heart flutter.

“Actually…” he began, his voice quieter now, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What is it?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’d come to recognize. “I know I’ve been a bit of a whirlwind...crashing into your life with all my ridiculous ideas and dragging you into my chaos. But through it all, I’ve had the absolute best time getting to know you. And… I don’t want it to end.”

Your breath hitched, his words settling over you like a warm summer breeze.

“So,” he continued, stepping a little closer, “will you go on a date with me? A real one. No brainstorming, no interruptions...just you and me.”

You blinked, caught between surprise and the warmth blooming in your chest. “A real date?” you repeated, pretending to deliberate. “Does that mean I finally get a break from your creative chaos?”

He laughed, the sound light and full of relief. “I can’t promise that,” he admitted with a lopsided grin, “but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Controlled chaos.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you smiled at him. “Alright, Hyunjin. I’ll go on a date with you.”

The joy that lit up his face was brighter than the lanterns around you. He let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his grin widening until it reached his eyes. “Really? You will?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze. “But remember! you promised me controlled chaos.”

“Deal,” he said, his laughter carrying through the warm night air.

Then, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore, he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Your heart raced as you nodded, unable to speak.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice trembling with nervousness.

“Because I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and I just… I can’t wait anymore.”

The sincerity in his eyes made it impossible to resist. You nodded again, your breath catching as the world seemed to slow around you.

The smile that spread across his face was gentle and full of warmth. His hands reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “I’m kind of terrified right now,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice just as quiet.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was everything you didn’t know you needed - soft, warm, and filled with unspoken emotions that made your heart soar. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go. The warm breeze swirled around you, carrying the faint scent of flowers and the promise of something new.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a breathless laugh. “I didn’t mess that up, did I?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled, your hands resting on his chest. “Not even a little.”

His laughter bubbled up again, and he pulled you into a tight hug, his joy so infectious you couldn’t help but laugh along. As you stood there, wrapped in his arms beneath the warm summer sky, you realized something: Hyunjin wasn’t just chaos...he was your chaos. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

Fast forward to now, as you lay in bed scrolling through your phone, a fond smile tugged at your lips as you reminisced about how you met Hyunjin. Suddenly, your screen lit up with an incoming call, his name flashing across it. Without hesitation, you answered.

“Have you eaten?” he asked immediately, his voice warm and familiar, like a favorite melody.

You laughed softly. “Yes, Hyunjin, I’ve eaten. Have you?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Barely. Today was insane. The exhibition was pure chaos..like, actual chaos. One of the canvases fell off the wall mid-display, someone tripped over the lighting cords, and, oh, let’s not forget when I spilled paint on the gallery owner’s shoes.”

You winced, barely stifling a laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault my art invites so much… energy,” he defended, though the amusement in his voice was impossible to miss. “Anyway, how was Chuseok without me? Did your family miss me?”

“Oh, you know,” you teased, “the usual chaos: food, teasing, and… questions about you.”

“About me?” he asked cautiously, suspicion creeping into his tone. “What kind of questions?”

You hesitated, knowing his reaction would be priceless. “Well… my family wants to meet you. On Christmas.”

There was a brief pause. “They what?”

“They want to meet you,” you repeated, biting back a grin.

Hyunjin groaned dramatically. “Like, face-to-face? ‘Sit-down-and-talk-about-my-life’ meet me?”

“Exactly,” you said, barely suppressing your laughter.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “This is bad. Your dad’s going to grill me like I’m the main course. He’s probably already drafting a list of questions about my job, and when I panic and start talking about spaghetti metaphors, it’s all going to spiral. Your brother will just sit there smirking, waiting for me to mess up. And your grandma… she’s going to judge me for the way I hold chopsticks, isn’t she?”

You burst into laughter. “Relax, Hyunjin. My grandma only cares about two things: whether you bring good wine and if your fruit basket game is strong.”

“Wait, what?” he asked, his voice laced with panic. “I have to bring a fruit basket and wine? Is this a Christmas dinner or a survival challenge?”

“It’s festive but serious,” you replied, grinning. “Dad calls it:

‘An occasion for celebration and evaluation’

Which is basically code for: let’s judge you while enjoying ham.”

Hyunjin groaned again. “Why does your dad sound like he’s hosting auditions for the role of son-in-law?”

“Because he kind of is,” you teased, trying not to laugh at his distress.

“Great,” he deadpanned. “I’m walking into a festive firing squad. And I have to come armed with fruit and wine? Do they prefer a classic fruit basket or something more avant-garde? Should I arrange it in the shape of a Christmas tree? Or is that too much?”

“You’re overthinking it,” you assured him, still grinning. “Just grab some nice apples and oranges. Maybe throw in a pear or two for flair.”

“And the wine?” he asked, his voice rising in panic again. “Red or white? Sweet or dry? What if your dad secretly prefers whiskey and silently judges me for bringing wine? What if your grandma’s secretly a sommelier and I offend her with a cheap bottle?”

“Hyunjin,” you said, struggling to keep a straight face, “my grandma thinks boxed wine is fancy. You’ll be fine.”

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Okay, fruit basket, wine. Got it. Anything else? Do I need to dress up? Is there a secret handshake? Should I prepare a speech?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Just be yourself. Chaotic, but respectful chaos, remember?”

“Respectful chaos,” he repeated as if it were a mantra. “Alright. I can do this. But if your dad starts grilling me and I start rambling about spaghetti metaphors, you better jump in and save me.”

“Deal,” you said, still laughing.

“And if I survive this dinner,” he added mischievously, “you owe me a nice, peaceful date. No questions, no interrogations.”

“Deal,” you agreed.

As you hung up, you could already picture Hyunjin wandering through a store, agonizing over fruit basket aesthetics and wine labels. You knew Christmas dinner would be chaotic...after all, it always was. But with Hyunjin? It would be a chaos you wouldn’t trade for anything...

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

You used to think meeting a significant other’s family was nerve-wracking only for women. Oh, how wrong you were. In your case, it was your boyfriend, Hyunjin, who was spiraling into a full-blown, Oscar-worthy meltdown about Christmas dinner with your family.

Currently, you were perched on his bed, cross-legged, watching the spectacle unfold with a mix of amusement and secondhand anxiety. Hyunjin was on his third frantic lap through his closet, tossing sweaters and shirts around like a tornado. You leaned back against the pillows, silently debating whether to intervene or just let him burn off his dramatic energy.

“Hyunjin,” you finally said, trying to sound soothing, “it’s just dinner, not the Met Gala.”

He whirled around, clutching two wildly different sweaters: a classic black one and something that looked like it had been stolen from an 80s ski lodge. His face was the epitome of despair. “Just dinner? Do you understand what’s at stake here? This is Christmas dinner! Your dad is going to interrogate me like he’s hosting a true-crime podcast. He’ll ask about my job, my future, my intentions, and when I inevitably panic, I’ll start talking about spaghetti metaphors!”

“Spaghetti metaphors?” you repeated, biting back a laugh.

“Yes, it’s a thing!” He threw the black sweater onto the floor with a dramatic flourish. “When I get nervous, I talk in analogies. And somehow, everything ends up being about pasta. Last time I described my art process as ‘like boiling spaghetti,’ and the gallery owner looked like he wanted to fire me on the spot.”

By now, you were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. “Okay, so my dad might ask a few questions....”

“A few questions?!” he interrupted, his hands flying to his hair. “Your dad is going to stare into my soul, your brother is going to roast me like a Christmas ham, and your grandma...oh god, your grandma! She’s going to judge me for how I hold my chopsticks, isn’t she? Is there a secret technique? Should I start practicing now?”

“Relax,” you said between giggles. “Grandma doesn’t care about chopsticks. She cares about two things: if you bring good wine and if your fruit basket game is good or not. "

“Wine and fruit basket. Got it,” he said, nodding like he was preparing for battle. “Okay, one disaster averted. But what about my outfit? I can’t just show up looking like I rolled out of bed. I need to look… professional. No, wait—approachable. Charming. Like the perfect boyfriend. Do I look like the perfect boyfriend in this sweater?” He gestured to the ski-lodge monstrosity he was now wearing.

“Honestly?” you said, grinning. “You look like a backup dancer for an 80s Christmas music video.”

“Great,” he groaned, tossing the sweater aside. “I’m doomed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Or… we could just go to the mall and find something nice. Something that says ‘respectable artist’ instead of ‘escaped circus performer.’”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Mall? Yes. Let’s go. I can feel it—I’m going to find the perfect outfit.”

Fast forward to the mall, where Hyunjin had already tried on and rejected half the men’s section. Three blazers, two turtlenecks, and enough dress shirts to outfit a boy band later, you were starting to lose hope.

And then it happened.

You saw it before Hyunjin did...a pair of metallic, shimmering boots that practically glowed under the store lights.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, already sensing doom.

But Hyunjin’s eyes widened with pure delight. “Oh yes,” he whispered, making a beeline for the display.

“Hyunjin, no,” you said firmly, following after him.

“Hyunjin, yes!” he countered, picking up one of the boots like it was the Holy Grail. “These boots are everything. They’re bold, they’re iconic, they scream ‘fearless boyfriend.’”

“They scream ‘disco ball meets midlife crisis,’” you deadpanned, staring at the blindingly shiny boots.

“Your family will love them!” he said, slipping one on and striking a pose. “Look at this. I’m making a statement.”

“Yeah, the statement is, ‘Please stop staring at my feet,’” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

A sales assistant wandered over, clearly trying not to laugh. “Those are… bold,” she said diplomatically.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin replied, beaming. “I’ll take them.”

“Hyunjin, no!” you protested, but it was too late. He was already at the counter, handing over his credit card like he’d just won the lottery.

As you left the store, Hyunjin practically skipping with his shiny new boots, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “your family is going to remember me forever.”

“Oh, they’ll remember you,” you said. “They might even still be talking about you next Christmas.”

“Good,” he replied with that signature grin. “First impressions matter.”

“You do realize my dad’s going to ask you about your job, right? While you’re wearing those?”

“Exactly!” he said, his grin widening. “When I tell him I’m an artist, the boots will speak for themselves. They say, ‘This man is fearless.’”

You groaned, shaking your head. “You’re killing me, Hyunjin.”

And as you both walked toward the parking lot, Hyunjin proudly clutching his shiny new boots like they were priceless treasures, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of amusement and dread. Christmas dinner with your family was already shaping up to be an unforgettable event...though whether for good or chaotic reasons remained to be seen...

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

“Alright, so we’ve got the boots,” you said, trying to suppress a grin. “But there’s still one tiny thing left to handle: the fruit basket.”

