#but I don't throw away real relationships on here lightly

[hobi-side]

for morale | myg

— pairing: min yoongi x f!reader

— playlist: moment's silence (common tongue) - hozier, love me harder - ariana grande, honey - kehlani, adorn - miguel, don't - crush, waves - dean

—  summary: After two weeks apart, you come home from Bali sun-kissed and full of stories—except none of them compare to the warmth of Yoongi’s arms. He wrote you a song. You brought back tequila, a TikTok trick he has no idea about, and a plan you executed after a terrible week strictly for morale.

Yoongi never stood a chance.

—  word count: 9.9k

—  warnings: lovey dovey couple, they're so in love, little fluffly at the beginning but they're always horny (i get them), established relationship, tequila shots?, yoongi missing oc, oc missing yoongi, unprotected sex, dirty talk?, cunnilingus, little rough, multiple orgasms, jealous yoongi if you squint.

—  note: HELL YEAH! so this was fun to write because it was born, like most of the things i write, from a personal experience with tequila shots. wanna thank miss salma hayek for letting us know The Trick to get a man like that. i miss you yoongi (thank god he'll be back soon). FIRST YOONGI ONE SHOT BTW CROWD CHEERED.

Yoongi has always been sure of two things. Well—always is a strong word. Maybe lately is more honest. Certainty doesn’t come easy to him; it’s something he’s had to fight for, inch by inch, thought by thought. But here, in this quiet moment—his fingers idle on the keys, a half-finished verse echoing in his mind—he knows these things like he knows his own name.

One: he loves music. Not in the cliché way people throw around the word love, but in the way it threads through the cracks in his chest and holds the broken parts together. It’s been his anchor, his escape, his language when he couldn’t find the right words. Music has never asked him to be more than what he is. It just lets him be.

Two: he really, truly, fucking loves you. It’s terrifying, how real that is. How permanent it feels. Like it’s carved into him somewhere deep. You came into his life without warning, without fanfare—and now you’re in the pauses between his breaths, in the silence between his notes. He doesn’t know when it happened, but loving you feels inevitable now. Like it always would’ve come to this, no matter the path.

Three—was there a three? Yeah because now, standing here at the airport, watching you walk toward him, duffel slung over your shoulder, smile cracking through the jetlag—he knows something else, too.

He’s really fucking glad you’re home.

You nudge him gently, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his hoodie sleeve as he sits hunched over his laptop, headphones around his neck, the room bathed in dim yellow light and the faint scent of coffee and something else uniquely him.

“Yoongi,” you say, voice soft with that teasing affection only he ever gets to hear.

He glances over, the corner of his lips twitching into a tired smile—one of those barely-there ones that still makes your chest warm. His eyes, though, tell a different story: they flicker with something like relief. Like seeing you in front of him makes the past two weeks fall away.

“I wanna hear the full song?” you ask, and then you hesitate just a beat, voice quieter, more vulnerable: “Missed you.”

That’s when he turns fully, shutting the laptop with a quiet click. His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I missed you, too,” he says, and it’s not just words—he means it. His voice carries that low, slow sincerity you know he only lets out when he’s too tired to hide anything. “House felt empty. Bed felt colder.”

You laugh softly, settling down beside him on the couch, your thigh pressing lightly against his. “You could’ve texted more, you know.”

“I know,” he murmurs, and his hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Didn’t want to bother you. You were having fun.”

“I was,” you admit, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But it didn’t feel right without you. Kept looking over like I was gonna see you sitting next to me.”

He lets out a breath, quiet and shaky. “I kept hearing your voice in my head when I was working. Thought I was losing it.”

You grin. “Maybe you are.”

He finally laughs—low and real. Then he squeezes your hand and says, “Let me play you the song. I finished it... the night before you came back. It’s about you.”

Your heart skips, just a little. “Of course it is.”

And in the soft silence that follows, he slips the headphones over your ears and presses play, watching your face as if every beat and lyric matters more now, because you’re home. And so is he.

The music washes over you like a wave—warm, layered, intentional. It’s him in every note: the way he composes with feeling first and logic second, the subtle textures, the pause right before the chorus that somehow says more than words.

And the lyrics? God. They’re not even overly romantic, but they are him—honest and understated and impossibly vulnerable. There’s a line in the second verse that pulls something tight in your chest. Something about “empty spaces filled by the weight of a laugh I forgot I needed.” And another one, quiet, tucked into the bridge, that just says: “You made room where I didn’t know I had any left.”

When it ends, you don’t say anything for a moment. You just breathe. His hands are resting on his thighs now, and you can tell from the way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek that he’s nervous.

You blink a few times, then take off the headphones slowly, setting them aside. “Yoongi,” you say, voice soft, caught somewhere between awe and teasing, “are you trying to kill me? Be honest.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Emotionally or musically?”

You snort, nudging him with your shoulder. “Both, obviously. That was… wow. I don’t even have the words.”

“That’s ironic, coming from someone who works with words all day,” he says, smirking just slightly, but his eyes are searching—worried.

You look at him. “I’m serious. That was beautiful. It felt like…” You pause, pressing your lips together before letting the truth out: “Like you cracked open your chest and just—let me see everything.”

Yoongi shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug he does when he’s trying to be chill and failing. “Yeah, well. Took me long enough to say all that. Figured I’d just put it in a track before I chickened out.”

You lean in, forehead touching his. “You’re still such a coward sometimes,” you whisper, smiling against his skin.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But you waited for me anyway.”

You both go quiet for a second. The kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled. The kind you only get with someone who knows you inside out.

“I was gonna say,” you continue, pulling back just enough to look at him, “funny how this all started with you awkwardly avoiding eye contact that night we met at Hobi’s thing.”

Yoongi groans. “Don’t remind me. I was not avoiding eye contact.”

“You literally stared at the floor the whole time.”

“I was tired.”

“You were shy.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “And you were so annoyingly composed. Sitting there with your editor brain probably judging my entire existence.”

“I was not judging,” you say, laughing now. “I was intrigued. You were the only one in the room who looked like they wanted to be somewhere else.”

He smiles again—smaller this time, realer. “Yeah. Then you sat next to me and started talking about existentialism and short stories and somehow I didn’t want to leave.”

You grin. “And then we spent the next year pretending we weren’t falling in love during every 3 a.m. conversation.”

Yoongi’s hand finds yours again, and this time he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You didn’t pretend very well, by the way.”

“Oh?” you tease.

He nods. “You kept looking at me like you were already writing a story about us.”

You shrug. “Maybe I was.”

Then, quieter, you add: “But I like your version better.”

You and Yoongi have been together for over two years now. That’s not even counting the year before—when you both clung to the idea of just friends like it was some kind of lifeline, even as everything between you said otherwise. Late-night calls, shared silences, too-long stares, the kind of conversations that felt like peeling each other open, layer by layer.

Everyone saw it. Except, apparently, you and him.

Or maybe you did see it. Maybe you were just scared to name it.

Either way, it all came to a head one night—tangled sheets, hearts racing, a confession slipping out in the dark like it had been waiting all that time just to be said out loud. And after that, well… the rest unraveled beautifully.

“It was bound to happen,” Hoseok had said with a grin so wide it felt smug. “Honestly, I was just waiting for one of you to crack. You were already acting like a married couple and you hadn’t even kissed yet.”

Seokjin, ever the dramatist, had clapped a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and told you both, “You don’t understand. This guy? He doesn’t react to people. He nods at introductions and moves on. But you? You walked into the room at that party and he looked up. That’s practically a love letter coming from him.”

Namjoon had agreed, of course—more calm, more analytical, but just as insistent. “We’ve seen him hear a song he loves and still just blink. But when you spoke for the first time, he tilted his head, like he was trying to figure out a melody he didn’t want to forget.”

It sounds dramatic. Overblown. But you’ve lived with Yoongi long enough to know that his reactions aren’t always loud—but they’re deep. And real.

And now, two years in, you still catch him looking at you the same way he did back then—like he’s studying you, memorizing you, writing lyrics in his head that only you’ll ever get to hear.

You joke that he’s soft for you. He just shrugs and says, “Yeah. And?”

But there’s this quiet steadiness to it, too. Like after all the slow burn, the long talks, the almosts and maybes, you both found something solid. Something that doesn’t need to burn wildly all the time because it stays.

So yeah—Hoseok was right. It was bound to happen.

And now you both took a break.

Well—technically, you didn’t take a break. Let’s rewind. That makes it sound way more dramatic than it was.

You just went on a trip.

A girls’ trip. Bali. Sun-soaked beaches, endless laughter, fruity drinks with names you couldn't pronounce, and the kind of easy joy that only comes when you’re surrounded by women who love you like sisters. It was good. No—wonderful, even. It was the kind of trip you talk about for years after, the kind that feels like a pause from real life in the best possible way.

But still… you missed him.

You didn’t say it at first. You told yourself it was healthy—good, even—to have space. That it was nice not to be The Couple for once. You didn’t need to be that clingy type, right?

Right?

Except… it hit faster than you expected. Maybe on the second morning, when your coffee didn’t taste quite the same without his weirdly specific milk-to-coffee ratio. Maybe when someone cracked a joke and your instinct was to turn, to catch his eye across the table and share that look you always did when something was exactly your brand of funny. Maybe when you fell asleep without the weight of his arm slung around your waist and woke up reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

It was the first time you’d spent more than 48 hours apart since becoming officially, capital-B Boyfriend and capital-G Girlfriend—a title that felt funny on your tongue at first, but quickly became second nature. You weren’t all over each other all the time.

(Okay, you were. But like, in a wholesome, “I’d follow you into the kitchen just to steal a grape from your hand” kind of way.)

But it wasn’t just physical. That wasn’t it. You liked him. Genuinely. You liked being with him—liked how he made space for your chaos, how he listened like every word mattered, how he challenged you without ever making you feel small. You liked the quiet hours and the loud laughter and the strange little routines that made your life feel stitched together in all the right ways.

So yeah, Bali was gorgeous. Your girls were radiant. The food was incredible. But there was this quiet, persistent pull in your chest the whole time—a whisper that said, I wish he was seeing this too.

And now you’re back. Sitting beside him, knees brushing, headphones still warm from when he played you that song. And it hits you all over again:

You missed him. Not in a dramatic, world-ending way.

Just in the way you always miss home when you’ve been gone too long.

You’re still barefoot, half sunk into the old couch in the corner of the studio, hair a little messy from the flight, face flushed with excitement instead of exhaustion. You just listened to the song—his song—and you swear your ribcage is still vibrating from the last chord. But your mind’s already off, burning through memory, hands moving animatedly as you talk.

“Oh, babe,” you say, practically bouncing in your seat, “Bali was insane. I mean, the kind of beauty that doesn’t even feel real half the time. You’re walking down a street and suddenly there’s a temple just... there. No gates. No warning. Just stone and incense and a woman with silver hair weaving flower offerings like it’s the most normal Tuesday in the world.”

Yoongi hums from the swivel chair, eyes on you, chin in hand. You’re not even looking at him—you’re too wrapped up in everything you're trying to say at once. And god, you’re glowing.

“And the air?” you go on, laughing breathlessly, “Yoongi—it’s like the whole island is perfumed. Salt, frangipani, smoke, clove cigarettes—it gets in your clothes, in your hair. You become part of it. I haven’t felt that light in years. Like my whole body was being wrung out and re-threaded.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches. Quiet. Intense.

“And there was this one night,” you continue, tucking your feet under you. “We went to this hidden beach—like, you have to go down a billion steps that look like they’ve been carved by actual ghosts—and when we got there? Bonfire. Music. Locals playing guitar on these beat-up amps powered by a generator that sounded like it was dying.”

You grin, eyes flicking up to him for the first time. He’s still. Too still.

You push on, because you’re on fire now. “They handed us drinks—stuff made with arak and fruit juice, totally unregulated, I’m probably lucky I didn’t go blind—and they were just... flirting. Shamelessly. With everyone. Dami got asked to teach this guy how to salsa. Chaeyoung got proposed to with a mango. And I—” you pause, tilting your head, eyes dancing, “—I got called a goddess like, three times. Four, if you count the guy who kept asking if I wanted a moonlit shoulder massage.”

Yoongi's eyebrow twitches.

You notice. You smirk.

“Relax,” you tease. “I told him I was taken. Very taken. Like, off-the-market, emotionally-devoted, boyfriend-writes-me-songs kind of taken.”

His lips twitch, but the line of his jaw stays tight.

You lean forward a little. “Yoongi.”

He still doesn’t look at you.

“Yoongi,” you sing again, dragging out the vowels.