“Yes, the fruit basket,” he repeated, nodding seriously. Then, with a sudden drop in his voice, he added, “I really hope I don’t mess it up.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing at his dramatic tone. “It’s fruit, Hyunjin. Not a job interview. Let’s just find something nice and call it a day.”

The two of you headed to a fancy grocery store, where Hyunjin immediately locked eyes with the aisles of meticulously arranged fruits. To him, it seemed, this was no ordinary shopping trip. He surveyed the scene like a warrior choosing his weapon for battle.

“I’ve never felt so much pressure over fruit,” he muttered, holding up an apple like it was a rare artifact. “Do you think this one says, ‘I’m responsible and thoughtful’?”

“It’s just an apple,” you replied, trying to keep him grounded.

“But it’s the apple,” he insisted, turning it over in his hands. “It needs to symbolize my commitment to this dinner. The apple is my ticket to acceptance!”

You watched as he placed the perfectly fine apple back and instead grabbed a comically oversized one, clearly trying to make a statement. “Hyunjin, it’s a fruit basket, not a résumé.”

After what felt like an eternity of inspecting, analyzing, and overthinking every piece of produce, you finally settled on an assortment. Hyunjin proudly selected a particularly dramatic pineapple, claiming it “looked artistic” and would anchor the whole basket.

At checkout, his confidence was back in full force. “I think I nailed it,” he said, beaming. “This fruit basket says, ‘I’m here for family, but I’m also a little extra.’”

“Perfect,” you said, nodding. “Now just don’t forget the most important part of Christmas dinner.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his curiosity genuine.

“Grandma’s dance,” you said casually.

His face fell instantly. “What?”

“Oh, don’t act surprised,” you teased. “Every year, after dinner, my grandma gets up and does her little dance. It’s her tradition.”

“No,” he said, wide-eyed and panicked. “Please, no. I can’t do this. I can’t even dance in front of you, let alone an audience.”

“Sorry, but you’re in it now,” you said, smirking. You could already picture the scene...your grandma in her festive red sweater and apron, hopping and twirling around the living room with surprising energy.

“You’re telling me... your grandma dances?” Hyunjin asked, his disbelief apparent.

“Yep,” you said, barely holding back your laughter. “And she’s good at it. Don’t be shocked if she pulls you up to join her.”

Hyunjin looked like he was seriously considering fleeing. “This is my worst nightmare.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, nudging him. “It’ll be fun. You’ll blend right in.”

“Blend in? Wearing shiny boots and holding a fruit basket, dancing with your grandma in front of your entire family? Sure, what could go wrong?” he muttered, shaking his head in despair.

“Exactly. Nothing to worry about,” you said with a grin.

He shot you a look. “If I trip, I’m blaming the boots.”

“And I’ll be in the front row with my camera,” you teased, watching him glare at the boots like they were both his greatest triumph and his downfall.

“Great,” he sighed dramatically. “Immortalized forever on your grandma’s Instagram: shiny boots, fruit basket, and all. Perfect.”

You laughed as you both headed back to your place, bracing for the chaos to come. Between Hyunjin’s flair for theatrics, your grandma’s impromptu dance moves, and a family that wouldn’t let anything slide, Christmas dinner was bound to be a spectacle.

But as you glanced over at him, shiny boots and pineapple in tow, you couldn’t help but smile. If anyone could survive the night...and somehow make it charming...it was Hyunjin. Chaos, quirks, and all...

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

As you and Hyunjin approached your family’s front door, his steps growing slower with every inch closer. For the fifth time since leaving the car, he adjusted the fruit basket in his hands. “Do you think the pineapple’s too much?” he asked, glancing nervously at the artfully arranged assortment.

You turned to face him, stifling a laugh. “Hyunjin, it’s a fruit basket, not a dowry. Relax.”

He sighed, unconvinced. “But what if your dad thinks the pineapple is, I don’t know, pretentious? Or worse!, what if he hates mangoes?”

“Who hates mangoes?” you asked, amused.

“I don’t know!” he whispered dramatically, his eyes wide. “I just really want to make a good impression.”

“You’ll be fine,” you said, reaching up to straighten his slightly crooked tie. “Just be yourself.”

He shot you a skeptical look. “Being myself has historically led to chaos.”

“Lucky for you, my family thrives on chaos,” you teased, giving him an encouraging smile before ringing the doorbell.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing your grandma, her face lighting up when she saw you. “There’s my favorite granddaughter!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a quick hug before her gaze shifted to Hyunjin. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And who’s this tall drink of water?”

Hyunjin, caught off guard, thrust the fruit basket and bottle of wine toward her like peace offerings. “Hello, ma’am. I brought this for your family. The fruit selection is... uh, curated.”

Grandma took the basket, inspecting it like it was a work of art. “Curated, you say? Well, look at this pineapple...very artistic. You’ve got an eye for detail, young man.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hyunjin said, bowing slightly.

“And wine, too?” she added, holding up the bottle. “Now we’re talking. Come in, you’re already off to a good start.”

As you stepped inside, Hyunjin scanned the room, taking in the cozy chaos of your family’s Christmas decor. Twinkling lights covered every surface, stockings hung unevenly on the mantel, and the Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, laden with mismatched ornaments.

But before he could comment on the festive ambiance, his shiny boots betrayed him. He slipped on the polished floor, flailing for balance until his arm instinctively grabbed the closest thing - your beloved Christmas tree.

Grandma, still holding the fruit basket, let out a laugh that echoed through the room. “Well, that’s certainly one way to make an entrance.”

Hyunjin quickly let go of the tree, brushing pine needles off his sleeve with an embarrassed grin. “Honestly, it’s a very... huggable tree.”

Your dad, watching the scene unfold from his armchair, raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “So, this is the boyfriend?”

“Yes, Dad,” you said quickly, stepping in before Hyunjin could spiral. “This is Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin straightened up under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. “Sir,” he said respectfully, bowing.

Before your dad could say anything, your mom entered from the kitchen, her festive apron dusted with flour. “Hyunjin, welcome! You’ve already charmed Mom with that fruit basket, so you’re doing well so far.”

Hyunjin gave a small, nervous smile. ��Thank you, ma’am. I’m happy to be here.”

“Let’s see how long that lasts,” your brother said as he strolled in, a smirk on his face. He gestured toward the tree. “Hugging the decorations already? Bold choice.”

“It was... an artistic reflex,” Hyunjin replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your dad cleared his throat, the room falling silent as he leaned back in his chair. “Hyunjin, let’s talk. What do you do for a living?”

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment, glancing at you for reassurance. “I’m an artist, sir. I specialize in abstract painting.”

“Abstract painting,” your dad repeated, his tone even. “Interesting. How does one make a career out of that?”

Hyunjin straightened his shoulders, his voice steady. “I showcase my work in galleries and take on commissions. It’s about creating connections and telling stories through colors and forms.”

Your brother let out a snort. “So... finger painting for grown-ups?”

You glared at him, but before you could defend Hyunjin, he laughed. “Not quite, but I’ll admit it can get messy sometimes.”

“Messy, huh?” your dad said, leaning back in his chair, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. “And what are your intentions with my daughter?”

Hyunjin’s face turned a shade redder than the poinsettias on the table. “My intentions are... entirely honorable, sir. I care about her deeply, and I...”

“Want to hug her like the tree?” your brother cut in, earning a sharp glare from you and a chuckle from your mom.

“Enough teasing,” your mom said, stepping in to rescue him. She smiled at Hyunjin. “For what it’s worth, I like you. Anyone who can handle my mom’s humor and not run for the hills is good in my book.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hyunjin replied, his relief evident.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” your grandma piped up, a mischievous glint in her eye. “There’s one final test. Every Christmas, we dance. And since you’re part of this gathering now, you’re up.”

“Dance?” Hyunjin repeated, his voice rising slightly in pitch.

“Oh, yes,” your grandma said as she made her way to the stereo. “You’re going to have to keep up with me.”

Your brother leaned back on the couch, smirking. “This is going to be epic. Grandma’s got moves.”

Your dad crossed his arms, an amused glint in his eyes. “Consider it part of your initiation.”

Hyunjin shot you a look of pure desperation as festive music began to play. “You’re not going to save me, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said, laughing.

With surprising agility, your grandma started twirling across the room, her movements almost defying her age. Hyunjin took a deep breath and hesitantly joined her. What followed was a chaotic, laugh-out-loud performance as Hyunjin tried to keep up with your grandma’s energetic spins and dips. He stumbled through a few steps, narrowly avoided tripping over a stray stocking, and accidentally sent a candy cane flying off the tree.

Your brother was in hysterics, snapping photos. “This is comedy gold. I’m framing this.”

Your mom leaned toward you, her expression warm. “He’s charming,” she whispered. “I think he’s a keeper.”

You smiled, watching Hyunjin finish the dance with a dramatic, albeit unsteady, flourish. “I think so too.”

Panting but triumphant, Hyunjin received a hearty clap on the back from your grandma. “Not bad, artist boy,” she said with a grin. “You’ve got spirit.”

Hyunjin gave a shaky thumbs-up, still catching his breath. “I told you... I’m dynamic... and vibing.”

The room erupted into laughter, filling the space with the kind of warmth only family can create.

As the laughter subsided, Hyunjin collapsed into the nearest chair, wiping his brow. “Your grandma should be a dance instructor,” he said, still smiling. “I feel like I just survived an audition for Dancing with the Stars.”

Your grandma smirked, pouring herself a glass of wine. “Oh, honey, if you think that was tough, wait until I challenge you to a salsa battle next year.”

“Next year?” Hyunjin repeated, his eyes wide as he looked at you for backup.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, patting his shoulder. “You’ll have a whole year to practice.”

Your brother, still scrolling through the pictures he’d taken, held up his phone. “I’m definitely printing this one,” he said, showing a particularly unflattering shot of Hyunjin mid-spin, arms flailing wildly.

Hyunjin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” your brother replied, grinning. “I’m thinking Christmas cards. Maybe even a calendar.”

Your dad, who had been quietly observing the chaos with a faint smile, finally spoke up. “All right, enough tormenting the poor guy. Let’s move on to dinner. I’m starving.”

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

Your mom emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray of appetizers with practiced ease. “Dinner will be ready soon,” she said, setting the tray down. “In the meantime, why don’t we all sit and let Hyunjin catch his breath?”

As everyone moved toward the dining table, Hyunjin leaned in close to you. “Your family is... something else,” he murmured, equal parts amused and overwhelmed.

“They like you,” you whispered back, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze under the table. “Even my brother. This is just how they test people.”

“Test me?” he asked, arching a brow. “I feel like I’ve just survived an Olympic event.”

“Consider it a rite of passage,” you said with a grin.

Once everyone was seated, your dad picked up where he’d left off, his tone now more conversational. “So, Hyunjin, tell me more about your art. Where do you find your inspiration?”

Hyunjin straightened up, clearly more comfortable with the question. “A lot of my inspiration comes from emotions - joy, chaos, even moments like this,” he said, gesturing to the lively scene around the table. “I try to capture the energy of an experience and translate it visually.”

Your grandma, mid-bite of a canapé, perked up. “So, you’d paint this? A Christmas dinner with a fruit basket centerpiece and a tree barely standing after you hugged it?”

Hyunjin laughed. “Exactly. I’d call it Festive Mayhem.”

Your brother smirked. “Can I be in it? As the voice of reason, obviously.”

You rolled your eyes. “Voice of reason? You’re the cause of most of the chaos.”

“Hey,” your brother said, holding up his hands in mock defense. “I’m just making sure the boyfriend is worthy of my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister,” you shot back.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” he replied with a wink.

Your dad chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well, Hyunjin, you’ve made it through the dance floor and my questions. That’s no small accomplishment.”

“And you’ve won over Grandma,” your mom added with a warm smile. “That might be the hardest part.”

Hyunjin let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Honestly, I was prepared to sneak out of here in the fruit basket if things went south.”

Your grandma raised her glass, eyes twinkling. “To Hyunjin and his shiny boots! May they carry him through many more family gatherings.”

“Hear, hear!” your brother chimed in, lifting his mug of hot chocolate.

Hyunjin laughed, finally letting his guard down as he clinked glasses with everyone. As dinner was served and the conversation turned to lighter topics, he leaned over to you again, his tone softer. “You were right,” he said, smiling. “Your family thrives on chaos... but I kind of love it.”

You glanced around the table....your dad telling one of his signature groan-worthy Christmas jokes, your mom debating recipes with your grandma, and your brother mock-arguing over the “correct” way to hang tinsel...and smiled. “I told you they’d like you.”

Hyunjin’s fingers found yours under the table, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m starting to like them too. Even your brother. Sort of.”

“High praise,” you teased, nudging him lightly.

By the time dessert was served and gifts were exchanged, Hyunjin was laughing alongside your family as if he’d been part of it for years. Your grandma even roped him into another impromptu salsa dance, which he tackled with much more confidence and far fewer collisions.

----------------------------------‐-----------------------

After dinner, the house buzzed with the warmth of a festive afterglow. The hum of your family’s laughter and chatter filled the living room, but you and Hyunjin slipped upstairs to your bedroom, seeking a moment of quiet amidst the chaos.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the lively sounds from downstairs became a muffled hum. Hyunjin leaned back against the door, exhaling dramatically. “That was... an experience,” he said with a breathy laugh, his face a mix of relief and amusement.

You smiled, crossing the room to him. “An experience, huh? That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “Okay, fine. It was borderline chaotic. But also kind of amazing.”

You laughed softly, reaching out to brush a stray pine needle off his shoulder. “You survived. That’s what counts.”

“Survived?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I conquered. Well, maybe stumbled my way through, but still...points for effort?”

You chuckled, leaning against him. “You more than earned your points. My family already adores you...pineapple and all.”

Hyunjin’s face softened, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “Your family is wild, but I can see where you get it from. They’re... wonderful.”

His arms found their way around you, pulling you into a cozy hug. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The whirlwind of the evening melted away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, perfect moment.

“Thank you for tonight,” you murmured, your voice soft against the fabric of his sweater. “For putting up with my brother’s teasing, Grandma’s dancing, and everything in between.”

Hyunjin chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly under your cheek. “Honestly? I loved every second of it. Even the salsa battle I wasn’t prepared for.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your smile widening. “You were amazing out there. I mean, the tree might not agree, but still.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart flutter. “I was just giving the tree some love. It looked lonely.”

You playfully swatted his arm, and he caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Seriously, though,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’d go through all the chaos in the world if it meant being with you.”

The sincerity in his words made your cheeks warm, and you felt your heart swell. “You’re too good to be true,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Hyunjin smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Me too. Chaos and all, this is one of the best nights I’ve ever had.”

The distant sounds of your family’s laughter drifted up the stairs, a warm reminder of the love and joy that had filled the evening. But here, in this quiet bubble with Hyunjin, it felt like time had slowed. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his hand came up to gently cradle your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with emotion.

Your breath caught, and you nodded, unable to hide your smile. “You don’t have to ask.”

His lips curved into a soft smile before he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The kiss was tender, sweet, and slow, like he was pouring every unspoken word and feeling into it. The world seemed to blur and quiet around you, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the taste of his kiss.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes still closed. “You make all of this worth it,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of sincerity.

Your heart swelled, and you smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re worth it too.”

Hyunjin laughed lightly, the sound vibrating between you. “Are you sure you’re not a dream? Because this feels too good to be real.”

“If I’m a dream, then don’t wake up,” you teased, your voice playful but full of affection.

He grinned, stealing one more quick kiss before pulling you back into his arms. And as the muffled sounds of your family’s laughter continued downstairs, you stayed wrapped up in the quiet joy of this perfect moment with him, knowing it was one you’d never forget....

☃︎♡ Bonus - Man's so hot he really makes even shiny boots and shiny pants stand out with an artistic impression 😌🤌😍🫠 ( Like how can you not drool 🫣)

☃︎♡Tags - @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @yangbbokari @theo4eve @livelovelaughmiko @silverstarburst @galaxycatdrawz @skzoologist @shua-f4lmings @iknowyouknowminho @krisstheidiot @hyunjinhoexxx @gho-ster @ezlynkisses @elmoslungcancer @b1nn1e-1s-cut3 @seungseung-minmin @cuddlylonelyperson @jeonginsleftcheek @oreoqueen @freekyfangirl

Comment your @ If you wish to be added or removed from this list ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

☃︎♡ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!

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truly-neutral-art · 10 months ago

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Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.2

Pt.1 | Pt.3 | Pt.4

Another addition to this AU because It's been living in my head rent free for ages. I can't do a Pacific Rim AU without recreating the iconic Kwoon scene. Also, I was too lazy to draw backgrounds so I just stole them from the movie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Under the cut is a teaser of the fic I'm trying to write. It's a first draft, so there's probably some mistakes. Also, I'm still kind of in Screen Writing mode from school, so please don't mind if there's not a lot of internal character narration.

“Four points to two,” Luke calls after the final candidate falls. His emotions are carefully masked on his face but Din can see how tense he is.

“We’re wasting time, Marshal. He’s barely compatible with any of them, this isn’t going to work,” Luke says.

“What do you suggest?” The Marshal raises a brow.

“Put me in charge, I’m drift compatible with several cadets. We don’t need him.” Luke gestures towards Din. The look on his face makes Din’s blood boil. Contempt. What did he ever do to Luke to earn this?

“What’s your problem, Skywalker?” Din stomps towards the edge of the mat.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think you're the right man for the job,” Luke replies. He’s now turned squarely towards Din, his face back to that eerie calm. It sends a shiver down Din’s spine.

“No, there’s more. You’ve got a problem with me.” Din steps closer, trying to ignore the piercing blue of Luke’s eyes.

“Enough! both of you.” Marshal Skywalker turns to them both.

“If you think you’re so much better, then let’s go.” Din points his bō at Luke. “If you win, you can pilot the Crest. If I win, you back off.” Din holds Luke's gaze, projecting his challenge.

“Neither of you are in the position to make that decision,” Anakin states, breaking the spell.

“What? Think your own blood isn’t good enough to beat me?” Din didn’t know Marshal Skywalker that well, but from what he did know, the man was prideful. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but it got him what he wanted.

The Martial turned towards Luke, earning his attention. No words were exchanged between them, the Martial simply gave a nod. A brief look of satisfaction washed over Luke’s face. Din turned towards the mat to prepare for the fight before Luke’s eyes turned back to him.

Luke stepped to the edge of the mat, shoes and outer shirt removed. He bowed at the waist before stepping forward. He was in a simple black tank top and the standard cargo pants. It was the first time Din had seen any of his skin exposed beyond his face. His arms and neck were covered in pale, lightning-like scars that looked like they extended beyond what Din could see. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. He knew almost nothing about Luke when he really thought about it. Only what he heard from the news from the past four years.

He had to admit, it made him earn a little more respect for the kid. At first he’d seemed like a petulant child who was getting his favorite toy taken away, but now, Din wasn’t as sure that was the case. He had no more time to think on it as he and Luke passed each other on the mat, walking to opposite sides, then turning to face each other.

In the blink of an eye Luke swung his bō with the finesse of a warrior. He moved forward before stopping in the middle of the mat as he pulled his bō up in defense. Din followed suit, taking on a more aggressive starting position. He could tell Luke was analyzing him, eyes flitting around to every point of his body. Din took the opportunity to attack. In one swift moment he had his bō mimicking a strike at Luke’s skull.

“One, Zero.” The words had barely left his mouth before Luke made a counter attack. In a flash Luke had reversed their positions with a satisfied smirk.

Without wasting any more time the two began to fight again in an explosion of movement. The people in the kwoon reacted to them, but Din’s focus narrowed in until it was only them in the room. He watched Luke’s movements carefully, anticipating and blocking every attack that came and returning his own. He picked up on a franticness in Lukes’s movements and took advantage, landing an attack on his ribs.

“You’re too eager, you’re projecting your moves,” Din commented as they reset.

“I don’t need your advice.” Despite his words, Luke waited, ready for Din’s next move.

Luke swiftly blocked everything Din threw at him and pushed back even harder. In the next moment Luke attacked with a flurry of blows, catching Din off guard. He was stronger than he looked.

“Two, two.” Luke had once again evened the score.

There was barely a pause before they were at it again. This bout lasted longer than the others, both having picked up on each other’s gambit. They danced around each other, the only sound in Din’s ears were the clacking of their bō staffs and their heavy breathing. Neither was holding back.

In a blur of motion Luke darted towards Din’s legs, throwing him off balance. Din rolled out of the throw but as he lifted his head he was met with Luke’s bō to his throat. Luke's eyes were no less intense this close.

“Two, Three.” Luke stepped back into a ready position. “Better watch out, Djarin.” There was a satisfied smirk on his face. He was winning. Din wouldn’t give up that easily.

He pulled out every trick he had, but Luke seemed to always be a step ahead. He was too fast, almost as if he could read Din’s mind. From the outside it would almost look like this was rehearsed. In the end, it was Din’s weight advantage that won him the point. He moved in close and pinned Luke's arm before throwing him down to the mat. The blond hit the ground on his back, breath escaping his lungs from the impact.