Finally, he lifts his eyes to yours, deadpan. “I’m just wondering why you remember how many times someone called you a goddess, but you can’t remember the name of the ramen place we went to three times in one week.”

You blink. Then you laugh. “Are you—oh my God, are you jealous?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m just saying, you were gone for two weeks and apparently became the main character in a beach romance novel.”

“Well,” you hum, shifting closer, “I am a woman of many genres.”

He gives you a look. “Including ‘hot girl summer in Bali with mysterious shoulder-massaging men.’ Got it.”

You bite back another laugh, slide closer until your legs touch. “Would it make you feel better if I told you none of them had your voice? Or your hands? Or your devastating ability to turn missing someone into actual music?”

He doesn’t reply—but he’s listening.

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “I loved every minute of it. But I thought about you the whole time.”

His voice is lower now. “Even when someone was calling you a goddess?”

You grin. “Especially then.”

He exhales, finally, leaning back into you.

“You’re still annoyed,” you murmur, smiling.

“I wrote you a love song and you got proposed to with fruit,” he mutters.

You laugh against his neck. “Okay, that’s fair. But at least your song didn’t give me food poisoning.”

He finally cracks a smile.

And in the soft silence that follows, you slide your hand into his.

Back. Safe. Still burning—with the sun, with the music, with him.

The day after the studio session—after Yoongi had pulled you into his world and played you that new song with the kind of pride he rarely let show—you were finally home, finally grounded enough to unpack.

You’d brought back a mountain of things, mostly souvenirs for your friends. It wasn’t even guilt-buying; you just missed them. A lot.

You started sorting everything out on your floor, each item sparking a memory of someone’s laugh, someone’s oddly specific obsession.

For Namjoon, you had a set of handcrafted ceramics—delicate bowls and one oddly shaped mug you knew he’d appreciate in an “object with character” kind of way. He was into stuff like that: things with weight, texture, stories.

Seokjin’s little bundle was easier. He had this current fixation with coffee, and not just any coffee—he’d sent you the exact brand he wanted, grown somewhere at a particular altitude, roasted a certain way. You weren’t even sure how he found it, but you made the detour just for him. Worth it, you figured, for the chaos he’d unleash in the group chat once he got his hands on it.

Hoseok was getting the batik fabric you found in a tiny shop tucked away near the market. It had deep blues and burnt oranges—bold and beautiful, just like him. You already pictured him turning it into a jacket or draping it over something dramatically at a dance studio. And for his girlfriend, a delicate piece of handmade jewelry—silver with tiny amber stones, shaped like falling leaves. She was going to lose her mind over it.

Your own stuff? That took less time. You hadn’t packed much to begin with—mostly bikinis and breezy tops. The heat had practically demanded it. But you’d also picked up a bunch of new shorts, the kind that showed off your legs just enough. The thought made you grin.

You were definitely planning to wear them around Seoul soon. Yoongi was definitely going to like them.

You were halfway through organizing your pile of clothes when your hand hit something solid near the bottom of your suitcase.

“Oh... right.” Tequila.

Chaeyoung.

The memory hit you like the smell of lime and salt.

She’d shown up in Bali like a whirlwind—barely touched down in Seoul for the past eight months. She’d bounced from London to Chile, Argentina, and then Mexico, and somehow skipped straight to Bali to meet you all, suitcase in tow and stories practically spilling out of her mouth.

“I brought the best tequila for you girls,” she’d announced like it was gold. She held it up like a trophy, her sunglasses still on even though the sun had already dipped behind the trees.

“You’re gonna love it. I swear,” she added, unscrewing the cap to let you smell it right then and there.

Dami squinted at her, skeptical. “What do you mean best? Like—good flavor or good time?”

Chaeyoung had smirked. “Oh, babe, if I told you half the things I did after a couple of shots of this…”

“You’re crazy,” Taeha called out from the back patio.

“No, babe,” Chaeyoung said, eyes wild and glass already half-empty, “you’re gonna want to be crazy after I teach you this little trick. Trust me—this stuff? It’ll get your man on fire.”

The room paused, like it collectively sensed incoming chaos.

Jieun blinked. “Why does that sound illegal?”

“Because it probably is,” Dami whispered, crossing her arms like she was preparing for war.

Chaeyoung ignored both of them, too far gone. She slammed her glass down like she was about to present a scientific discovery. “Okay, LISTEN. I’m about to change all your lives.”

“Oh no,” Taeha muttered. “Not another ‘I saw a TikTok and now I’m a sex guru’ monologue—”

“SHUT UP and listen”, Chaeyoung snapped, already standing like a drunk prophet. “So I was in Mexico, okay? Had just eaten like...six tacos and a churro. I’m tipsy. This guy is rambling about the flavor notes in mezcal like he’s auditioning for MasterChef: Alcoholic Edition, and I’m scrolling TikTok minding my business—and BAM.”

She clapped loudly. Everyone jumped.

“This woman—an actress, like straight up goddess energy—comes up on my For You Page. And she’s like, ‘This is how you seduce a man in ten seconds or less.’ I didn’t even blink. I learned.”

“Stop,” Jieun begged, already wheezing. “I can’t breathe when you talk like this.”

“I’m serious!” Chaeyoung shouted. “You don’t need lingerie. You don’t need a playlist. You just need THIS.”

She grabbed a pillow off the couch and slammed it onto the floor like it owed her money. “Dami, you’re the man. Get over here.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“DAMI. Get. Over. Here.”

By the time Dami crawled over, purely out of morbid curiosity, Chaeyoung was already miming the scene. She picked up her shot glass like it was sacred, locked fake-eyes with Dami, and whispered:

“You take the tequila. You hold it. You stare. Not blink. Not smile. Just stare like you’re about to commit emotional crimes.”

She mimed holding the shot in her mouth, then leaned toward Dami with cartoonishly intense eye contact.

“And THEN,” she continued, dramatically slow, “you pass it. Mouth. To. Mouth.”

The room exploded.

Jieun SCREAMED. “WHAT THE FUCK!!!”

“I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GONNA DIE,” Taeha said, curled into a ball.

Dami fell backward, shrieking. “Get off me, you demon woman!”

“I WAS DOING RESEARCH!” Chaeyoung yelled back, offended.

“YOU DID THIS TO SOMEONE?” you gasped.

“In the bathroom of a rooftop bar in Oaxaca!” she declared like she was announcing a Grammy win. 

“WHAT.”

“WHATTTTTTTTT?!”

Jieun was hiding behind the couch now. “I cannot believe I have to know you.”

Chaeyoung, now fully unhinged, launched into a dramatic reenactment—flipping her hair, straddling the pillow like a man was beneath it. “Then we made out so hard I almost knocked a soap dispenser off the wall. I think there was applause outside. I don’t know. I blacked out from the POWER.”

“You need help,” Dami groaned, fanning herself.

“No, YOU need tequila and a man with low expectations,” Chaeyoung snapped, already pouring more shots. “Now, who’s next? Let’s practice. I’ll be the guy. Come on. Seduce me, cowards!”

You were crying from laughter. Your stomach hurt. Your soul hurt. Jieun looked like she was about to call a priest.

“Do we need to tell Yoongi about this?” Taeha asked you with an evil grin.

“No one tells Yoongi anything,” you said quickly, gripping your drink like it was your only protection.

Chaeyoung just smirked at you, devilish. “You’re gonna try it. I know you are.”

You just laughed—and avoided her gaze.

But she already knew.

Yeah, that bottle of tequila was now staring at you.

Oh, you were gonna have fun.

By the time Yoongi woke up—hair messy, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blinking at you like you were a dream—it was nearly noon.

“You unpacked already?” he asked, voice raspy, warm with sleep.

“Trying to pretend I’m not still on Bali time,” you mumbled, smiling into your mug.

He padded over, kissed your temple, and muttered something about making tteokbokki.

And god, he really could cook.

You sat cross-legged on the counter while he moved through the kitchen with quiet confidence, slicing green onions, adding just the right amount of gochugaru like it was instinct. The rich, spicy scent filled the apartment, and when you finally sat down to eat, you could have cried from the comfort of it. After two weeks of fresh seafood and tropical fruits, having something that tasted like home—like Seoul, like him—felt grounding.

“Still like mine better than any Bali food?” he asked, smug as he watched you devour the last piece.

You licked your spoon. “No offense to Bali, but your tteokbokki is emotional support food. It wins.”

He grinned, that small, rare one that made your stomach flutter.

Now, hours later, the sun was setting outside the living room window. The city buzzed softly in the distance, but here in the apartment, it was calm—dim lights, a quiet movie playing, legs tangled under a shared blanket. Yoongi leaned into the cushions, one arm draped behind you, the other lazily scrolling through his phone during the slow parts.

“Should we open some wine?” he asked, his voice low, almost a hum.

“Only if you pick it,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

He gave you a small pat on the thigh before heading over to the shelf tucked into the corner of the kitchen—a narrow unit lined with a modest but respectable collection of bottles. He crouched down, humming to himself, searching for the right red.

Then he paused.

“...What the hell is this?”

You turned your head.

Yoongi straightened slowly, holding up a sleek, unfamiliar bottle. The label was bright. Bold. Very not him.

He squinted at it. “Did this multiply in my apartment without my permission? I did not buy this.”

You bit your lip, trying very hard not to smile.

He turned to face you. “This yours?”

You gave him a sheepish nod.

He examined the label again, then looked at you with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. “Why... do you have a bottle of tequila hiding in my apartment?”

“Chaeyoung gave it to me,” you explained, as innocently as possible. “As a gift.”

Yoongi arched a brow. “That sounds fake. Try again.”

“Okay,” you admitted, slowly standing up, blanket falling from your lap. “It was part of a girls’ night... situation. Involving stories. And hypotheticals. And a very specific TikTok.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at you like he was trying to read subtitles you weren’t offering.

“…What kind of TikTok?”

You gave him a totally innocent smile. “A harmless one.”

“That’s never true,” he said flatly. “Every time someone starts a sentence with ‘so I saw this TikTok’ it ends in something insane or borderline illegal.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Nobody got arrested. Nobody died. There were just... beverages. And discussions. That’s all.”

Yoongi held up the bottle like it was radioactive. “So this ended with you bringing back imported mystery tequila from girls' night? That’s the takeaway?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you said, walking over and plucking the bottle from his hands. “It’s artisanal.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“You act like I’m hiding a crime,” you teased, setting it carefully on the table.

“You are hiding something,” he muttered, still watching you suspiciously. “You’re way too smiley for this to be a normal ‘hey let’s have tequila’ situation.”

You shrugged, doing your best to look unbothered—even as your face threatened to betray you with another grin. “Maybe I just missed you and thought it’d be fun to have a drink together.”

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing like he was filing that line away for later. “Totally believable. No other reason. No hidden context.”

“Exactly.”

A pause.

Yoongi finally dropped back onto the couch beside you, still eyeing the bottle like it might start talking.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered under his breath.

You nudged his knee with yours. “I am lucky.”

He glanced at you, then let out a small, exasperated laugh. “And now I’m low-key afraid to drink that.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Well, good thing we’re having wine right now.”

He shot you a look, but couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at his lips.

It had been a shitty week. No poetic metaphors, no dramatic flair. Just plain, exhausting, soul-sucking shit. Going back to work was shitty. As an editor at a publishing company, you were used to juggling deadlines, writer meltdowns, and 2 a.m. “urgent” revisions — but this week? This week decided to personally test your will to live.

By Friday, you were running on caffeine, petty rage, and whatever serotonin your cat videos could offer.

Thankfully, it was over. Finally.

You were curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie, staring blankly at your phone while half a bag of chips sat forgotten beside you. Yoongi had texted earlier — be home in an hour, miss u — and even just that had been enough to keep you from combusting.

With a sigh, you opened your messages app, finally catching up on the chaos you’d ignored all week.

Your friends' group chat was on fire. Everyone was still riding the Bali high, posting blurry sunset photos, thirst traps in bikinis, and messages like:

Taeha: literally thinking about the nasi goreng at 3am Jieun: my skin still glows like i bathed in tropical gods Dami: WHEN are we doing round two. i need a new passport stamp and a new man. urgently. Taeha: can we do Greece. or Spain. or literally anywhere with sun and drama.

You smiled, heart softening a little. Yeah. That trip was magic.

And then you saw it — a private message from Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung💥: [TikTok link] “this is the visual representation of what i tried to explain that night LMAO” “giving this to u cuz u r the only one with a man lol”

You tapped the link, suspicious.

The video started playing — and you immediately paused it, jaw dropping, face heating.

Oh. OH.

It was the exact tequila trick she’d so enthusiastically attempted to act out back in Bali. Except now, seeing it performed in real time — slow, hot, absolutely lethal — made something in your brain short-circuit. You blinked, stared at your phone like it betrayed you, then hit play again. For science.

The way the woman in the video straddled her man, the effortless way she passed the drink between their mouths, the almost moan he let out like it rewired his whole nervous system—

Yeah. You were watching this on a Friday night after getting metaphorically body-slammed by your job. You deserved joy. You deserved serotonin. And preferably, you deserved it in the form of your boyfriend, shirtless, on this very couch.

You: chaeyoung. what the hell. why r u sending me this 

Chaeyoung: DIDN’T I JUST SAID YOU R THE ONLY ONE WITH A MAN THAT YOU CAN CALL YOURS. SEE THE VISION

You: i see it i feel it

Chaeyoung: YESSSS get that man WEAK, babes.

You: he’s coming home in 40 how fast do u think i can shower and emotionally prepare

Chaeyoung: light the fucking torch.

You stared at the screen for a second, heart racing, lip caught between your teeth.

Well. You did just wash your hair last night. And your cute robe was clean. And that bottle Chaeyoung gave you? Still hiding behind the wine rack like a dirty little secret.

You stood up.

Time to turn this terrible week around—with tequila, TikTok tactics, and one very lucky boyfriend.

The apartment was dimly lit, cozy, and quiet—exactly the way Yoongi liked it after a long day. He kicked off his shoes by the door, ran a hand through his hair, and called out casually, “Babe? I’m home.”

No answer.

Well, no immediate answer.

Just the soft hum of music coming from the living room—something low and sultry. It wasn’t your usual playlist. This was a vibe.

He squinted. Suspicious.

“Babe?” he tried again, stepping further in. His jacket was halfway off his shoulders when he turned the corner—and stopped dead in his tracks.

You were in the living room. Waiting.

Correction: you were posed in the living room.

Wearing your favorite silk robe—one that barely grazed your thighs, tied in a loose, suspiciously flimsy knot. Candles flickered on the coffee table. Two glasses sat beside a bottle he definitely didn’t own.

“Hi,” you said sweetly, crossing one leg over the other as you sat perched on the edge of the couch like a perfectly wrapped sin.

Yoongi blinked. “...What the hell is going on.”

“Celebrating,” you answered, like it was obvious.

He raised a brow. “Celebrating what?”

“The end of a very horrible week,” you said, then added with a grin, “And also… you.”

Yoongi was now actively side-eyeing the bottle. “Is that—”

“The tequila,” you confirmed. “Yes.”

“I thought we said we were saving that for—”

“Plans change,” you cut in, voice light. “Besides, I have a new method. A fun one.”

He blinked at you again, slower this time. “Why does that sound threatening.”

“It’s not,” you said. “It’s sexy.”

You laughed, a little wild in your eyes, and patted the spot in front of you. “Sit. Trust me.”

Yoongi hesitated, that familiar wariness flickering behind his dark eyes like a warning siren—this was definitely going to be one of those moments. But as always, he couldn’t resist you. With a sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and dropped onto the couch, still shooting you a suspicious look. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being generous,” you teased, voice low and mischievous.

You slid closer, your hands gentle but firm on his shoulders. “This is something I learned.” You practically straddled him, settling down on his lap with a confident smile.

Yoongi’s brows knit together, confused but intrigued. “What—”

“They said this is how tequila tastes the best,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt. “And since I know you really like your alcohol…”

You slowly hooked your finger into the top button of his shirt, eyes not leaving his face. “Can I unbutton this?”

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, lips curling in amusement. “Yes,” he replied, raising a brow as if to say whatever you're up to... I’m watching you.

With a sly little grin, you unfastened one button. Then the next. Then another. You were deliberate with it—fingers brushing his skin each time, exposing just enough of his chest to leave your mouth watering. His skin was warm, soft, and smelled faintly of the cologne he always wore. That scent you liked to steal from the collar of his sweaters.

You leaned in, holding the tequila shot glass loosely in your hand, and whispered—half to him, half to yourself, “And then I have to... huh... lick.”

You dipped your head and—without hesitation—flattened your tongue against the base of his neck. You dragged it slowly up, tracing a path over his collarbone and along the curve of his shoulder, right where the salt would go in the classic version. Except you weren’t following any rules.

Yoongi’s breath caught sharply. His hands, resting on your hips, twitched.

You leaned back, just enough to lock eyes with him. He looked stunned. Flushed. Slightly speechless.

Then, as if to really commit to the bit, you took the shot. Head tilted back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down.

And finally—eyes on his—your hand reached out for the lime. But instead of putting it in your mouth, you brought it up to his lips.

“Bite,” you said softly.

He obeyed.

You leaned in one last time, stealing the lime back with a kiss that lingered longer than necessary, your lips brushing his in a mix of citrus and heat.

“Okay—where the hell?” Yoongi sputtered, blinking like he just came out of a trance. “What? Why? What the hell?”

He was flustered—genuinely flustered—and that was rare for him. A soft pink crept up the sides of his neck, and his chest was still rising and falling just a little faster than usual. You stayed exactly where you were, still straddling his lap, hands resting lightly on his now half-unbuttoned shirt like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You tilted your head innocently, though your smirk betrayed you. “This is why I wanted to save that bottle.”

Yoongi stared at you, eyes narrowing. “This is what that TikTok discussion was about?”

You leaned forward just enough so that your chest brushed his, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I told you it was educational content.”

He huffed a dry laugh, but his hands were already on your hips again, holding you tighter now. “Educational? Babe, you just licked me like a human salt rim and then kissed tequila into my mouth. That wasn’t education. That was witchcraft.”

You bit your lip, eyes gleaming. “Witchcraft that works, clearly.”

Yoongi’s gaze dropped to your lips, his breath catching slightly. You could feel him shifting beneath you, his composure unraveling by the second.

“You’re literally still on top of me,” he muttered, voice lower now, rougher.

“Mhm.” You rolled your hips just a tiny bit, enough to make his hands dig into your waist in warning. “On purpose.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, something darker flickering there now. “You planned this.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, my ass.”

He surged up just enough to kiss you fully, mouth warm and tasting faintly of lime and tequila, his hands sliding under your shirt like he was reclaiming control. But you broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“You said you liked tequila.”

“I like peace and quiet too, but I guess I’m not getting that either,” he muttered, though the way he looked at you said something very different.

“Not when I’m around,” you teased, pulling his shirt fully open now and tossing the shot glass aside like the game was only beginning. 

He chuckled, low and wicked. “And here I was, just trying to have a normal Friday night.”

“But did you like it though?” you asked, breathless now, lips still tingling from the kiss. You dragged your hands slowly up his chest, over the exposed skin you’d just unbuttoned, nails light enough to make him twitch. “You haven’t said anything about it, babe.”

Yoongi looked at you—really looked at you. His pupils were blown wide now, jaw tight, lips slightly parted as he processed the question, like you had just asked him something offensive.

“You’re seriously asking me that,” he said, voice low, hoarse with restraint, “while you’re literally sitting on me like this?”

You rolled your hips ever so slightly, the friction cruel in how light it was. “Just want feedback.”

Yoongi let out a sharp breath—half disbelief, half groan—and grabbed you by the hips, steadying you, containing you, but barely. His fingers dug in, possessive.

“Of course I fucking liked it,” he said, eyes dragging down from your lips to your neck, to the swell of your chest beneath your shirt. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You smiled slowly. “Just making sure.”

“You licked my neck, downed a shot like it was foreplay, and then had the audacity to grind on me like it was a goddamn game.”

You tilted your head. “It was a game.”

He pulled you flush against him, his mouth brushing the corner of yours with maddening softness, the kind that made your whole body tense in anticipation. “Oh, it’s a fucking war now.”

You gasped, but before you could respond, his mouth was on yours again—hotter this time, needier, tongue sweeping past your lips like he needed more of you now. His hands slid up your back, under your shirt, dragging it higher with every desperate kiss.

He was already hard beneath you, and the way his hips bucked up, just once, slow and deliberate, told you exactly how much control he was pretending to have.

“You wanna know if I liked it?” he growled against your mouth, lips brushing yours with each word. “I’m gonna show you how much.”

And he kissed you again—messy, rough, like the question had flipped a switch in him. One hand tugged at the waistband of your shorts while the other held you firmly in place, his thigh pressing between yours now. Heat pooled low in your belly.

“Tequila,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck. “What kind of spell did you girls cook up in Bali?”

You laughed, breath shaky as your hands tangled in his hair. “The kind that ends with you begging.”

He was gone the second you straddled him.

Yoongi tried—really tried—to keep his cool. But the minute you whispered “lick” and dragged your tongue along his neck, something short-circuited. His brain, his restraint, his sense of time. All of it.

And now, here you were—sitting on him like sin in human form, asking if he liked it.

Liked it?

He wanted to laugh. Scream. Flip the couch. Instead, he grabbed your hips because he had to. Not to stop you—hell no—but because if he didn’t hold on, he might do something entirely unhinged. Like flip you over and lose his mind.

“Of course I fucking liked it,” he said, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded wrecked. He could feel the way your weight settled into his lap, how warm you were, how smug. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was driving him insane.

He couldn’t look away from your mouth. The way you were breathing a little faster. The faint shimmer of tequila still lingering on your lips.

When you rolled your hips again—again—he swore under his breath.

His body reacted instantly, hips lifting into yours with an involuntary jerk that made him clench his jaw. Your breath caught. Good. You felt it too.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he muttered, dragging his hands under your shirt, mapping every inch of skin like he had to memorize it. “This—whatever this is—you’re not walking away from it, you know that?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Wasn’t planning to. I told you I had a shitty week.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound deep in his throat as he leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So this was your plan, huh?”

You felt the slow drag of his hands down your sides—warm, steady, maddening.

“Mmm,” he murmured, voice low and laced with amusement. “You just wanted to have a little fun. That it?”

His nose nudged against your cheek before he whispered, “You missed me, babe. Don’t play like you didn’t.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but the way he spoke—so casual, so sure of you—made your breath hitch.

“Two weeks without me…” His teeth grazed your jaw. “Two weeks without sex.”

Your thighs instinctively tightened around his hips, and he noticed—of course he did.

“Ohhh, I knew it,” he grinned, cocky now. “I wonder what you got up to while I was around. Hm? What kind of desperate little thoughts did that pretty head of yours have?”

He ran his hands up under your shirt again, slow, appreciating every curve like he’d been starving for it. “You did something to this body, didn’t you?” he drawled, voice dark velvet now. “You’ve been walking around all tan and glowy and smug like that trip fixed your soul—but I know what you really needed.”

His fingers curled around your hips, rocking you down against him, just enough to remind you exactly how ready he was.

“You’re a whole different person when you’re horny, baby. So needy. So fucking honest.”

You squirmed, and his laugh was smug, satisfied.

“You had a shitty week,” he said, dragging his mouth down to your neck, lips soft but teasing. “So naturally, you thought—‘Hey, I know what’ll help. Let me climb on top of my boyfriend and ride the stress away.’”

“Is it working?” you whispered, breath hot against his cheek.

He pulled back just enough to look at you—really look, eyes burning like they could eat you alive.

“I made you a song while we were apart,” he said with mock offense. “You? You learned a seduction trick off TikTok.”

You grinned. “Productive two weeks.”

Yoongi’s hands were still on your waist, warm and possessive, when he leaned back just slightly, eyes hooded and gleaming with something dangerous. You knew that look. That smirk. Your stomach flipped.

“So…” he began, brushing his thumbs in slow circles over your bare skin, “you pulled that little tequila stunt…”

You grinned. “Guilty.”

“…and thought I wouldn’t retaliate?”

Your smile faltered. “What?”

He leaned in again, lips barely ghosting over yours as he whispered, “You really think I don’t have a few tricks of my own, baby?”

You swallowed hard.

“I’ve been patient,” he continued, dragging his fingers slowly—infuriatingly slowly—down your spine. “You had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

Before you could respond, he was lifting you effortlessly, standing with you wrapped around him like it was second nature—because, at this point, it was. You barely had time to gasp before he was carrying you down the hallway toward the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him like he meant it.

He laid you on the bed with a reverence that made your heart race and your thighs press together, and then he disappeared for a second—just long enough to make you whine in protest.

“Relax,” came his voice from somewhere near the kitchen, casual and dangerous. “I’m just grabbing the bottle. If you’re gonna start something, babe, you better be ready to finish it.”

Your mouth went dry.

When he returned, the bottle of tequila was in one hand, and that same dark smirk was back on his face. He set it gently on the nightstand, then climbed onto the bed with the kind of grace that made your breath catch.