Din almost went to help him up but Luke threw his legs backwards into a handstand before standing back up. He barely looked affected, the only sign of fatigue on him was the sweat on his forehead that matted down his blond hair.

“Three, Three,” Din called. “And there’s no need to show off.”

The next point would declare a winner. There was a smile on Luke’s face, different from the ones before. This one was more open, leaving Din feeling dizzy instead of insulted.

Din tried to understand it but there was no more time to ponder as Luke set on his next attacks. He was more aggressive than he’d been the rest of the fight but Din pushed back, not without some difficulty. Luke danced around Din with a frightening agility. The only thing that kept Din in the fight for so long were his reflexes. He knew he had to end this fight soon or Luke would eventually wear him down.

In a decisive move Din attacked at Luke’s head, trading off his defense for offense. He had Luke on the move, nearly pushing him off the mat. However, before he could land a finishing blow Luke darted to the side, slipping his leg between Din’s and toppling him to the floor. When Din processed what happened, he was pinned under Luke’s hips on his chest and his bō at his neck.

Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd, but Din’s view had narrowed into Luke as he stood up. Din stayed on the ground, still a bit stunned from the end of the fight. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about its outcome. But one thing was for certain, he and Luke were drift compatible. Very drift compatible.

Din was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realize Luke was reaching down to him until his hand was in his face. He took it and allowed Luke to help him to his feet.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Luke asked.

“Yeah.”

#dinluke #star wars #luke skywalker #din djarin #art #dinluke fanart #fanfic #fanfiction #pacific rim au #dinluke au #tru's dinluke pacific rim au

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cherrynflowergarden · 4 months ago

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Hey girly, do u tk requests?? If so can u plz do Kenan y. W a desi reader? It can be a fluff or whatever u like 💗

bf!kenan x desi!reader headcanons

masterlist taglist

bf!kenan who tries to learn as much as he can about your culture.

bf!kenan who learns hindi or your native language to impress you and your family.

bf!kenan who can't eat anything spicy but really loves the spicy foods.

bf!kenan who calls you "meri jaan" (my life).

bf!kenan who loves when you wear traditional kurtis and sarees.

bf!kenan who does the "hayeee" expression with a hand on his heart. (yaar me and who)

bf!kenan who recreates all the iconic bollywood moments with you.

bf!kenan who becomes a bollywood enthusiast when he starts dating you.

bf!kenan who loves to go on street food dates. he definitely has an unhealthy obsession with pani puris.

bf!kenan who loves when you apply mehndi (henna) on your hands. he definitely dots way too much after you when you have henna clad hands.

bf!kenan who demands you to put mehndi every festival.

bf!kenan who enjoys so much in a big fat desi wedding.

bf!kenan who starts using random hindi words in daily conversations.

"bhai (bro) let's go there tomorrow" "haa haa (yes) sure" "he's pagal (insane)"

bf!kenan who looks like a bomb in kurta. (likeeee imagine him with black kurta and folded sleeves mai mar gayi)

bf!kenan who side eyes people who say chai tea.

bf!kenan who will match his kurta to your saree. (bhagwan mai kab)

bf!kenan who had a hard time convincing your desi parents that he indeed is a good boyfriend for their daughter, but now gets damaad (son in law) treatment from them. your parents call him "beta" (son) and he loves every second of it.

an; THIS IS WHAT I WANT OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DESI READER REQUEST 🌷🌷🌷my mind is completely blank rn omg so sorry this was short but more desi!reader x someone soon???

taglist; @eirianna @thebasicbiatch @katamcauley @wxnyzie @lilmear-blog @vrlixlia @star-fuck-off @embonbon @idkversace @annawilk @r0nnsblog @weluvwbb @c1ydessturniolo @vintagebishx @maddie-belle @timmdmdm @happydiplomatshepherdspy-blog @crispycitrus @faith-f1 @escapentropy @florscons @carlossainzwho @luckylampzonkland @lewisroscoelove @mudryklover @rageshots @dontworryaboutit007 @chair-things @myangelbaby555 @sheesh1311 @f1lovely @silia1raf @blahbel668 @my-dinos-life-is-good @ssturniolo92 @lilly6110 @lou-larcher5 @arminluvrr @mxryxmfooty @gabri3la-sturns @bellsboops @f1-and-shiz

#cherrynflowergarden🦢🌹🍒#kenan yıldız #kenan yildiz #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz x you #football #arda güler #turkiye #desi!reader #joao felix #jude bellingham #pablo gavi

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another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

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LEVIATHAN x gn!Reader 0.6k Words | NSFW | Silly Fluff & Kissing -> Prompt: Kissing in the Rain [ obey me! masterlist ]

There’s a lot of things you would gladly do for Levi if he asked you to. You know him well enough by now that you try to anticipate what he wants so he doesn’t have to ask for things—being forward is still something he struggles with.

That’s why when he tugs your hand after class and leads you to a random tree in the pouring rain, you find it difficult to refuse, no matter how odd it seems. Your RAD uniforms are soaked, but he doesn't seem to care in the slightest. He tosses his bag against the tree trunk before he starts climbing up to one of the higher branches.

“Levi?” you called to him, and you sounded as nervous as you felt. “What’s going on?” There's no way you're climbing up the tree too, if that's what he's thinking.

Other than a brief glance in your direction, he doesn't answer because he's too focused on finding his footing. He steps gingerly onto one of the branches and sits down. He shifts into his true form and curls his tail around the tree branch to steady himself. He looks excited before he suddenly swings upside down, and his knees and tail keep him anchored so he doesn't slip. He waves you over until you're standing in front of him, almost face-to-face.

He stares at you expectantly, and something clicks into place when you try to remember why this seems so familiar.

Three weeks ago…

“That can’t be comfortable. Wouldn’t the water go up his nose?”

“Yes, but real life physics aside, this was an iconic movie moment when I was growing up! I thought it was really romantic the first time I saw it.”

“Pfft, humans are weird, you know that?”

“I’ll show you weird!”

“Hey, that tickles! Okay, okay, fine, I give up—!”

“Wait, are you doing this because of the movie?” you ask him incredulously.

He blinks at you like the answer is obvious, because it is obvious; he’s the only person you know that would even think of trying to recreate an awkward kiss from a superhero movie for you.

“You said it was romantic,” he says simply, gesturing to the tree. “And I was curious about the mechanics of it,” then he adds softly, “and how it would feel.”

(He doesn’t admit how long it took to find a tree with branches at the correct height to do this. Even after he found the right tree, he still didn’t have the nerve to ask you to come here on either of the days it rained, prior to today.)

“Alright, one kiss, and then you’re climbing down,” you insist. You cupped his chilly, rain-soaked cheeks in your hands; his cheeks dimple when he smiles and nods.

(Later when you're both rightside-up and in a warm bath, you'll tell him how much you appreciate him doing these sweet, silly things for you.).

You’ve shared many kisses with Levi, but none have felt like this. The kiss feels awkward at first, and you wonder why you ever thought that silly Hollywood kiss could work in real life. Your mouths don’t slot together perfectly and you bump his nose with your chin.

You try to pull back and apologize, but one of his hands curls around the back of your head and keeps you in place. He hums into the kiss, and he surprises you again when he��s the one moving his lips against you with a bit more urgency, and he flicks his tongue at the seam of your mouth. The kiss still isn’t perfect, but the new sensations feel pleasant in their own way.

When he lets his hand slip away from the back of your neck, the kiss ends abruptly. There’s heat churning inside your belly now, and the cool rain soaking your clothes offers no relief.

Levi seems to sense the love and lust radiating from you, and he’s so proud that he made you feel that way that it makes the effort more than worthwhile. Within an instant, he pulls himself into a sitting position on the branch so he can hop down from the tree safely.

He picks up his bag quickly and holds out his hand to you. There's a fiery gleam in his eyes that promises a continuation of what he started in the warm, dry privacy of his bedroom.

#obey me leviathan #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #leviathan x reader #obey me smut #omswd smut #leviathan smut #obey me levi x mc #leviathan x mc #obey me levi x you #leviathan x you #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #gn!reader #jes.2k event

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 6 months ago

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Twisters AU - meeting the in laws

Been thinking about Twisters and that iconic moment they recreated with the dude pressed up against the girl trying to protect her from the incoming tornado, practically wrapping himself around her as they both cling to the uprights for dear life....

I wouldn't mind seeing that happen with Kara and Lena, except in this version Lena would be the one promising she's got Kara, "I've got you, it's okay, I've got you", while Kara is one hundred percent being triggered by the past literally repeating itself around her.

Then afterwards, Kara is basically unresponsive, so once Lena passes the mom and the kid off to the paramedics, she returns to where Kara is sitting numb in the bottom of the pool, and just sits with her, holding her hands to ground Kara until Kara eventually comes round enough to move.

When she has the presence of mind to actually look at Lena and read the woman's expression, she realizes that Lena understands what's happening-- that Lena likely knows (has always known) who Kara is and her tragic backstory. But there's no judgement in it, only calm assurance.

They only part ways when their respective teams show up. Lena gives Kara's shoulder a reassuring rub before disengaging, shooting Mike (because of course Mon el would be the scummy stooge working for the Luthors under the radar) as she goes. When Mike fusses over Kara, Kara can't help but wish Lena was still with her, missing the woman's staid presence and the bubble of calm around her that had extended to envelop Kara as well.

When Kara eventually confronts Mike about his work for the Luthors and their predatory practices, and basically bites his head off about it, Lena watches from afar, and when Mike storms off to lick his wounds, Lena splits from her crew and approaches Kara once more. Kara can only try to pretend she isn't relieved by her return-- she isn't sure she's successful.

"Hey, ah--" Lena lifts one hand to scrub the back of her neck, plainly nervous in a way Kara's never seen her before. "I'm gonna let my guys handle things on the ground here. Can I-- would you like to come somewhere with me?"

Kara stares, and Lena realizes how weird she'd worded the request. She flushes.

"I mean-- I've got someone I think you should meet."

Kara ultimately-- inevitably-- agrees. Because it's Lena and she needs Lena right now. In the same way she'd needed Alex so desperately after her sister had died, but also... in a different way. A new way. She nods, and before she knows it they're heading to what Kara eventually realizes is Lena's hometown.

When they pull up to a quaint farmhouse standing amid acres of land, Lena throws the truck into park with a smile that Kara hasn't seen before. It carries the warmth of relief and familiarity, and Kara knows that they've arrived to where Lena has spent the majority of her life-- where her heart has always remained.

Lena hops out first, shutting the car door before reaching through the open window to beep out a "shave and a haircut" on the horn as Kara comes around the side to meet her. Lena snags her cowboy hat off the dash and settles it over her braids, shooting Kara a bright smile as the door opens and a lanky woman trots out wearing a grin not so different from Lena's.

"I wasn't expecting you til Labor Day!" the woman exclaims, throwing her arms around Lena in a fierce hug that Lena returns just as enthusiastically. "Ohhh, I've missed you!"

Kara hovers awkwardly, unwilling to interrupt the moment, but well. Clearly an interloper. When Lena and their host part, Lena cocks her head with her arm slung around the woman's shoulders.

"Kara, this is my mother, Jo." She doesn't really need to say it-- the similarities abound, from the bright glint in their eyes and the bright, keen smiles that crease their features, both warm and inviting. Lena glances sidelong at her mother, then slides her gaze to Kara.

"Mom, this is Kara."

#twisters au #i think its settled #lena is the wrangler #kara is the grad student #i'm still thinking about how lena might have gotten scooped up by the luthors to establish that connection #or maybe she's never actually interacted with the luthors herself #she just knows who her dad is bc jo never lied to her #and did her own research about the family and decided she'd do everything in her power to counter them #including making fools out of their fields teams

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the-seas-song · 2 months ago

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Stony & Natasha Moments in What If Happy Hogan Saved Christmas?

I’m not usually a fan of What If?, but this episode is everything I never knew I needed. So for its 1st anniversary, I thought I would make a few posts!

Disclaimer: This post won't make sense unless you've already seen the episode.

I've been screaming into the void for years about how Natasha has been Steve and Tony's co-leader since A1, and this episode subtly reaffirms this!

It starts with these close-ups of Tony, Steve, and Natasha. We also get an additional shot of Tony and Steve together - a pattern that will continue!

We next see Natasha starring as the Sugar Plum Fairy in a special performance of The Nutcracker. She is hyper-competent and the first person Happy calls for help:

Happy: "Natasha? Natasha! Natasha: "Hey Happy, not a great time. I'm being held at gunpoint by a former Hydra agent with 17 kills." Agent: "18 kills. You forgot Nigeria." Natasha: "Oh that was you? Show off." Happy: "Uh... you want me to get you help?" Natasha: "Oh no, I've got this. See you at the party!" [gunshots] Happy: "Yeah, she'll be fine."

Happy then calls Tony, who is playing Santa and getting annoyed with the kids love for Steve: "Perfect timing. Happy, can you tell Timmy here that a replica Cap shield is nothing but a patriotic frisbee?"

Happy responds, "Tony, it's an emergency!" But Tony isn't paying attention - he has stopped glaring at the kid and notices Steve is being swarmed, "Whoa! Trouble here too. Soccer moms are cornering Cap. Gotta go!"

(Also, it's interesting to see that they made Tony's eyes blue - like they are in the comics - instead of brown - like they are in the MCU, Avengers Assemble, etc)

Poor Steve is just standing there, mentally suffering, while women yank him around.

There are no words big enough to describe how much I love Steve being the Elf to Tony's Santa! This scene checks all of my Stony and bottom!Steve boxes. I love it so much! (I even made a pic post celebrating elf!Steve)

Despite all his bluster, Tony is extremely worried about Steve.

Also, it turns out that Tony's public gift for Steve is Iron Man socks. He wants to see his man rocking his merch!

I'm including these shots of the (marketing?) office because 1) I NEED replicas of these posters, stat; and 2) it proves that having Natasha, Tony, and Steve be the only Avengers making public appearances on Christmas Eve was a choice that was planned long in advance. This is more proof that Natasha is Steve and Tony's co-leader.

A nice group shot, with Tony, Steve, and Natasha standing next to each other. Steve and Natasha are still in their costumes, even though they're about to enter a fight!

Recreation of the iconic moment in Age of Ultron's opening sequence, with Steve in-between Tony and Natasha.

Tony and Steve get thrown backwards. Tony ends up in the fireplace, while Steve ends up in a very compromising position. 👀

Hulk!Happy roars, and Steve turns to Tony and asks, "Is that Happy?" Tony responds with a disgruntled, "Umm, no."

Group shot, with Natasha and Clint on one side and Tony and Steve on the other. The difference is that Steve and Tony are standing extremely close together.

Natasha zaps Hulk!Happy, who manages to say, "Natasha! It's me!"

Shocked, Natasha lowers her arm. "Oh my god. Happy?"

Then,

Steve chuckles, saying, "I was right!"

This is another subtle Stony moment - Natasha was alone in her close-up, but Steve shares the frame with Tony.

A few moments later, Tony talks and gets a close up. Steve is still in the fame, even though he's not saying or doing anything.

~*~

I hope you enjoyed this post!

#Stony #Stevetony #Natasha Romanov #Black Widow #Bottom Steve Rogers #Mine #Stony meta #Natasha meta #Stonynat #Fem!Steve

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titanic-honor-and-glory · 10 months ago

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youtube

112 years ago today, RMS Titanic departed Southampton, England to begin her maiden - and only voyage. This iconic moment has been recreated time and time again in films, TV shows, musicals, paintings, video games, and elsewhere. In memory of those aboard and those yet to board in Cherbourg and Queenstown, we submit this animation to join the collection.

To borrow words from one of the great departure recreations:

“Farewell, farewell. Godspeed, Titanic.”

Be sure to join us this Sunday for our 112th Anniversary Livestream featuring our first ever Real-Time Sinking IN-PERSON/online live event only on YouTube (@TitanicHG) starting at 9pm EDT.

#titanic #rms titanic #titanic honor and glory #the titanic #titanic: honor and glory #Youtube

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boolger · 9 months ago

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I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 7 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] [chapter 6] ☆ [Chapter 7] ☆ [chapter 8]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 7/10 ☆ 2,936 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, suicidal thoughts, mention of blood, violence, more will be added

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The man who walked in was staring at Kate. He was 5’8, with an athletic build and short hair - the details were getting muddled in the darkness. There was only very little light from the hallway, shining in, illuminating the back of the man.

As he pulled his gun and it came into view, your mind felt like it was going to explode.

He was here to kill Kate.

He -

Kate.

“Finally I have you, Watcher-“ the main whispered, making panic rise, watching him unlock the safety on the gun, “finally I can—“

You moved out of panic.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t see the temptation of just letting him shoot Kate, step backwards into the bathroom and let him take care of it. You wouldn’t be involved in it, whoever this psycho was.

Yet, you still moved.

This time you didn’t have a taser, you didn’t have any drugs, hell you barely had a plan. The plan you had was so vague that you were impressed it worked in the seconds it took you to complete it.

Romeo and Juliet was a classic. It had been reinterpreted and recreated over and over again, in so many different ways and in many different mediums, but you had always been fond of the written versions.

In a way you wished you could remember one of the more iconic lines from it, but despite reading it at least once a year, your mind had been poisoned by the years of coding and hacking, from the stress of the last couple of days.

You threw the hardcover book directly at the man who barely managed to say anything before it collided with his face, all the dramatic scenes inside it making him stumble, falling over your laptop abandoned on the floor - and for that moment and that moment only, you felt dangerous.

With a couple of fast steps and quick hands, you pulled the gun out of his hand, flinching as it got off - but you threw it away and picked up what you could always trust.

Your book.

Written words printed on paper couldn't be hacked or changed, not like when it was on the screen.

There was movement around you and you felt pain as the man beneath you struggled, screaming bloody murder as you sat on his chest and just repeatedly slammed your book into his face, feeling his nose crunch one of the times. You might as well have hit him with your fear of emotional attachment.

Light turned on, voices, gunshots, yelling, screaming.

You were hurting someone, you realised in terror, not to kidnap or in self defence - but because he threatened a mob boss you had somehow found yourself close to.

Violence was never the answer yet you didn’t give a shit, as you slammed Romeo and Juliet onto his face once more, full force.

You were the one screaming you realised, in anger and panic at the same time, as a pair of strong hands pulled you off the intruder, the book ripped from your hand, blood smeared onto the pages. Bleeding into the already tragic words of the story.

“Hey hey hey - It’s alright, Fae,” Gaz’s hands were on your cheeks, the man you had found annoying mere hours before, were suddenly like a beacon in the dark, grounding you and ripping you from the odd nightmare of your mind, “it’s okay, we got him.”

Everything went blurry for a moment, then unblurry - and then you saw Ghost and Price pull out the man you had attacked, pissed themselves, but clearly not at you. They disappeared out of the room and you blinked, Gaz in front of your face again.

“Fae what happened?” He asked, still holding onto your cheeks, maybe to calm you, maybe to make you stop shaking. You weren’t sure, but you felt out of air, just like when you ran away.

Fear rushing through you for what you had just done.

“Fae - c’mon, speak tae us, lassie,” Soap was there too, brows furrowed, “it’s over now.”

“He - he - I went to the bathroom - and he was there - with a gun - pointed at Ka-Kate oh god is Kate okay, is Kate—“ tears were welling up in your eyes without your permission, fear rushing through you once more at the thought of Kate being killed before you could do anything; it made you want to throw up and you might as well just kill your—

“Sssh, pretty girl,” it was the voice of an Angel, the voice of a goddess, wearing nightclothes and with messy hair, whose pretty fingers pushed away Gaz’ hands, taking their place, “did he say anything, Fae?”

“He - he said finally I have you watcher - and then he aimed the gun at you and I panicked and I threw the book and and—“

Kate shushed you gently, leaning forward to rest her forehead against yours.

“Such a good girl,” she whispered and the world stopped spinning while she caressed your cheek, “such a good girl for saving me, thank you.”

Nothing but a whimper was able to leave you, words dying on your tongue, tears welling up once again. You wondered if you looked pathetic, if you should be embarrassed that Soap and Gaz saw this, and heard Kate calling you a good girl.

But you were a good girl once more - even though you didn’t feel particularly good, as you looked down at your bloody hands. Stained, just like all the people around you.

The man turned out to be one Phillip Graves. Another gang leader if you weren’t wrong and you speculated that he was one of the senders of the email interactions. You didn’t want to watch the security footage of him entering the room, even when offered. Your hands still felt dirty, despite having washed them several times. Besides, that still left the mole to be found - but Kate was safe at least. Two guards had died, which you presumed to have been the bump sounds you had heard earlier.

They left you, told you to sleep. To close your eyes and forget everything that just happened.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, despite several people telling you that you were safe.

They all went to deal with Graves and get rid of the bodies of two of his men too, while you laid in Kate’s bed, watching the door.

Waiting for Graves to walk in again..

Constantly hearing the sound of the book connecting with his face. You had broken his nose, split his lip and potentially ruined one of his eyes, they told you. As if you should be proud. The thought made you gag.