“You remember how it goes, right?” he murmured, kneeling between your legs. “Salt… lick… shot.”

You nodded, suddenly the one speechless.

He dragged a finger across the curve of your collarbone, then leaned in to kiss the spot—slow, open-mouthed, lingering. You felt your heartbeat stutter.

“Lift your arms,” he whispered.

You obeyed. He licked a line just below your clavicle, then sprinkled the salt there with deliberate precision. His lips brushed your ear again.

“Keep still.”

You couldn’t breathe.

He brought the shot glass up, holding it steady in one hand as he dipped his head.

The lick came first—wet, slow, decadent. His tongue traced the salt from your chest with a kind of reverence that made your whole body tighten beneath him.

Then the shot—head tilted back, clean and quick.

And then?

Then came the lime.

Instead of handing it to you, Yoongi brought it to your mouth himself, holding the wedge with his fingers just so. “Bite,” he murmured, his eyes locked on your lips.

You did—and his eyes darkened.

He watched the way your mouth moved, watched the little shiver run through you from the sour tang and the heat still lingering on your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping the lime to the side and pushing you gently back onto the pillows. “You're never allowed to do that trick again unless I get to do it right back.”

Your laugh was breathless. “Deal.”

But before you could say anything else, his mouth was back on you—hot, insistent, everywhere at once. He kissed a path down your stomach, murmuring praise between every inch of skin.

And just before he disappeared between your thighs, he looked up at you with that same boyish smirk that always got you in trouble.

“You had a shitty week,” he said, voice low “Guess I’m gonna have to fuck it out of you.”

You barely had time to react before Yoongi’s mouth was on you again—slow. He kissed down your stomach like he was mapping it, like he was reclaiming it. His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, tugging just enough to make you whimper.

“You wore these to tease me, huh?” he murmured, hot breath fanning over your skin. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Maybe,” you said, breathless, hands tangling in his hair.

He chuckled, dark and low. “You walk in here, tequila bottle like some kind of sex witch… straddle me like it’s nothing, lick salt off my chest like that’s a normal Friday night—what the fuck do you expect me to do?”

You were about to answer—something witty, something bratty—but then he had your shorts off and his mouth was on your inner thigh, kissing the skin there like it was sacred.

“You smell like heaven,” he muttered. “And you’re shaking. You’ve been thinking about this all week, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

He hummed. “Then stop pretending like you don’t want me to ruin you.”

And he did. Tongue pressed flat, slow and firm—one long lick that had your hips bucking off the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you down with practiced ease.

“Fuck, baby,” you breathed, already seeing stars.

Yoongi didn’t respond. He was focused, utterly and deliciously focused, like he was composing a melody with your body as the instrument. He switched between long, slow strokes and quick flicks that had you sobbing his name.

Every time you got close, he’d pull back—kiss your thighs, suck a little mark into the skin just to watch you squirm.

“You don’t get to come yet,” he said, voice rough now. “Not until I say.”

You whimpered, a full-body shiver running through you.

He slid two fingers into you—slow, curling just right—and your back arched. Your hands gripped the sheets, clawed at them. He pressed kisses to your inner thigh as he fucked you with his fingers, mouth still devastating between your legs.

“You taste like you missed me,” he said, voice hoarse, fingers never slowing. “Is that what this is? Two weeks of missing me? Of needing this cock and not getting it?”

“Yoongi—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes—yes, fuck, I missed you—”

“Yeah, you did.” His teeth grazed your skin, his fingers moving faster now. “Missed being filled. Missed being fucked like you deserved.”

You were a trembling mess, every nerve ending lit up, every muscle tense and begging for release.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take another second, he moved up your body, hovered over you, kissed your lips deep and dirty with your taste still on his tongue.

“Wanna come?” he whispered, grinding against you, already rock hard through his boxers.

“Yes, please—”

“Good,” he smirked. “Because I’m not stopping until you do. And then again. And again. You're not sleeping tonight, babe.”

Yoongi didn’t stop—not when your legs started to tremble, not when your breath hitched in that high, helpless way that drove him insane. He was relentless, completely immersed, tongue gliding in slow, torturous circles before switching to sharp, precise flicks that had you arching off the bed.

“God, fuck. Please,” you almost choked, voice wrecked, coming out in desperate, broken pieces. “Fuck, fuck—”

Your hand flew to his hair, threading through the dark strands with shaking fingers. You weren’t just touching him—you were clinging, grounding yourself against the overwhelming wave crashing through your body. Then your other hand joined, not stroking, not pulling—just holding on as he pulled deeper sounds from you than you'd ever made before.

“I—fuck,” you gasped again, voice hoarse and breathless, hips rising against his mouth. “Yoongi—please—I can't—”

He growled low, the sound vibrating against you in a way that made you cry out. And still, he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

You were falling apart under him, trembling and moaning and begging, and he was drinking it in like your body was his favorite kind of worship. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open, holding you down—as if to say You’re not going anywhere. I’m not done yet.

Because he wasn’t.

He was building you like a beat, layering sensation on sensation until it all collapsed—until the dam broke and you screamed his name, clenching around nothing, your body shaking as pleasure tore through you.

And even then, he still didn’t let go.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your thigh, breath hot, voice rough with pride and lust. “Now let’s see how you take cock”

He didn’t give you much time to recover—just enough for your breathing to even out, for your lashes to flutter open, dazed and ruined, still trembling from the aftermath.

Yoongi leaned over you, chest brushing yours, the weight of him grounding you. His lips ghosted across your jawline, featherlight, and then lower, over your neck, where he bit down gently—claiming.

"You always taste like this?" he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Or is this just what happens when you miss me?"

You whimpered, already breathless again.

He sat back on his knees, undoing his belt in one smooth pull that made your mouth go dry. His eyes never left yours—dark, heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with hunger. His shirt hung open, still a little damp where you’d licked the salt off his skin, and he looked completely, devastatingly fucked out, even though he hadn’t gotten anything yet.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes raking down your body. “You’re shaking. You really had a week, huh?”

You nodded. Barely. And he smiled, slow and sinful.

“Well, baby,” he said, positioning himself between your thighs, stroking himself once, twice—thick, flushed, already dripping—“let me make it better.”

And then he pressed in.

The stretch made your breath catch, eyes fluttering shut—your body still too sensitive, too desperate—and he hissed between his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Always so good for me. Goddamn.”

He rolled his hips, slow and deep, and it was like the air was punched out of your lungs. He filled you completely, every inch deliberate, every movement dragging against all the places you needed him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in for purchase.

“Yoongi—fuck—”

He caught your mouth in a kiss, messy and hot, all tongue and teeth, swallowing your sounds like he wanted to own them. His thrusts got harder, deeper, finding that rhythm that had your entire body arching, your legs locking around his waist like he was the only thing anchoring you.

"You think you can come in here, ride me with tequila tricks, and not get absolutely wrecked?" he growled into your neck.

You moaned—helpless—and he smirked.

"Not after that little show, baby. No way."

He shifted, one hand sliding under your thigh to hitch it higher around him, changing the angle—and fuck, you saw stars. Your back arched off the bed, your head thrown back, and Yoongi watched like he was witnessing art.

Yoongi’s grip tightened, his voice dropping low and rough against your skin. “What did they call you? A goddess?” His hips thrust harder, heavier, deliberately rougher, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. “But they didn’t get to have you like this, right?”

You choked on a breath, overwhelmed by the sensation. “Oh my god… I told you—fuck—because I thought it was… there, fuck—funny… Oh my god, are you really jeal—fuck!”

Your eyes rolled back, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you could barely keep up.

“I’m not jealous,” Yoongi growled, voice thick with need.

“No?” you teased breathlessly, arching into him.

“I’m thriving,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, every word dripping with possessiveness. “They don’t fucking get to see you like this. Only I do.”

“You feel that?” he grunted, thrusting harder now, body slamming into yours with a rhythm that left you gasping. “That’s mine. All of this—mine.”

You couldn't speak—you could barely think. Every movement was electric, every drag of him inside you a white-hot promise of release. His pace was brutal now, every snap of his hips laced with possession, with the kind of love that ruins you for anyone else.

“You’re gonna come again,” he said—low, rough, a little breathless, but firm. Not a question. A command. “And then you’re gonna do it one more time. Because I missed this, too. I fucking missed you.”

He growled the last part, voice cracking slightly under the weight of how real it was. His hips didn’t let up—deep, relentless, tuned perfectly to your body like he’d memorized every reaction, every gasp.

Your fingers clawed at his back, useless against the way your body spiraled. You were wrecked—utterly, completely, beautifully wrecked.

“I—I missed you so much, Yoongi,” you sobbed, the pleasure too much to hold in anymore. “I’m gonna… fu—fuck, cum—”

“Oh my god,” is all you can manage, your voice wrecked and breathless, your whole body trembling beneath him.

“Inside,” you whisper, your lips brushing his ear, need thick in your tone.

He’s still moving—slow now, but deep, deliberate—as if he wants to feel every last second of you wrapped around him. The look in his eyes is feral, undone.

“Fucking missed you so much, babe,” he groans, and then he’s right there—burying himself deep as he cums hard, hips stuttering, spilling into you with a growl so raw it vibrates in your chest. His whole body tenses against yours as he rides it out, forehead pressed to yours.

“I fucking missed you,” he repeats, almost breathless, voice rasping against your lips. “I told you—I wrote a whole damn song because I missed you. I didn’t have time to give you something earlier but I had this whole fucking plan—a date, like a proper boyfriend.”

He huffs out a breathless, delirious laugh, still barely able to move.

“And now look at us,” he adds, burying his face in your neck. “Fucking tequila.”

You laugh, weak and breathless, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Next time you bring the salt.”

Group Chat: 🌴 Good Bitches Reunited 🌶️

You: update: tequila trick was… effective 😌✨

Chaeyoung: I KNEW IT

Taeha: WAIT. omg she DID

Jieun: This is why I need to start collecting frequent flyer miles. I’m flying to you next.

Dami: HELLO??? 

You: girl. the look on his face when I did it… like he saw God

Chaeyoung: I’M SO PROUD I COULD CRY

Taeha: Honestly I thought you’d chicken out but no. you did the whole “lick → salt → shot → kiss” thing right??

You: Of course I did I studied the tape

Jieun: So you're telling me tequila + cleavage + terrible week + some sort of emotional reunion = Yoongi malfunction?

You: He short-circuited 😌 Then rebooted and proceeded to rearrange my internal organs

Chaeyoung: This is now a case study Scientific proof that tequila leads to spiritual fulfillment and hot sex like I SAID.

You: Anyway. Legs? Gone. Dignity? Questionable. Regrets? Zero. So… success?

Chaeyoung: Tell Yoongi I accept thank-you notes in the form of concert tickets or exclusive unreleased demos 🫶

You: He wrote me a whole song during the trip So I seduced a man and got a song.

Dami: MAIN CHARACTER SHIT

You: I’ll send a selfie later once my legs function again Love u whore💋

Taeha: God I missed us Can we go to Greece next?

Jieun: Bitch, we’re going to Spain next. Get a freakin grip. 

[all-with-angel]

High Voltage

❥ Electric Fly Swatter Sukuna x reader

❥ With the heat being unbearable and flies swarming you practically every minute, you have nothing except a faulty fly swatter on your side. even then, the thing does nothing except zap you randomly! Sick of its shit, you throw it out the window, only for it to come stomping back to fuck some manners into you! Don't you know its rude to throw things out of windows?

Content. CRACKFIC, smut, dubcon, afab!reader, sukuna is mean(duh), grinding, oral(f!receiving), his fingers vibrate, he zaps you sometimes, p in v, doggystyle, dacryphilia, begging, creampie :P

A.N. I blame @yenayaps and @madamechrissy for enabling me so i take no accountability whatsoever. @yamadramallamaqueen here you go unc ily

It was hot.

Like, skin-sticking-to-furniture, every-fan-sounds-like-it’s-pleading-for-death, consider-lying-on-the-tile-floor-like-a-cat kind of hot. It was hellish during this time of the year. The heat outside would've been fine, if not for your AC breaking at the start of the week and your landlord doing absolutely jack shit about it. Thus, your humble little home had turned into a sauna and your overhead fans could only do so much. And if that wasn’t bad enough?

Flies. So many damn flies.

It was just the season for them, and you were getting tired of swatting them to death manually. Lucky for you, you stumbled upon a quaint little yard sale on your way home. It was small, stacks upon stacks of books and old cds, and a few barely-working pieces of electronics. A worn out looking fly swatter caught your eye, and when you asked the old grandma about it, she gladly gave it to you in exchange for a few dollars. It was black with pink highlights, residue of stickers clinging on to the plastic.

Lucky you, It was way cheaper than any of the newer models you’d seen, and it worked fine. Sure, it vibrated and shaked whenever you turned it on, and it took way too long to charge, but it worked.

For a while.

A week later, the thing turned on you. You were waving it around in your living room, a surge of slight satisfaction at every loud bzzt! that signaled the death of another one of those flying bloodsuckers. You were about to walk to the kitchen, satisfied with the lack of any more flies buzzing in the room when you felt a sharp sting of electricity course through your hand. You yelped and dropped it, hitting the edge of the sofa and clattering loudly onto the floor.

“What the hell?!” 

You hissed, massaging your hand for a moment before grabbing the fly swatter with a cloth. “Stupid old thing.” Murmuring curses and complaints under your breath about how its faultiness was showing after just a week of owning it, you set it on the counter and plugged it into its charging port. You eyed it as it lightly hummed and a red light blinked on and off, you could've sworn it started blinking out of sync— its patterns more similar to a human blinking than an electronic with a set program.

Whatever. It was too hot for this. You brushed it off and turned away.

Over the next few days, it kept zapping you. Randomly. It started when you were just holding it, using it actively when it would zap you when you even dared to put it down. Then, it started to zap you when it wasn't even on. You had turned it off, the phantom pain of getting electrocuted in your hand earlier fading as you tucked it under your arm. Before you could even reach halfway to your room, it had zapped your entire side. 

Nothing too painful, not exactly enough to be an immediate health hazard– but the surprise made you scream and drop it (again), clutching your side in betrayal.

 It was less a bug killer now and more of an abusive relationship that you couldn’t let go of. At least not with your current fly problem.

On another day of trying to survive through a damn heatwave, you were sweating even as two fans were working overtime fanning you. They were your real friends in this situation, even if they just blew hot air around the room, doing little to help you. 

Still, help is help.

But that morning, sweaty, stressed, and so over it, you swore that anything would set you off. As if sensing that you were on your last straw, the fly swatter had zapped you mid-swing. You flinched, face contorting from pain to anger. “Motherfucker!”

You shriek as it hits the floor, except this time you didn’t use a cloth to pick it up, you didn’t fear it anymore. Who the hell cares if it zaps you again. You grabbed it and threw it out your window, hearing it hit the soft grass of your yard as you huff. 

“You wanna fucking electrocute me?? Well I’m not having it anymore!” you yelled, flopping onto your couch with all the grace of a damp spaghetti noodle. You swung an arm over your eyes, cringing at the feel of your own sweat-slicked skin but too tired to care. With a sigh, you slump further back and practically melt into the couch.

The crawling feeling of exhaustion caught up to you, crawling from your head down to your chest. A nap at this time would probably fuck up your sleep schedule, but you couldnt seem to care in between the heat and the occasional buzz of a mosquito in your ear. The lull of sleep almost drowning out the sudden bang of your back door.

Wait, what?

The sudden bang of your backdoor startles you awake, loud stomping accompanying your racing heartbeat as you shoot upright and turn to see a very naked and very angry looking man. He was broad, large with black inky tattoos adorning his chest and arms. His head almost reached the ceiling and  you were sure that his dick— DICKS, were the size of your forearm.

You could feel both heat and fear crawling up your spine, settling uncomfortably in your throat as you try to find your words. Before you do, he beats you to it.

“You–!” he snarled, pointing a finger at you. “Did no one teach you to not throw your shit out windows!?”

“What the hell are you talking about!?” You stammer for a moment, eyes flicking around you to his glaring red eyes. You grab the nearest thing to you, a throw pillow and point it in his direction. “Who even are you?! And why did you just break into my house!?”

The pink-haired hunk of a man rolls his eyes, muscles flexing as he crossed his arms. As if this was just another nuisance to him. “I’m your goddamn fly swatter, or whatever the fuck you call it.” He hissed. “Congratulations, you broke the seal and set me fucking free. By throwing me out the window.” His voice was laced with sarcasm and brimming anger, finger tapping idly on his forearm.

“You’re my what??” You asked again, stunned. Unconsciously lowering your protective throw pillow as the hot demon man snarled at your stupidity and confusion.

“Your fly swatter.” He repeated through gritted teeth. The fact he was such a menial object irked him, clearly so.

Your eyes raked over him again, from his broad chest to his.. Sizable cocks. Your eyes seemed glued to the pair, your gaze sending a pulse or arousal through Sukuna. One that went straight to his dicks, making them twitch.

God, how long has it been since he’s had a good fuck? Too many years, that's for sure.

You made a noise in your throat that may or may not have been an inappropriate giggle. That seemed to piss him off. He clicked his tongue stomping over to you, who took a few steps back his looming figure. “Something funny, brat?” He snarled, glaring down at you like he hates your guts. But his half-hard cock(s) told a different story.

You swallowed, breath hitching as you craned your neck to look up at him. God, he was so much bigger upclose, not to mention that his chest was right up in your face distracting you from making any proper thoughts. “N-no. Just— this is so weird.” Your voice drops into a mumble as you continue, every three steps you took back, Sukuna would take one– And it was enough to bridge the gap. “Who knew my shitty fly swatter was hot..”

“HUH? The fuck you just call me?” He roared. “I’m Sukuna, the King of curses you heathen. Not some ‘shitty fly swatter’– Who said you could talk to me so casually!?” Sukuna, now you knew his name, had cornered you against the wall. “Throw me out of the window, no less.” He added, seething.

Alarmed by the dangerous— almost predatory look in his eyes, you hit his chest with the pillow in your arms a few times. “THE HELL? How was I supposed to know that?” Unknown to you, with every shriek and pathetic excuse for an attack, Sukuna could feel his cocks harden– throbbing painfully as his body screamed to show you your place. 

He was grinning, the hungry look in his eyes snapping as he grabbed your wrist and halting your (fairly worthless) struggle against him. You gasp as you feel your wrist get engulfed by a much bigger hand, shame filling your head as you feel the warmth pooling in your stomach.

“You really think that’ll do anything, brat?” He inches closer, scarily handsome face inches away from yours. “Or did you just want to piss me off even more?”

As if caught like a deer in headlights, you stammer, feeling his intense gaze on you making your heart clench and stomach flutter. “I– No, I mean I didn’t–”

“Shut it, slut.” He grabs at your throat, not quite squeezing— But just enough pressure to shut you up. “I don’t need your excuses.” Sukuna grins. “I know what you want, anyway.” He slides his thick leg in between your thighs, putting pressure on your core as you let out a mix of a yelp and a moan.

He grabs your hips as you slowly start to grind on his leg like a bitch in heat. “Ha, pathetic. Is that all it takes for you to give up?”

Your hips stutter, but Sukuna continues to guide your movements against his thigh. “N-No,”

“Liar.”

Sukuna pulls his leg back and in a blur, you end up manhandled onto your couch with your shorts pulled off of you. “Tsk. No panties? What a perfect whore.” He snickers, and as soon as he sees your already dripping cunt, he knew he was in for a sweet treat. He dared to look at your face, waiting in anticipation and beautifully aroused. He took it all in, the curve of your body and every inch of skin bared all for him. He was one lucky fly swatter. And you were one very, very lucky owner.

“W-wait–” You tried to plead, but Sukuna wasn’t a patient man. He didn’t wait. He took what he wanted when he wanted it. And he wanted you. He took his sinfully long tongue to drag across your folds, groaning loudly at your taste. “Fuck..” He muttered, immediately grabbing your hips to pull you into him as he let his tongue explore your perfectly sweet cunt.

Sukuna was like a wild animal– Or an insatiable toy, brimming with electricity ready to be expended on poor you.

He let his tongue curl inside of you, nose brushing and rubbing against your clit as your hands found purchase in his pink hair. The same shade that matched the fly swatter form this so-called King of curses had unwillingly taken.

Suddenly, you feel a zap of electricity on your thigh, making you flinch further into Sukuna’s mouth. “So fucking loud.” You could feel him smiling against your pussy, just before he continued devouring you like a man starved.

You held into his hair for dear life, tugging whenever he’d hit just the right spot, making him groan and send vibrations straight to your core. It felt more intense, more electrifying than anything you could have ever felt from any other man. 

“That needy, brat?” Sukuna pulled away, licking his slick-coated lips before tucking one, then two fingers right into your needy hole. Just as he did, he put his mouth back to work. He could feel you clench against his fingers, the tightness of your hole having Sukuna’s cocks leak pre down his thick cock.

“Y- Y-es!” You moaned out, voice breaking as Sukuna curled his fingers up into that sweet spot of yours. You couldn’t control the desperate gasp escaping your lips when you felt his fingers vibrate inside of you, right against your G-spot. “Oh- Oh god, fuck–” The stimulation felt intense, so much pleasure all at once as Sukuna licked and sucked at your clit.

He was merciless as he finished you off, lapping up at the juices squirting out of your fluttering pussy. You could practically feel electricity shooting up your spine as your back arched further into him, as if fucking his face.

You were definitely testing this demon(?), incubus(?), whatever the fuck he was’ oxygen, but he wasnt complaining. Not even when he pulled away from your cunt, slipping his thick fingers out of you and licking them clean.

“On your stomach. I’m not done with you.”

That's how you found yourself face-down ass-up and drooling onto the couch as Sukuna pounded his fat cock into your pussy, the other slapping against your abdomen with every thrust. You just felt so full, every push of his dick into you hitting every single spot you thought couldn’t be reached.

“Fucking— Fucking slut, shit–” Sukuna growled from above you, barely holding back his own moans from how fucking good you felt around him. So warm, practically made for him— Even if you were such a disrespectful brat. “Throwing me out the goddamn window–” Ah. He still hadn't let that go.

His eyes were glued to the back of your head, occasionally tracing his warm hand on the arch of your back, all to zap you randomly. Relishing in the way you’d flinch and tighten around his length, a condescending grin spreading on his face as he felt himself getting closer to filling you up. To put you in your place.

“Puh-lease–” You gasped as your legs shook, if not for his bruising grip on your waist, you’d have collapsed into a pathetic cum-puddle by now. Tears streamed down your cheeks, staining the couch along with various other fluids.

“Please what, huh?” Sukuna taunted, continuing to thrust his hips into you at an unrelenting pace. His lips parted, breathing heavily as he could feel his cock throb and twitch at the idea of cumming inside of you for the nth time.

Your hips moved back to meet his thrusts, you let out a pleasured sob at the feeling of attempting to rearrange your own guts on Sukuna's dick. “Please cum– I’m sorry, so so sorry for throwing you out the wind-AH!” You shiver as you felt Sukuna slap your ass, his eyes following how a red mark slowly started to imprint itself onto your skin. “What was that?” He mocked, voice condescending as he leaned forward, his chest flush almost flush against your back. “Say that again.”

“I'm sorry for throwing you out the window!” You repeat, moaning and gripping at the sheets as you feel Sukuna angle his hips to fuck you deeper, harder.

“Yeah, you better— fuck, you better be.” Sukuna continued to pound into you, twitching as he felt your pussy spasm around him. His breath was hot and heavy above you and you could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as his other cock was slapping up against your clit again and again. “Take my fucking cum, take it since you’ve learned your lesson you brat–”

In a second, you could feel warmth start to flood your insides, making your pussy flutter and cum around his girth with a strangled cry. The pleasure was overwhelming, white-hot and so fucking good. Sukuna growled and grunted as his hips continued to fuck his cum deeper into you, cock throbbing with every shot of his seed pooling into you. There was just so much, enough to start leaking out your pussy along with your slick.

You were distantly aware of the cum sticking to your stomach and the couch, but your muddy, post-orgasm brain had barely adjusted when Sukuna's voice had cut through the haze. Unforgiving.

“You think we’re done? I haven’t even gotten my second dick wet yet.”

A.N. I was projecting my breeding kink a bit. Woops

[vitoriadior]

SHE'S THAT GIRL

Clark Kent x Model!Reader

(Synopsis) Where your boyfriend takes you to meet his parents, but they already know you. Of course, you're the girl from TV!

Request <3. Masterlist— Model!Reader series. REQUESTS OPEN

Your only expectation was that they wouldn't hate you. That they wouldn't think you were a shallow girl like most people did when you said you were a model. That they could see that you really, really love Clark.

"Stop biting your nail." Clark takes your hand from between your teeth with a chuckle. His other hand is on top of yours, squeezing it lightly as another way of telling you—for the tenth time today—that everything will be okay. "I don't know why you worry so much, everyone loves you."

The problem is, his parents aren't everyone. They're your boyfriend's parents. Probably the most important people in his life. From now on, your relationship with Clark changes. Everyone knows that a relationship isn't the same before and after family visits.