Dangerous. You had been dangerous, like you had wanted to seem to Kate at first. But you had never wanted to actually be dangerous, had you? The mere thought of Alice knowing what had happened, made you want to cry.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

It was early morning when Kate reappeared, instantly noticing that you weren’t asleep. Her face softened.

She was dressed differently than earlier, fully in black, hair that had been loose during the night, now pulled back away from her face. You didn’t say anything, your gaze resting on her - she winked at you, barely visible in the dimly lit room, making you huff - then she undressed.

For just a mere moment, you dreamt yourself away into a reality where Kate Laswell weren’t a mobster, merely a business woman or something - that she was your actual partner, coming home from a long shift, to hold you so that the two of you could sleep all night.

Yet, she wasn’t. You watched her walk into the bathroom, only in her bra and panties, turning on the light and hearing her rinse her face - you dared to believe that she wasn’t cleaning off blood. She reappeared just a moment later, hair framing her face, body backlit by the bathroom light.

The light disappeared before she stepped closer, walking to you in the bed. Her hand was a little cold from the water, but you didn’t mind, leaning into the touch.

“Have you slept at all, Fae?” She asked gently. You shook your head. She climbed the bed, pushing you onto your back and settling in your lap before you could do anything. Kate Laswell was dangerous - you knew,, yet as she straddled you, you wanted to do anything for her. You wanted so badly to be good for her.

One hand rested on the mattress next to your head and the other on your cheek, as she leant over your - your lips meeting, a soft sound leaving you. Was this just… a reward? For having saved her life? You didn’t know, but even if it was, you didn’t mind.

Kissing her was like being dominated. Soft lips and tongue, sharp teeth to remind you who was in control. It sent burning sensations all through you, a whine escaping as her tongue played with yours, your fingers itching to touch her.

“Please,” you managed, as she finally let you breathe, chasing her lips for a moment, finally daring to touch, almost ready to beg her to do something.

“You don’t have to beg, Fae,” she whispered, a dark tone to her voice, “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You were crying and squirming, twisting in the handcuffs that made it impossible for you to touch. Legs cramping a little, toes curling as she grabbed your plush thighs even harder, making escape from her warm, clever tongue out of the question.

She had made you come on her tongue and fingers two times already, trying to coach your oversensitive pussy to give you a third orgasm. Switching between fucking your hole with her tongue, sucking and licking your clit.

“Kate, Kateekatekate–” you were pretty sure your moans had stopped making sense after the first orgasm, but the older woman didn’t seem to mind; grinning into your cunt, as if she had found her new favourite thing to do.

Once again she pulled you to the edge of pleasure, teasing your body by offering it to reach the euphoria it earned for - and you were ready for it, so ready that it hurt. Your body tensed once more, a whimper leaving you and and and and –

Kate pulled back.

A distressed sound left you as you were denied the high, eyes flying open as you moved your head to look down at her, almost coming at the mere sight of her.

Big, dangerous Kate Laswell, the unknown mob boss of the 141 gang, covered in spit and your slick, red in the face, her lips a little swollen - grinning, like a predator that had just been fed and offered extras, resting her head against your thigh.

The sound that escaped you was embarrassing, an almost pornographic, desperate moan at the sight, only making her laugh.

“So sweet, my little hacker,” she crooned darkly, “do you want more, darling?”

“Yesyesmore, please, Kate, miss, please,” the words almost stumbled out of your mouth without any pause, eyelids fluttering shortly as she kissed your thigh for a moment - then further up, towards your exposed, puffy and dripping cunt, the kissing turning into licking. Her tongue traced your stretch marks, a pleased hum leaving her as you continued your desperate words.

A kiss to your pussy and then… nothing. Kate pulled back, almost making you ready to cry.

“Patience, Fae,” she cooed teasingly at you as you all but hiccuped with despair, “I have more for you.”

Said more, was a strap on with an almost 6 inches long dildo, that was currently bullying its way into you, making you twist and gasp as it stretched you. Despite already being loose from her fingers and mouth, it was different to be filled like this.

“Like this, hm?” she asked darkly, “dirty little thing, hm?”

You nodded, past feeling shameful if it meant she wouldn’t stop.

“Kate,” you gasped, a chuckle leaving her as she finally stilled, fully inside of you.

“I love when you moan my name,” she whispered darkly, grinding even deeper into you, making you wail. It had been a while since you had anything inside you, especially of this size, but Kate was clearly eating up every reaction raw, as if she could survive, only from this.

She fucked you stupid. It was rude words, but you were unable to describe it in any other way, unable to do anything but babble in pleasure, moaning and twisting in the handcuffs binding you to the bed.

Her fingers, all over you, digging into the fat of your thighs or stomach, her lips against yours or licking at your nipples.

Somehow, she made you come twice again.

When she wanted you to sleep afterwards however, you refused. You might be out of energy, but you suddenly found your tongue, begging her to let you get her off, in any way she wanted. To do you the honour of using you.

She rode your face and you were sure you were in heaven between her strong thighs. Licking, sucking, whatever she demanded you to do. Kate’s fingers buried in your hair, gripping it and using you as if you were nothing but a toy to her.

If you could spend the rest of your life somewhere, it would be between the legs of this woman, worshipping her endlessly, offering Kate as many orgasms as she wanted, bringing her over the edge again and again. You would die happily with your face in her cunt, tasting her juices, letting her soak your face.

You could sleep afterwards, better than you had in a while.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Confusion overwhelmed your mind for a moment. Your gaze shifted from hers, then to the open gate.

“What?” You were sure you hadn’t heard her correctly, sure that it was some sort of test, to see if you would behave.

You could see some of the others in the background, but they were like blurry silhouettes too you, the only one who mattered right now was the older woman who looked cold.

“I told you to leave.” She repeated calmly. She was in one of her suits, looking beautiful and ready for the day. She had gotten you dressed up too, in new clothes, even with shoes on your feet. Which made more sense now.

“Is… Is this a test?” You were unable to hold back the confusion in your tone of voice, brows furrowing as you looked at her. Her eyes somehow seemed more blue today.

Annoyance flashed on her face. Anger.

“Go home, Fae.” She repeated, slower and darker, almost degradingly, “leave, go home, fuck off. Out.”

Your eyes flickered to the men behind her, but they made no movement, merely watching the two of you. You looked back at Kate, in her sharp suit, hair pulled up, arms crossed and with an emotionless smile.

“Are you serious?”

There was no hint of glee in your voice. Leave. Fuck off. Out. Did you do something to upset her, you wondered, did you not do well enough with Graves?

Kate nodded, not even bothering to answer your question verbally.

“I-” you wanted so badly to ask about what happened last night, if it was because you were inexperienced, if it was because she hadn’t been able to find the mole - if it was something anything that you could do better, “No - Kate, I don’t - I don’t want to–”

“How many times do I have to say it?” her voice darker, angrier, raising in volume too, “Get the fuck off my property, Fae. Go. Home. I don’t want you, don’t need you. You’ve paid back what you needed to.”

The words made you want to vomit. From anger, sadness, surprise - shame. Was this… all nothing for her? Had this been a payment kind of thing, had she not meant anything? Every sweet word that had dripped from her tongue like honey, every praise and secret, the moments you had laid next to each other in bed, like an odd comfort?

This wasn’t Kate Laswell. This was Watcher.

You turned around on your heel, walking towards the open gate, wanting to scream, to yell profanities at her, say something mean, something you would regret. You wanted to hit her, merely in the hopes that it meant you could stay, even if it meant punishment.

When did you begin to feel like this?

You stopped, almost out the gate, almost touching the pavement that your feet had touched at your escape attempt, that felt like aeons ago by now. For just a moment, you considered turning around. Letting those words escape you, mean, rude, awful words, just to get a different reaction. Yet your tongue felt limp in your mouth and you knew you would cry.

You wanted to turn, to take a last look at her.

Instead you took a deep breath. Then you bolted, already knowing the way towards a populated street.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

There was money in one pocket of the jacket you had been given. Your phone in the other.

The busride home was long and bumpy, but you didn’t care, merely staring out in the air, not even bothering to look at your phone.

Your house was empty, things having been put back to their places after they rummaged around. You just dropped the jacket, picking up mail - abandoning it on the table, ready to go lay down on the mattress you had kept Kate on, for such a short while.

Only to notice the sender of one of the letters.

The hospital.

#my writing #boolger #cod fanfic #call of duty #call of duty kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #call of duty fanfic #kate laswell #cod mob au #call of duty mob #cw dubcon

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d-z20 · 25 days ago

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Who do you think is stronger, Hela or Rio?? Like they’re both death sooo?? You seem like a good person to ask ❤️

(You are one of my favorite people at the moment so I will leave you with a 🍷 so you know it’s me)

-🍷 (the same anon as before and before)

Hmmmmm it’s been a while since I’ve watched Thor: Ragnarock but from what I know about it and Norse mythology Hela is a goddess of death rather than actually being death itself like Rio is.

Odin titled Hela the Executioner and the Goddess of Death because she was so adept at killing (see killing almost everyone she wanted RIP Valkyries you would’ve loved lesbian icon Lady Death). She’s SUPER powerful being the first born of Odin and can seemingly conjure up as many daggers as she likes

Rio on the other hand is the embodiment of the concept. People fear her because they fear death. She’s a literal cosmic entity and was one of the forces that created well basically everything. She’s above the Elder Gods and therefore above Hela.

But we never actually see Rio use her power as Death like sure she flings Agatha around like a ragdoll and heals the cut on her hand but that’s pretty basic magic in the MCU. I’ve got a HC that Rio doesn’t actually kill people because that disrupts the natural order as she’d be ‘interfering’ she can mess around and interact with people but never go as far to actually end their life. Rio uses her identity as Death to move souls on; she is not concerned with wielding power like Hela is.

In wider Marvel it’s said that Hela is a failed recreation of Death/an artificial black infinity stone so she’s definitely a very powerful being and would put up a decent fight but how can you kill Death? Maybe she would trap Rio instead but we literally saw Rio cut through reality and just leave like it was nothing so I don’t think that would actually work.

However Rio does have one weakness.

She has a scar.

It would be interesting to see what would happen should Hela go after Agatha, a mortal being, as a way of going after Death. Like we see how deeply Rio cares for Agatha and if anything was to be Lady Death’s undoing it would be her.

In less words: Hela can die whereas Rio cannot which fundamentally makes her weaker in my opinion

#🍷 anon #z replies #lol this ended up much longer than I thought it would #Rio supremacy 4 life

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rayslittlekitten · 10 months ago

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Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

A/N: This is finally done! I swear I started this like two years ago inspired by a Writer Wednesday prompt and I kinda got stuck trying to paint the exact picture I had in my mind and I think I finally succeeded. Okay maybe a little less detailed, but it's got the point I wanted to make across. This is kinda like a villain origin story. I chose to pair him with an OC (who also has physical descriptions) instead of reader character because this is really all about Dieter and I don’t think the reader would want to be the OC anyways. Also thanks to the lovely @lovebarefootblonde for beta reading!

Rating: T/M

Word Count: ~4.5k

Pairing: Young!Dieter Bravo (18+) x Named OFC

Plot: Dieter stumbles into his own Hollywood movie, but it's not the ending he expected.

Contains: mentions of sex, recreational drug use, angst

The sun is starting to set and palm tree silhouettes sway in front of the pink and orange skyline. The Golden Hour. The light casts long shadows as the glowing star descends. Dieter quickly pedals, cutting through alleyways and side streets to avoid the rush hour traffic and tourists.

Finally, he bursts through the front door of his apartment holding a take out bag and sweating like he just ran a marathon. He pants and tries to catch his breath as he quickly makes his way to the kitchen and shoves the bag into the nearly empty refrigerator. After slamming the door shut, he jogs over to the bathroom where he passes his roommate on the couch.

"I brought home some leftovers if you want it," Dieter quickly mentions.

"Is it a cheeseburger?" his roommate asks, his eyes never leaving the television screen.

"No! It's spaghetti and meatballs!" Dieter shouts from the bathroom where he starts getting rid of his sweaty and smelly clothes from waiting tables all day after turning on the shower.

"There's a party happening downtown tonight. Are you going?"

"No, I got this gig last minute. I gotta leave in like 10 minutes," he replies before shoving his toothbrush into his mouth.

"Come on, there's gonna be so many women there!" his roommate comments.

Dieter rushes through cleaning his teeth and spits into the sink.

"I'm working the Titanic premiere at the Chinese theater," he shouts before jumping into the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm up. He shrieks at the shock of the cold temperature.

After Dieter's record quick shower, he throws on some decently clean clothes after giving them a sniff and then shoves his feet into his shoes.

"The Titanic premiere? Get out! Who the hell did you have to blow to get that gig?" his roommate asks skeptically.

"No one. One of my coworkers also works catering and someone dropped out," Dieter shrugs. "I'm getting paid to serve stars. I'm not passing up on that."

"Well, look at you, climbing the Hollywood social ladder. Next, you're gonna tell me you're the new Leonardo DiCaprio."

"You could be the next Leonardo DiCaprio if you actually went to auditions instead of waiting for someone to notice you," Dieter shoots back.

"You do you man. I have my own methods," he replies smugly.

"I gotta go. See you later. Please do the dishes before you go to this party," Dieter adds before grabbing an apple out of a fruit bowl sitting on the kitchen counter and taking off.

***

As Dieter races to the theater on his bike, riding as quick as he possibly could while weaving through traffic, he slows down for a moment when he sees the large crowd lined up by the red carpet outside of the beautiful iconic theater. His breath is taken away as he admires the glitz and glamor in front of him.

The Grauman’s Chinese Theatre is a place he’s gotten well acquainted with since moving to Los Angeles. It’s one of his favorite places to go in his free time, watching all the new film releases. Sometimes multiple times if he enjoys them that much. However, he’s never actually attended a movie premiere and the elegant transformation has him in a chokehold.

As he approaches the theater, he hops off mid-roll as he slows down and hears a loud roar coming from the fans barricaded off to the side. He can't see who it is, but a limo just pulled up to the front of the theater and the screams get louder as someone steps out of the car and walks down the red carpet. He knows one day, it'll be him walking down that plush red carpet and loved by fans.

He moves quickly to behind the theater where his coworker told him to meet her. He sprints when he finds his coworker right outside the back door appearing to finish putting on her uniform.

"Oh, thank goodness you made it!" She says as she buttons up her uniform vest.

"I got here as quickly as I could." He drops his bike and with his hands on his knees, Dieter pauses to catch his breath.

"We don't have time!" She tosses him his uniform vest.

Dieter instantly throws the vest on.

"Come on! We gotta run," she tells him as she takes off inside.

"What about my bike?" he asks as he throws his bag over his shoulder.

"Bring it in!" she shouts from the long hallway.

Dieter takes his bike with him and rushes inside, letting the door close behind him. He leaves the bike and bag somewhere and she gestures to him to hurry. As he follows her, he buttons up and stuffs his shirt into his pants. By the time they enter the kitchen, he's mostly put together as he smooths out his hair, slicking it back.

He doesn't even get a moment to catch his breath when a tray of hors d'oeuvres get shoved into his hands.

"Go, go, go!" the man in apron shouts as he nudges Dieter towards the swinging doors.

Dieter rushes out while trying not to tip over the tray. He gathers his composure and walks around offering hors d'oeuvres while taking in the celebrities and VIPs. He was so in awe of everything and everyone around him, being in the midst of one of the most important parties celebrating what he believes will be one of the biggest movies of the year. It’s James freakin’ Cameron!

Throughout the night, he continues to walk around with trays of food and beverages while taking everything in. He’s taking notice of what people are wearing, saying, who’s talking to who. Even though he’s not able to mingle with the stars, he’s just as happy that he gets to still, in a way, be in the middle of it all. He was even able to sneak into the theater a few times to watch the movie.

As he makes his way back to the kitchen with an empty tray, suddenly he’s blindsided by a swinging door.

“Oops! I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t know you were behind the door,” the person apologizes.

“You went out the wrong door,” he exclaims while picking up his tray off the floor.

“Are you okay?”

When Dieter looks up at the offending person, his face softens. She looks like a Golden Aged Hollywood star. Her long wavy hair cascades down her exposed back. Her floor-length shiny dress is slinky against her smooth skin, hugging her every curve and dip, and flaring out at her ankles. Her long fanned out lashes and cat eyeliner frame her piercing eyes.

“I… yeah I’m… I’m good,” he stammers, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Um, can I help you? Are, are you lost?” He vaguely points to the kitchen doors.

“Say, you happen to know where I can powder my nose?” She asks curiously while tapping the tip of her nose with he satin-covered fingertip.

“Uhhh, the ladies’ room is that way,” he points to a general direction.

“You’re adorable,” she compliments with a giggle after a silent moment studying him. “This is your first time working one of these big Hollywood parties, isn’t it?”

“Uhhh… no?”

Something out of his eyesight catches her attention and she loops her arm through his before quickly swooping him away into a different direction.

“So, uh, what did you say your name was again?” She asks as she briskly moves them farther away from where they were, occasionally glancing back.

“I, I didn’t,” he stutters. “Where are we going?”

“You know where we can just get away from the crowd and maybe get some air?” She asks while scanning the place.

“Yes, I actually do. Follow me!”

Dieter stealthily navigates them both to a section for employees only and out through a back alleyway. She looks behind them and when she sees that nobody has followed them, she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Phew! Thank you so much,” she says to him.

“No problem. So who or what were we running away from back there?” Dieter asks her.

“What are you talking about?” She asks calmly.

“You wanted to get the hell out of there and you kept looking back like you’re checking to see if anyone was following us.”

She ignores his observation, walking off a few feet away to put some distance between them as she takes out a cigarette from her clutch.

“Are you in danger?” Dieter asks.

She scoffs and lets out a chuckle.

“No, nothing dramatic like that,” she responds right before she lights her cigarette and takes a drag.

He notices she doesn’t have a wristband or any visible credentials.

“Are you even supposed to be at this party?” He asks her with narrow eyes.

Suddenly the door swings open, knocking into Dieter and preventing it from opening further. He moves aside and pokes his head around the door.

“Hey, sorry, buddy. Did you happen to see a woman with long dark hair about this tall come out this way? She has on like a long shiny dress?”

“Uhhh…” Dieter glances around the alleyway on both sides and briefly notices the woman hiding behind the door with her back against the brick wall, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

“I mean, that could be anyone here,” Dieter responds to the man with a small smirk. “But no, I didn’t.” He shakes his head to underline his confirmation.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks with slight suspicion, noticing his uniform. “Shouldn’t you be inside working?”

“I’m just taking a break,” he shrugs.

The woman quietly offers Dieter her lit cigarette behind the door and he takes it from her without raising any alarms.

“A smoke break.” He shows the man the cigarette in his hand before taking a puff himself.

“Well, make it quick. if you see anyone matching that description, please let me know.”

And with that, he hands Dieter his business card.

“Will do, sir!” Dieter nods to him as he takes the card.

Dieter watches the man walk back into the building, and when he is completely out of sight, he looks over to where she is and notices she has started to tiptoe away.

“He’s gone,” Dieter tells her.

She stops in her tracks and turns around.

“Thank you for that. I really appreciate it.” She claps her hands together.

“You owe him some money or something?” Dieter asks, slowly walking towards her while taking another pull of her cigarette.

“Mm, I guess it depends on who you ask,” she replies coyly.

“What does that mean?” He tilts his head curiously.

After what he did for her, she feels she owes him at least an explanation.

“We had just met a few hours ago and I charmed him enough to sneak into this party but I got bored halfway in. I thought I’d be able to rub elbows with some important people, but turns out he doesn’t really know those important people here and if you don’t know anyone, you’d be lucky to even get to say just hi to the people everyone wants to talk to, so I dressed my best for nothing,” she replies.

Dieter checks the business card that was handed to him and it reads:

“Lights, Camera, Catering

Abner Bailey Jones

CEO”

“Shit, I think that was my boss,” Dieter laughs. “But that still doesn’t explain why he’s looking for you and why you’re avoiding him.”

“My guess is he’s expecting something in return for him getting me into the party,” she shrugs.

“Oooh,” he simply replies. “Wait a minute. So you got all glammed up and came here not knowing if you were going to get into the premiere?” He asks.

“You gotta fake it ‘til you make it, right?” She shrugs again as she struts back to him and takes her cigarette back. “So you ever gonna tell me your name? You can call me Beatrice.”

She takes a long drag while waiting for his answer.

“Dieter. My stage name," he explains. "It's a nickname my family gave me when I was a kid because I couldn't pronounce theater correctly which I loved going to all the time and it came out sounding like Dieter and it just stuck. The movie theater is where my passion for acting started."

“Of course you’re an actor. What’s your real name?"

Dieter doesn't answer, but simply flashes a cheeky smirk at her, his dimple creasing deeper into his face.

"Hmm, suddenly so mysterious. Nice to meet you, Dieter.” Beatrice extends her gloved hand out and Dieter shakes it.

“You’re new in town, aren't you?" she asks curiously then drops the cigarette butt on the asphalt.

"Not really. I moved here about six months ago."