"Honey, Clark's here!" Clark and his father share a hug before Jonathan notices your presence. He sees Clark as if telepathically asking a question, and Clark nods. The man smiles at you within seconds. "Nice to meet you, dear. Come on in."

Okay. His dad seemed kind. He even offered to hang up your coat in a sweet gesture. Jonathan Kent can't help but raise his eyebrows at the texture of your fur coat—it definitely didn't feel cheap.

You were standing in the living room, looking at the pictures the Kents had all over their house—Clark in a baseball uniform at what looked like six years old, Clark on his first day of school, newspaper clipping about Superman. You were smiling at a specific picture of your boyfriend with a cow before you heard a female voice join the conversation between Clark Kent and Jonathan Kent.

Martha Kent. "Here I am, here I am." You put the picture back immediately, almost as if you'd been doing something wrong. "Where's my boy?" Martha's voice is that of a mother overjoyed to have her son home. She hugs Clark like he's still a toddler; you guess that's what being a mother is all about.

"Honey, we have a guest," Jonathan nods gently at you as his wife separates from their son. Clark rushes to your side, taking the hand you were about to tuck back between your teeth.

Clark says your name with a smile, putting his arm around your waist. "She's my girlfriend." You hope your smile isn't too big—you're trying to put on the expression you wear when runway directors tell you to be natural. You're being natural.

Martha Kent frowns, and you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach. God, now you want to throw up. "You—" Martha puts a couple of fingers to her lips, as if she's trying really hard to remember something. Your legs feel weak; you knew it, she hates you! She probably thinks you're not good enough for her son, and that you don't have a real job and—

"You're the girl from the perfume commercial!" Clark's mother smiles almost excitedly. "Yes! Yes, it's you! From TV! What are you doing here in my house?" Ma Kent's smile is from ear to ear, while you remain confused.

Perfume commercial? Perfume commercial! "Oh, yes," you let out a slightly embarrassed giggle. "I'm the girl from that commercial. I'm the face of the brand, so—" Martha Kent is already hugging you before you can continue.

"Oh my god, you're even prettier in person." She gives her son a withering look. "Clark Joseph Kent, why didn't you ever tell me you were dating the girl from the TV?"

"I told you she was a model" Clark defends himself, already pleased to see his mother likes you. He knew she would like you.

"Yes, but you didn't say she was the girl from the perfume commercials." Martha Kent slowly pulls away from you, apologizing in advance. "I love that perfume. Jon gave it to me on our anniversary. Look. I always wear it." She brings her wrist closer to you so you can smell it: yep, it's your perfume.

For the rest of the day, Martha treats you practically like her daughter. Besides being the girl from TV, you're her son's girlfriend—so she tries to make sure you're comfortable at all times. She even asks you what your favorite food is, so she can make sure she make it when Clark brings you home again.

"I told you she was going to love you." Clark is brushing your hair behind your ears. You're lying in bed with him, just relaxing, crammed into the single bed in his old bedroom. "You're the girl from the perfume commercials"

"Yeah, make fun of it all you want," you roll your eyes as Clark laughs. "I get paid a fortune for those commercials, I want you to know"

"Well, it clearly works," he nods, acknowledging the power of marketing. "Look at my mom. Wearing your perfume. Who would have thought her son was dating that gorgeous girl in the commercial"

The next time you go to the Kent farm, you give Martha the latest collection of females's perfumes that the perfume brand released, while Martha gives you the best casserole you have ever tasted.

Here to ad u to my permanent taglist!

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@shine101

[ebodebo]

Rescue me, I want your tender charm!

pairing: dbf!dr. jack abbott x fem!reader

word count: 6.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, phone sex, masturbation, no use of y/n, dirty talk, age-gap, reader is in her early to mid 20s and jack is…how old he is…, two for one: dad’s best friend & best friend’s dad, no jake, probable medical inaccuracies, reader getting drugged, secret relationship, drug & alcohol consumption, no langdon addiction arc, heavy angst, & use of medical jargon.

author’s note: writing for this show wasn’t on my bingo card, but here we are! i need this man with my whole being and i’m so serious. i would also like to clarify that you did not grow up knowing abbott or his daughter. you met them in the last year or so, while finishing up your bachelor's degree and starting on your master's. also, before reading, please heed all the warnings above, as this fic is meant to be read with care. read at your own discretion.

Jack always takes such good care of his girl...

"Jack," you narrow your eyes, a smile breaking your serious facade. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he defends, hand over his heart, a cheeky smile spreading across his lips before twirling a finger in the air. "Turn around."

You roll your eyes playfully, twirling where you stand as your dress twirls with you. The fabric rides only slightly up on the back of your thighs, which has him groaning in the bed where he lays naked, only the comforter giving him a shred of decency. 

"You're gonna give all the college boys whiplash, sweetheart," he chimes with a gruff laugh.

"Too bad for them because I have a boyfriend," you wink, picking up your dress so it pools around your waist as you crawl over to him on the bed to straddle his lap.

His hands move to grip your thighs, massaging them lightly. "Mhm," he hums softly, leaning forward and kissing your lips softly.

"You smell like sex," you randomly murmur against his lips.

"Well, funny enough, I did just have sex, so that checks out," he jests, hands moving up and down your thighs with ease.

"Oh. Did you now? I had no idea," you press your lips back to his, hand moving to rest on his cheek. You nip his lip lightly as your hands skim down his chest and torso to hover over the blanket that covers his naked lap. 

"Insatiable, you are," he mutters against your lips; his words come out breathless. 

You let out a dry laugh as his hands grip your waist tightly, and his head dips into the crook of your neck. "You know, your dad would throw a shit fit if he knew where you were right now," his warm breath flutters across your skin. 

You let out a hushed moan as his teeth come out to nip the sensitive flesh. "Well then...we best keep it a secret then. Huh?" You simply say, hand skimming his bare chest.

"You know whatever consumes your mind will eventually bleed into the real world?" He asks, hands skimming up your hips. Then he tilts his head away from your neck to look into your eyes. 

You quip your brow in confusion.

"Law of attraction," he shrugs simply.

You roll your eyes, groaning as you push him away. "God. You sound like my philosophy professor," you huff, shoulders hunching in defeat.

He lets out a rough laugh. "Is that a good thing?"

"An irritating thing," you inform, your voice tinged with exasperation. "He's such a dick."

"Want me to fight him?" He jokes, his fingers playfully tugging at the hem of your dress, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You contemplate for a moment. "Ask me that after mid-terms."

He smiles, head leaning back to rest on the headboard. "You know, I've always wondered, why philosophy? Could have done EM? You're smart enough for it." His curiosity is genuine, and it warms you.

"Hell no to EM. I'd rather take a bullet to the head," you laugh before realizing he quite literally works in EM. "No offense."

"Some taken, yeah," he nods with a light smile to show he's joking.

You give him a smile before your brain starts turning. "Philosophy…it's...I don't know…grounding," you utter, avoiding his gaze. "Do I sound like an idiot?" You question with a small laugh, eyes finally moving to his. 

"No. Of course you don't," he assures, shaking his head. "I get it. I took a philosophy course in med school," he recalls with a hint of nostalgia in his smile. "My attending at the time all but forced me in the class. Said it would help me understand death," he supplies. 

"Did you like it?" You ask, tilting your head to the side as you fidget with his fingers resting on the bed.

He nods. "Yeah, I did," he replies, his gaze meeting yours. "It helped me understand morality, which is a miracle in itself.” His eyes then drop to the mattress, lost in thought.

"You know, speaking of that," you say as you shuffle off his lap, to his dismay, searching for your laptop. "I have to write a dissertation on a case study about the ethical implications of fabrications." You swipe your laptop from your bag and sit back on the edge of the bed on his side. 

"You can help me with it," you decided, fingers gliding across the keyboard.

He lets out a dry laugh. "Why am I going to help you with your homework?

You turn to look at him. "Because you're smart."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he begins, resting his head on the headboard. "I already did my time."

You roll your eyes playfully, returning to the laptop and tapping the keys to go to the case study. "Yeah. Like forty years ago," you snicker under your breath.

"Oh. Now I'm definitely not helping you," he says, with mock hurt.

You turn to him again, your expression softening. "Sorry…" you chew on your lip, setting your laptop aside to move back towards him. "I'm a dick," you murmur, legs once again straddling his lap.

"Happens to the best of us," he presses a kiss to your lips. 

"I find it hard to believe you can be a dick. You're always so sweet," your hand rests on the back of his neck, fingers dragging up and down softly.

"To you," he closes his eyes softly as your fingers delicately move against his skin. "Just to you."

The ER isn't as bustling and noisy as it usually is when you stroll in the following day.

It's almost...quiet.

Too quiet.

"Hotshot strollin' in, and it's not even eight am?" Langdon chimes from behind the triage desk. "Someone's in trouble," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You give him a smile. "You know me too well, Frank."

He nods his head towards you, a playful glint in his eye. "What did the old man do this time?" He prompts with humor in his tone. "Missed a brunch? Sold your favorite childhood toy?"

You shake your head, moving to lean on the desk. "Oh, much worse," you say as Langdon quips a curious brow. "He's dipping out of our annual family vacation."

"Yikes…" He cringes before tilting his head in thought. "But that sounds like you have an empty seat," he comments, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Where are we going? The tropics? I've been meaning to work on my surfing techniques," he adds, bringing his hands up to pretend to surf, a playful smirk on his face.

You let out a chuckle. "Funny, but not a chance, loser," you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest. "If I were to take anyone else, it would be your wife," you affirm, a teasing glint in your eye. 

"Right. Sorry," he reaches for a clipboard off the desk next to him, scanning it quickly. "I forgot you love Abby more than me," he gives you a short smile.

"Did you really forget though?" You tilt your head, voice pitiful. "I thought I made it painfully obvious," you say as he gives you a fake laugh, skimming around the corner of the desk to go to a patient's room. 

"Dana," you greet, swiveling your attention to her sitting at the desk, only half paying attention.

"With a patient, south side, room 15," she immediately says, scribbling on some paper.

"Oh. You know I love you," you tap on the desk, blowing her a playful kiss before turning on your heels, a warm smile on your face.

"Give him hell, kid," she mutters, eyes still focused on the paperwork.

You find the room and see your dad and some medical residents huddled up with a patient.

That does nothing to deter your stride.

You cross across the hall, opening the door open.

"What's this about you missing the family vacation?" You chime, eyes on your dad.

Dr. Robby turns to you, his shoulders sagging at your presence as if he already knew what would happen. "Oh, what a joy," he mutters, wiping his face. "Honey, I'm kind of with a patient right now," he expresses, voice low.

"Good, he can hear how ridiculous you're being," you retort, your lips pursed in frustration. "Mom told me you aren't coming on the trip anymore," you accuse again.

"Um…Dr. Robby, do you want us to call security?" Javadi asks timidly. 

"Security?" You repeat with a laugh.

"No, Javadi," he begins with a sigh. "Unfortunately for us, that's my kin," he exhales before fixing his stethoscope. "Whitaker, get 40 milligrams of prednisone. Javadi, get the pulmonologist down here to do a breathing treatment," he orders, snapping his plastic gloves off and tossing them in the trash as he walks over to you, gesturing for you to step outside. "I'll be just outside if you need me," he assures, with a hint of humor. "Call the cops if you don't hear from me in fifteen," he jokes, following you out, trying to lighten the tense situation.

"You're in trouble," you point your finger at him when you enter the hall. "You promised you would go," you exasperate, hands on your hip.

He sighs, his hand wiping over his face. "I know. I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone to cover for me. I told your mother that," he says, his voice tinged with regret.

"Dad," you tilt your head forward, frustration coating your words. "We've had this trip planned for months," you enunciate, your disappointment clear.

"I'm sorry, honey. I just can't swing it right now. Hospital is short-staffed," he says, sincerity in his tone before his eyes light up in thought. "How about you get Abbott's daughter to go with you and your mother?" He nods. "You two are really good friends," he says before his face contorts into confusion. "Surprised she isn't here with you," he huffs deeply.

"She had a thing," you bring your hand up and shoo it to the side. 

"A thing? What's a thing?" He says with confusion in his tone, watching your hand flail in the air.

"Just something she had to do," you confirm, not sparing much detail.

"Ah. A secret thing," he says, lifting his hand to pull an invisible zipper across his lips before twisting a fake key on the corner and throwing it to his side. "Got it."

Before you can get a word out, your dad looks behind you and issues a smile towards them before quickly moving to greet them.

"Jack," he addresses, bringing him in for a hug.