"Six months only? Oh, you are new in town," she comments. "Practically a tourist."

"Really?" he asks with a tilt to his head. “What makes you say that?"

"Your eagerness. You still got that sparkle in your eyes. You haven’t been jaded by Hollywood yet.”

“And you have, I suppose?”

Beatrice shrugs and flashes an award-winning smile, her turn to be a little mysterious. Her blood red lips make her perfect teeth even brighter.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here? Got a place we can go to just like, hang out?” she asks.

Dieter looks around to make sure she was talking to him and then stares back at her like a deer in headlights.

“M-me? You wanna hang out with me?” He points to his own chest, shocked.

“Yeah, why does that surprise you?”

“I mean you… you look like that,” he points to her dress. “And well…” He then gestures his hands to himself.

“You look like a star. I just didn’t think women who look like you would want anything to do with people who look like me,” he replies.

“It’s that kinda thinking that makes me want to hang out with you even more. You’re not full of yourself. You seem like a cool guy, Dieter.”

Dieter’s face flushes. “Thank you. You seem super cool too. Like way cooler than me. Oh! My shift ends in…” he glances at his watch. “Maybe another hour.”

“Oh, come on, Dieter!”

Dieter sighs, stuck between staying for the party or going with this beautiful woman in front of him.

“You’re not gonna leave a damsel all in distress, are you?” Beatrice fakes an exaggerated pout while batting her hazel eyes.

“You have a habit of following around strangers?” He teases.

“Strangers? You and me? No. You lied for me and basically saved my life. You’re practically my savior,” she corrects him.

“Saved your life? I thought you weren’t in any danger. ‘Nothing dramatic like that’, I believe you said,” he jabs back.

“You saved me from dying of boredom,” she smirks and it draws a small laugh out of Dieter. “So what do you say, hero?”

Dieter chews on his lower lip as he weighs his options.

“Come on, you really wanna work this boring party? I’m pretty sure half the cast left already,” she gripes. “Oh, I also got…”

Beatrice fishes inside her clutch and pulls out a small baggie.

“Weed! I don’t know if you indulge, but I’m willing to share,” she tempts him as she dangles the baggie. “We can chill out and talk about the movie or whatever.”

After a few more moments, he finally makes a decision.

“Wait right here. I’ll be right back,” Dieter tells her right before he rushes back inside.

“Yes!” Beatrice exclaims enthusiastically.

A few minutes later, Dieter returns with his bag and bike.

“My coworker’s gonna cover for me. She owes me a favor,” Dieter says.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s gonna fit the both of us, especially not while wearing this.” She points out her delicate gown. “Let’s hail a cab!”

***

After grabbing some tacos off a street cart, they end up back at his place.

"I don't think my roommate is home. He went to some party downtown,” Dieter says while giving her a quick tour of his apartment.

When they finally reach his messy bedroom, she notices the canvases sprawled throughout.

"You're an artist?” Beatrice asks while admiring the art.

"I dabble in paint whenever I have the time,” he shrugs. “Which sometimes is a lot,” he laughs.

"Your style is interesting. What do you have going on here?" She asks, pointing to a canvas with splotches of color on it.

"I don't know yet. I just paint whatever comes to my mind." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs as he walks over to the painting.

"Whenever I get inspired, I just..." He vaguely gestures his hand to the half empty white surface. "I have to admit, many of them have been under the influence," he laughs.

"Oh, yeah? What's your poison of choice?" she asks, suddenly very interested.

“Well, usually just some marijuana. That one was actually a result of the first time I tried mushrooms.” Dieter points to a different painting.

“Have you ever tried cocaine?”

“That’s a rich man’s candy,” Dieter replies, shaking his head.

“I can get some for us,” she offers. “I know someone.”

“You have that kind of money?” He asks curiously with a raised brow, inching closer to her.

“Money isn’t the only currency there is, especially out here in Hollywood."

Dieter studies her for a few moments trying to understand what she could mean.

“A-are you… do you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question without possibly offending her.

“No, I’m not a prostitute if that’s what you’re going to ask,” she chuckles. "But you wouldn't be the first person to think that."

"I'm not judging." He puts his hands up in defense. "Everyone's gotta do whatever they can to survive."

"Especially out here in the wild, wild West. People are nice to each other, but in the end it's everyone for themselves." She tips her head to him.

"I wish you success but also hope I get the role instead of you, ha ha ha,” she mocks with an obvious fake laugh and then rolls her eyes. "So much ego."

“Ouch. Sounds like you've been burned before.” Dieter walks over to her.

"Yeah, but I have thick skin. You've gotta have that to be in this game. You've gotta grow one after the umpteenth rejection. Or even worse, having to suck it up and reject a role because you refuse to suck a dick for it— a background role at that. You mind?" She pulls out a joint and the corner of his lips turn up.

“Not if you share," he replies.

She lights it up and after taking a pull, she hands it to him.

"Can't say I've had the opportunity to suck a dick for a role yet," he chuckles before taking a hit.

"Oh, trust me, you will. There is no discrimination. Women might get it more often, but there are definitely men who have fucked to get a role as well."

“I should be, but why am I not surprised?” he chimes in.

“Enough of all this talk. It’s bringing the mood down. Oh, I’ve got an idea!” she says, taking a drag of the joint as she lays down on his bed. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

"Are you for real?" he asks.

"Yes, I am." She takes another drag and passes the joint back to him before starting to strip down.

Dieter is shocked and speechless. He is in awe as he watches her remove her clothes until she's down to her lacy underwear. Her braless breasts hang freely as she lays down on her side, just like Rose did.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all night or do you need more drugs?” she asks him after a few moments.

“I’m just admiring the art that’s already in front of me,” he replies before taking another toke of the joint. “Not sure if any amount of drugs will do it any justice.”

“You’re sweet,” she comments as warmth rises to her face. “But I wanna see what you see. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Dieter continues to study her for a few more seconds before finally nodding.

“Alright. I think I got something.”

He passes the joint back to her and with that, Dieter starts squeezing some paint onto his palette, mixing colors and spreading them on the canvas. His dark round eyes dart around her face and body, taking in the image in front of him and then finally scraping some paint onto the canvas to spit out what his mind is processing.

She can’t see what he’s doing but notices he’s using a lot of different colors and broad strokes. After about ten minutes of this, a wide smirk plays on his face.

“What? Do I look silly like a Picasso or something?” She asks.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just can’t believe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met is naked on my bed, asking me to paint her.”

“You don’t get a lot of women getting naked in your bed for a portrait?” She teases before taking another drag and passing it on to Dieter.

“No,” he laughs, taking a pull of his own.

“Although, I’m not quite naked yet.” Beatrice slides off the bed and struts towards him. “Let me see what you’ve got so far.”

“No, no, it’s not quite finished—“

She takes a peek despite his protests and the breath is knocked out of her.

“Dieter, this is…” She’s at a loss for words.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… it’s really rough and—”

“This is beautiful!” She turns to him.

It’s a somewhat abstract piece with globs of paint spackled onto the canvas. He highlighted the soft features of her face and how her tendrils of long curls hung off her head. Her bright red lips pop out against the browns, beiges and yellows behind it. A splash of blue and green in the background pulls her away from the canvas. While her body isn’t complete yet, the simple and rough outline he laid out seemed intentional. If he hadn’t said anything, she would have thought he was finished.

“Thank you, you’re kind.” His face heats up as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean it, Dieter. Seriously! You have a gift.”

Dieter is now the one speechless. His face starts to get warm and pink.

“But maybe you need a closer look to finish this painting. Catch the details you might have missed.”

Beatrice proceeds to push her panties down until they hit the floor, which made his jaw do that as well. She then takes the joint from him, takes a big hit and straddles his lap. Leaning in, her lips graze his as she opens her mouth. He opens up his own and sucks in the smoke into his lungs. After a moment, their lips meet and they begin to make out, working up to fog his windows.

***

When Dieter wasn't at an audition or waiting on people, he spent most of his time with Beatrice. They'd sneak into movie theaters to catch a flick, especially when they were playing classics, which they both appreciated, but many times they ended up making out instead. Sometimes they'd take long strolls along the Santa Monica pier while smoking weed. At some point, she introduced him to cocaine and whatever drugs she was able to get her hands on, and in turn he would churn out pieces of art while admiring her, his muse.

They did almost everything together. They laughed, cried, loved, and tripped together. They even went on auditions together and supported each other in preparing for them. He had such a strong connection with her, sharing the same passions and navigating life together in this crazy movie town. He thought he found his soulmate.

It was the best time of his life. He was living his own Hollywood movie and he felt like he was at the top of the world, just like Jack Dawson, but he then learned he’s no Leonardo DiCaprio. As quickly as he got high on all this, the crash came down just as fast.

"I don't understand," Dieter says, confused.

"You don't make friends in this business, Dieter. You make transactions and deals."

"Wow," he could only muster up with wide eyes. "What about relationships? Friendships? Do you have any connection - a genuine connection - with anyone?"

"The only connections I need are transactional. I give something in exchange for something else, whether it be for survival, pleasure or power."

He scrubs a hand over his face and studies her for a few moments.

"So what was I? What did you get in exchange for... for whatever this is?" Dieter asks, waving his hand between them.

"You had a good time, right?" she shrugs as she throws a small smile.

"This was more than just a good time for me," Dieter shoots back with air quotes. "I-I thought we had something special. We talked about making it in Hollywood together!”

"Oh, honey..." she frowns and reaches for his face, but he flinches, pulling away from her and walking off.

"How do you-- how can you--" Dieter takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"Hollywood is going to eat you alive, sweetheart. You're not cut out for this place," Beatrice shakes her head.

"No," Dieter shakes his head. "You get one fucking role and then you think you're too good for me?"

"It's nothing personal," she explains. "I'm just playing by the rules. I didn't create them. And once I'm in, like in in, I can help maybe you get your foot in too."

Dieter is speechless. He just stares at her with misty eyes and brows turned down, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I don’t need your charity or… or your fucking connections! Did you have to suck a dick for that role?”

She looks back at him in disgust and scoffs.

“No need to be rude. I earned that role,” she replies with her arms crossed.

“That’s not a no,” he retorts.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself,” she huffs. “Look, I just came to tell you I can’t see you anymore and to pick up my things and say goodbye.”

Dieter just stares at her again, trying to process what is unfolding as the reality sinks in.

“Just go. Take your shit and go,” he simply says.

After she gathers her things, she takes one more glance at him.

“Goodbye, Dieter.”

When he doesn’t respond, she finally walks out the door, leaving Dieter to cry alone and pick up the broken pieces of his heart.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x OFC #the bubble

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