"Hey, man," Jack says to your dad, hugging him back, his eyes then wandering to you. "Hey, kid," he smiles towards you, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

"Hi, Dr. Abbott," you squeak, feeling a surge of nerves. 

"Thought you only worked tonight?" Your dad questioned, tilting his head in confusion.

"Eh. Got called in since one of the other doctors got the flu," he shrugs, though his eyes aren't even fixed on your dad.

"Dr. Bigley? Heard his wife's back in town after being gone for two weeks. You think she mysteriously caught the flu, too?" Your dad jests, a knowing tone in his voice, unaware of the brewing tension beside him. "But, hey, since you're already here, could you take Whitaker on your rotations? Kid could use more patient practice," he tips his head towards the room he's in.

"Sure...yeah," Jack says, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look at your dad. "I can do that."

"Thanks," your dad moves to grab his pager, blaring loudly. "Jack, could you walk her out?" He says, referring to you as he starts over to you. "Make sure she leaves," he raises his brows at you. "Bye, hon. Love you," he presses a kiss to your forehead before spinning on his heels to head in the opposite direction. 

"Bye, Dad. Love you too," you yell back, eyes glancing at Jack. 

The air crackles with tension as he extends his hand, silently urging you to lead the way. You pick up the cue, your steps quickening as you head towards the front doors, your hands nervously clutching your purse strap.

"You look like you want to be anywhere else than with me," Jack murmurs lowly so no one around can hear, taking note of your sour expression.

You can't help but let out a dry laugh. "Considering I was on my knees for you yesterday morning, I'd say that isn't the case," you say with a casual smirk, adjusting your purse strap.

He stops in his tracks, a cheeky smile growing on his lips. "You little minx—"

"What do you recommend for bruised knees, Dr. Abbott?" You ask with interest and muster a serious expression, eyes locked onto his.

His eyes widen slightly, searching for a crack in your serious facade. "I...well—"

You snicker, making him release a sigh of relief. "I'm just teasing you, Jack. I'll call you later," you murmur, your eyes boring into his. 

"Looking forward to it, sweetheart," he says with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you.

He wants to reach out and kiss you.

Pull you tight against his body and thread his fingers through your hair, but he can't.

Not here, not now.

His fingers flex as if to touch your fingers that come close to his as you leave.

Yours flex out, too, he notices.

He smiles at the exchange.

It was better than any kiss he could ever get.

About midday, you're parked at your desk, your computer wide open, and your screen is black, responding to your inactivity.

You can't focus on anything you start working on.

Every time you start reading a case study, your brain wonders to Jack.

You always loved seeing him at the hospital when you visited your dad.

Dressed up in his scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, combing his fingers through it when he's irritated, and the teasing tone in his voice when he gets frisky, you can almost smell the antiseptic and hear the distant beeping of machines.

You catch yourself slipping far away from the case study again. 

Fuck it.

You're feeling needy.

You grab your phone, sliding your finger to hover over the call icon on his contact.

It takes two rings, and you hear the familiar sound of heart monitors and shuffling in the background. 

"Hey. What are you up to?" Your voice echoes through the line, and your finger fidgets with your pen. 

"Just had to consult a teen with a co-infection," he informs you, voice low. "Syphilis and herpes."

"Woah. Save some of the fun for the rest of us," you jest, a hint of longing in your voice as you put the pen between your lips. 

"Hilarious. What are you doing?" His voice is slightly muffled; you assume he placed the phone between his shoulder and cheek.

"Attempting to study. Have an ethics midterm tomorrow," you sigh.

"Oh. Look at you. Smart girl," he praises as you hear his pen scribbling on some paper.

"Eh. Should have started yesterday, but this guy I know kept me busy all day." You sit up in your chair, chewing on your lip.

"Hey. Don't blame me for your scholastic missteps," he laughs as you continue to hear his pen on the paper. 

"Why are you assuming you're the guy I'm talking about?" You contest, attempting to stir him up.

"Call me an optimist," he shakes it off, still continuing to write.

"What if you had competition? Would that scare you?" You find yourself asking with eagerness. 

"I'm an ER doctor who's ex-vet with nice hair," he begins, not paying close attention. "Who's competing with me?" His words don't hold smugness, just exude confidence.

"Someone's cocky," you tease, leaning your elbow on your desk, palm holding your cheek, enjoying the playful banter.

"Confidence isn't cockiness, sweetheart," he simply says as you hear a chair creak over the line. 

"So they say," you say, feeling a sudden hotness.

"So, why did you call?" He asks curiously, eyes still focused on a patient file.

"Am I not allowed to call my boyfriend?" Your voice is full of faux hurt. 

He smiles. "Of course, you can call me anytime sweetheart," his voice is sweet. "You just usually have a reason. Are you stressed?"

You let out a deep sigh. "A little, but I feel bad ranting to a guy who literally has to save lives for a living."

"Come on," he urges, his patience evident. "Hit me."

"It's just…midterms are coming up, and this fucking dissertation," you struggle to articulate, "I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I feel like I'm being swallowed whole, you know?" Your voice quivers with stress.

He sets his pen down. "It's hard," he agrees. "But doable."

"Wow. That's some great insight, Jack. You should consider writing a self-help book," your apparent sarcasm makes him smile. 

"Nah. Writing passages for the uninspired, unwilling to make the application is not really my thing," he quips, tilting back in his chair.

"Everyone's a cynic," you say with a humorous undertone that has him smiling in his chair.

The silence hangs over the phone for a moment.

"Are you on break right now?" You finally break the silence, tone full of anticipation.

"Just took twenty to breath," he suspires, hand coming to massage the bridge on his nose.

You chew on your bottom lip. "Are you in your office?"

"I am, yeah," he sits up in his chair. "Why?"

"Just curious," you lick your lips. "I miss you."

"Saw you this morning, sweetheart," he voices with a smile.

"I know, I know," you affirm. "I'm just feeling…needy." 

He can hear you shuffling around. "What are you doing?"

"What do you want me to be doing, Jack?" You coax, lying on your bed. 

You don't hear anything over the line, and you go to speak before you hear the click of a door closing and the same creaking of the chair.

"Pants off," he commands, voice husky.

You oblige eagerly, stomach fluttering as you slip your pants off and toss them on the floor. "What now?" You ask, already feeling breathless.

"Let's put those pretty little fingers to good use, yeah?" His voice is so low and raspy. "Slide them over your stomach. Don't go any lower," he directs, shifting in his chair.

You slide your fingers down your stomach, tenderly and easily, panting into the phone as you do so.

"That's it, pretty girl," he praises. "Keep going for me."

You let out a shallow moan at the praise, fingers moving up and down your stomach with purpose.

"Take your panties off, baby," he almost releases a groan at the sounds that come off your tongue as you slip your panties off, tossing them off you with the swing of your foot.

"They're off," you breathe, fingers coming back to brush on your stomach.

"Good girl," he begins. "Move your fingers across your pussy. Nice and easy strokes," his voice is so gruff, you could just come to the sound of him talking.

Your fingers move down to place easy strokes on your aching cunt, arousal already accumulating. "Feels good," you whimper, brain hanging onto his praise.

"Good. Just follow my voice," he says. "I'll make you feel good, okay?" He prompts before leaning closer into the phone. "Rub your fingers against your clit," he tells you.

"Jack…." You mewl into the phone as your finger plunges into your cunt, rubbing gently against where you ache.

"Oh. That's it," he gruffs. "Touch yourself, baby…just how you like, yeah?"

"Okay," you breathe out as your fingers actions speed.

"Doing so good," he compliments, hearing the wet sounds of your fingers plunging in and out of you. "Talk to me…let me hear you."

"Feels so good, Jack," you moan out, fingers working faster. “So good.”

"Yeah?" He says, egging you on.

"Mhm," you reply, pleasure building in your lower stomach.

"You gonna be a good girl and come by the hospital later?" He asks as he hears your panting increase.

"Yeah…can't wait to see you," your voice is strained as your fingers work, rubbing against your clit fast. 

"Oh, I bet, baby," he says. “I'll make you feel even better in person. Rub you off myself until you come on my fingers." His tone is downright scandalous.

You let out a louder moan, feeling an all-consuming, toe-curling orgasm crash into you.

Jack's eyes locked onto the door knob twisting open, issuing a hurried goodbye before hanging up and tossing his phone on his desk.

Dr. Robby enters, file in hand, staring curiously at Jack's phone on his desk. "Who was that?"

"No one," Jack says instantly, grabbing his phone to put it into his pant pocket.

"Okay. Guess we'll do the secrets thing," Dr. Robby raises his brows before handing the file to Jack. "Got a patient with a heart arrhythmia."

Jack abruptly shifts his focus back to work, his mind void of his personal matters. "Send them to cardio," he instructs, his tone professional and detached as he scans over the file.

"Yup. Already on it," Dr. Robby agrees.

Jack tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. "If you already did that, why did you need my consultation?"

"He's a vet. Said he knows you," Dr. Robby shrugs tilting his head to the side. "North side, room 25."

Jack simply nods as Dr. Robby heads out the door before sinking into his chair, deeply exhaling, the gears in his brain turning.

He was on the phone making you come just mere seconds ago, and he was a fragment of a second away from your dad being able to hear your sweet voice through the phone.

If that doesn't constitute a one-way ticket to the fiery pits, he's not sure what does.

The overwhelming sound of a thumping base and the smell of cheap beer and sweat hangs heavy, clouding your senses.

Your friend has convinced you to go to one of the frat parties.

Nothing like spending your Friday night in a small, confined room full of horny college boys and desperate sorority girls. 

The friend in question is a girl you've grown exceptionally close to within the last year.

Did everything together.

You were practically a part of her family, even her moms boyfriend took a liking to you and he was a hard ass.

But, you were particularly close to her dad.

Dr. Abbott.

Oh, you know, the guy you were secretly dating and screwing. 

Even made you come over the phone just some hours ago.

Guilt gnaws at your brain as your friend leads you into the house where the party is happening.

"God, it reeks of weed," you say, covering your nose as the pungent odor fills the air.  

"It's a college party. I'd be concerned if it didn't," your friend replies dryly, pulling you through a crowd of college kids toward the kitchen to grab some drinks.  

"Don't pour anything too strong," you warn, raising your eyebrows as your friend reaches for a bottle of vodka.  

"Just one shot? To celebrate you finishing your dissertation?" She asks, messily pouring the shots.  

"I haven't finished it yet—" you begin to protest, but she thrusts a shot in front of you, filled to the brim, causing some of the liquid to spill over the side.  

"Shot incoming!" She says with a bright smile, bringing the shot to her lips.

You begrudgingly down the shot with her, both cringing at the taste. 

"Tastes like shit," you remark, wiping some off your lip.

"Ugh," your friend winces at the potent flavor and, like clockwork, grabs two more cups to make another drink, this time less intense.  

You spot another friend on the couch in the living room, showing off a bag of white pills. You grab your friend's arm, leave your drinks on the counter, and walk over to him.  

"What are those?" You ask, crossing your arms and tilting your head toward the pills.  

"It's black star, straight from Germany," he replies, shaking the bag.  

You and your friend raise your eyebrows in confusion.

He tilts his head and shakes the bag again. "You know, superman? Because it takes you to space." He flaps his arms, pretending to float until his girlfriend elbows him. 

"Christ. Enough with the theatrics," she chimes in, standing beside him. "It's LSD. You guys want one?" She tips the bag, letting a couple drop into her palm.  

"Sure," your friend shrugs, reaching for the pills.  

You shoot her a disapproving look. "Absolutely not. You have no idea what those are made of. Do you want to end up in the ER, having to explain to your dad what you were thinking?" Your eyebrows raise as you speak.  

"You're no fun," your friend with the pills laughs, popping one onto his tongue.  

You give him a disapproving look before turning back to your friend. "I guess you're right," she says quietly. "He would kill me if the pills didn't."  

You nod in agreement. "Let's go get those drinks you made, yeah?" You grab her arm, leading her back to the kitchen.  

Your drink has shifted slightly to the side on the counter, but that doesn't deter you from throwing it back completely.

Your friend chugs her drink, licking her lips. "Should we do another?" She poses it as a question, but she isn't asking, already cracking open a fresh bottle of Everclear. 

You ponder for a moment, then hand your empty cup to her. "Fine," you exclaim, feeling a mix of exasperation and amusement. 

Your friend beams, pouring the spirit into your cups.

"Cheers to..." she trails off, pursing her lips as she hands you a drink. 

"...a good night," you finish, clinking your cup with hers. 

A smile spreads across her face, and once again, you both down the alcohol. The burn in your throat soothes your thoughts and lulls your brain into submission. 

Tonight was definitely going to be a good fucking night.

It's been twenty minutes since then. 

Your skin feels blistering yet icy.

Your head is pounding; you wouldn't be surprised if your brain imploded and cracked your skull.

A wave of nausea hits you, then retreats before you act.

What the fuck is going on?

Sure, you drank more than you should have, but this was not what usually happens. 

You glance at your friend perched in a corner near you, talking to a girl about something regarding her last lecture.

Nerd.

You presume she's fine.

Leaning against a wall, disoriented, you pull your phone out, opening up your text thread to the one and only.

Jack Abbott.

You haphazardly type out your sentence, and your vision starts to double, but that does nothing to deter you from texting him.

He answers immediately. 

Me: what r u up 2? working 2night?

Him: Why are you texting me in numbers?

Me: omg ur so oldd im crying kinda heartwarming though

Him: Heartwarming? How so? Him: Also, where are you?

Me: its just cute lol ur so cute Me: @ party that ur daughter dragged me 2 i feel woozy

Him: I'm cute? Honey, I'm old. Him: Have you been drinking? No drugs, right?

Me: yea ur cute sexy hot yup u check all the boxes dr hotness Me: no my friend tried 2 give uss lsd but i scolded ur daugher Me: i wouldnt ever take that shit or let her im drunk though

Him: Dr. Hotness? Hmm...that's a new one. Him: You need me to pick you two up? I can.

Me: noo were good i wouldnt wanna keep u from saving lives and all

Him: Let me come get you.

Me: jack im fine promise you better not show up or ill kill uu Me: i wouldnt actually but id be mad

Him: I can handle you being mad at me, sweetheart. Him: I just want both of you to be safe.

Me: were fine i promise! ur daughter is lit talking to a girl about her bio stats lecture shes such a nerd

Him: And you? What are you doing?

Me: texting u ofc

Him: Enjoy your party, but don't be stupid. Him: Take care of yourself and my daughter. Him: Call me if you need me.

Me: okay mr serious pants ill talk later byee

"Who ya texting?" Your friend scoots next to you, dilated eyes attempting to look at your phone screen.

"No one," you pull your phone to your chest in a panic, straightening your posture.

"Oh my God. Is it a guy? Do you have a secret boy toy I don't know about?" She nudges your side, face warmed from the alcohol.

"It's none of your beeswax," you huff, rolling your eyes playfully, attempting to sound nonchalant, though you can feel your head begin to spin again, but this time much faster.

"You know, I've never understood that saying," she says, her expression serious. 

You release a silent laugh as your words slurry, "Just, just go back to talking about your nerd things," you pat her shoulder gently, feeling your body shift, muscles relaxing to a disturbing degree.

"Whatever," she laughs, trudging herself back over to her friend. 

Him: Funny, but seriously, please be safe. Talk to you later.

That was the last thing you read. 

Your phone screen goes black as you feel the smack of your cheek hitting the cold wood and the sound of your friend rushing over to you, shaking your shoulders.

The urgency in her actions is palpable, a silent scream in the air.

Your friend calls your name over and over again, repeating it with more desperation each time, sobbing as she attempts to shake you awake.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she curses; your body is still, skin hot to the touch. "She, she won't wake up," her voice is shaky and frantic as she shakes you again, begging you to wake up. She snaps her head to whoever is close to her, her eyes filled with fear and desperation. 

"Call 911. Now."

"Female, early to mid 20s, unresponsive. Found at a party with signs of possible drug ingestion," a paramedic shouts, rushing you in on a stretcher into the ER as a nurse materializes at your side, the urgency palpable in the air.

Your friend follows close behind, mascara running down her cheeks as she frantically tries to see you.

"What the…oh shit," Langdon exclaims, his shock evident as he moves quickly from behind the triage desk, his gaze shifting from you, looking lifeless, strapped onto a gurney, to Abbott's daughter hot on the paramedic's trail, sobs escaping her.

"Frank. Oh my God," she cries out, rushing over to him. "Please. You, you need to help her. They're, they're saying she was drugged," she stutters, hands moving messily through her hair.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, okay?" He puts his hands up, eyes searching her frantic eyes. "Tell me what happened," he says, now rushing over to you.

"I'm, I'm not sure," she heaves out as Langdon comes to your side, pulling your eyelids up to look at your pupils. "I turned around for a se, second then I heard her hit the ground."

"Dilated pupils. No sign of head trauma," he says, his voice urgent, his actions swift. "Let's move her to the north side, room 27," he turns, gesturing for Whitaker, whose eyes curiously stare at what is unfolding. "Whitaker, with me," he supplies, tipping him towards you. "Did she take anything?"

"No. Not that I know of," your friend sputters, her concern palpable, hot on Langdon's trail as he moves with you to the room, Whittaker following close behind. "She just drank."

"Drank what?" He asked promptly. "Let's get her on a monitor and start an IV with naloxone." He directs the nurse before looking at your shell-shocked friend. "What did she drink?"

Your eyes widen, and you search for the right words. "Um…vo, vodka and tequila…with Everclear," you manage to say, your voice trembling with shock.

"Yikes. Sounds like a bad night waiting to happen," he comments with a wince as he starts pushing the naloxone into the IV catheter. "Whitaker, go get Robby and Abbott. They're gonna wanna be here," he says, not looking up.

"Need her BP, pulse, and oxygen saturation. Let's get a tox screen, too," Langdon says urgently, not missing a beat.

"BP's 90/60, pulse is 110, oxygen saturation's 92% on room air," The nurse supplies. 

Langdon cringes. "Let's give her some oxygen and start another IV with 1 liter of normal saline wide open. Need to do a CT scan of her head so that we can rule out intracranial hemorrhage," he continues, assessing you as your friend anxiously waits by the door. "Where the hell are Robby and Abbott?"

"What's going on?" Dr. Robby moves in, following Whitaker, with Abbott close behind Robby. 

Dr. Abbott turns to see his daughter sobbing near the door as they all flood in.

"Came in unresponsive. Possible drug ingestion," Langdon eyes flick between Robby and Abbott. "Robby...it's your daughter."

Dr. Robby's eyes widen, twisting his head, issuing a curse as he moves into action. "Fuck—what the hell did she take?"He spits, looking around, and his eyes land on your friend.

"I don't, I don't know," her voice trembles with fear. "I, I just looked away for a second, and then I heard her hit the floor," she turns to Dr. Abbott, chest heaving. "She, she looked...so lifeless, Dad," she cries out. "I, I thought—" she trails off as Jack brings her into his arms. 

"Shh," Jack holds his daughter as she sobs. "It'll, it'll be okay."

Jack wants to rush over to your side, heal you, then ambush you with a kiss.

But he can't.

Not now, anyway. 

"Where's the cardiac monitor? Get the God-damn monitor on her!" Dr. Robby's voice echoes with urgency, his mind racing frantically. "Were you watching each other? How did this happen?" He blurts out a million different, unimportant questions in the heat of the moment. 

All he can focus on is your lifeless body right in front of him.

"Robby...Robby," Langdon raises his voice. "Look at me," he pleads; Robby's eyes move to Langdon, with a deep exhale through his nose. "You need to calm down and treat your daughter," he says, his head nodding as he speaks. "Save her first; ask those questions later."

Dr. Robby sucks in a deep breath giving Langdon a nod before turning his attention back to you. "Whitaker, push in another dose of naloxone," he directs.

Whitaker nods, pushing in a second dose of the medicine. 

Everyone stands around you, anxiously waiting for you to wake.

Jack releases a shaky breath as he holds his daughter, mind already imagining the worst.

You spring awake, eyes wide and bright with a gasp, a sudden surge of relief washing over the room.

"Oh my God," your friend rushes to your side, grabbing your hand to ensure you're real. "You saved her," she turns to Whitaker.

"I just—" Whittaker starts before your friend pulls him right against her, pressing a messy kiss to his cheek, smearing lipstick on his skin.

"Thank you so much," she mumbles into him, her voice choked with emotion as she pulls away to hug you, her gratitude palpable.

“I’m, I’m alright,” your voice is barely above a whisper, betraying your vulnerability as your friend steps aside for your dad's embrace.

"You're never leaving me again, kid," he half-jokes, his voice filled with relief and a hint of fear, hugging you tightly.

You can't help but laugh, your eyes meeting Jack's, who's staring at you with such intensity.

You open your mouth to call him over, but he leaves the room.

He dissipates, as does the protest on your tongue. 

"Let me get you some water," Dr. Robby kisses the top of your head, tilting his head toward Langdon to follow him out, leaving only you, your friend, and Whitaker in the room.

He's charting something when your friend moves next to him; her steps are careful, and her voice is a gentle murmur.

"I meant it, you know? Thanks for helping her," she smiles at him, eyes softening as she sees the lipstick mark still on his cheek. "You're gonna be a great doctor."

He gives her a smile, the tips of his ears going red from nerves. "I, well, yeah…than, thanks," he stutters, pretending to write something down.

"It's cute how nervous you get," she smiles, rocking on her heels.

His eyes widen. "Sorry, I, I have another patient," he says, avoiding her gaze and walking to the door.

She giggles as he walks out the door, bumping into the doorway as he exits. His face turns bright red as he turns to go in the complete wrong direction.

"I'm glad you're using my passing out as a means to meet cute guys," you say groggily, humor in your tone.

Your friend's eyes widen. "I would never—"

"I'm kidding. Whitaker is the only guy I don't think any dad would object to. He's super sweet. Would be a good match for you," you simply say. 

"He's nice, yeah," she agrees, her face warming with a playful blush. 

"He's really nice," you correct. "And he wants to be a doctor," you release a breath. "Might as well marry him on the spot," you joke.

She lets out a laugh before coming over to you. "You're okay?"

You nod your head. "I'm okay."

Dr. Robby comes in, walks over to hand you the cup of water, and then turns to your friend. "Honey, the police want to ask you some questions," he begins. "I can come with you."

She nods, lightly squeezing your hand before moving in front of your dad to walk out the door.

You sit up and see Jack hovering outside. "Jack, can you wait with her?" Dr. Robby murmurs to him.

He nods, coming in and slowly closing the door behind him. 

"Jack..." You can already feel your throat clogging and want to die from embarrassment. 

How could this have happened to you? 

You've always been so careful. 

"I'm, I'm here, sweetheart," he says, pulling up a chair next to your bed before sitting in it to hold your hand.

"I, I don't remember anything," you start, tears clinging to your lashes. "Do you know what happened to me?"

He hesitates for a moment, squeezing your hand tighter. "Think you were drugged."

Your eyes widen. "Dru, drugged?" You stumble over your words, unable to comprehend what he said. "Like someone spiked my, my drink?" The shock of the revelation hits you like a wave, leaving you struggling to process the information. 

He gives you a weak nod. "Most likely."

You sink into the bed, tongue coming to lick your dry lips before the tears start pouring down your cheeks. "I, I can't believe it. I could have—" you start, eyesight blurring from your tears, chest beginning to heave. In this moment, you feel more vulnerable than you ever have before. 

Jack pulls you into his arms, your tears pooling on his scrubs. You're trembling with fear, and his embrace is the only thing calming you.

"I got you, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You're safe now."

You press your face into his chest, salty tears coating your lips, his embrace offering you immense comfort. 

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

author's mini note: he would so talk you through it...

[bunni-v1]

College au Ifa is the type to take you at a house party and make sure people see the hickey on ur neck in class the next day

Marking Your Territory

🍓I'm gonna kill Pinkie for this one that's all I'll say on that. I lost actual sleep writing this, and instead of napping I finished and edited it. Do not tell me I don't love you guys or Ifa because I am nothing if not dedicated to my gay little craft. Anyway, enjoy or this will be the last thing I ever post. If this flops it's on your hands that I disappear.

TW: NSFW; Drugs (mentioned); Alcohol use; slight dub-con (both are lightly buzzed); marking (lots of it); sex at a party (yippie!); grammar errors (edited but I'm one guy and this is seven thousand words)

Info: College AU; Ifa x Reader (main); Venti x Reader; Kazuha x Reader; Navia x Reader; Wriothesley x Reader; Alhaitham x Reader; Kaveh x Reader (all background ships)

Word Count: 7.6k Words

MDNI

You weren't the biggest fan of house parties, not for lack of trying. Navia had dragged you to a million places since you arrived at Sumeru Academia, always knowing 'a good place' to go to let loose. Venti too, once he finally got you out of your shell. They both insisted you were a fun drunk, the total life of the party once you let loose. Still, when you had a choice, you avoided them altogether. It was just too much. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many people. They made you feel like you were suffocating, regardless of whatever drug you were putting in your body to numb the anxiety.

You'd managed to masterfully avoid any house parties thanks to classes picking up, the perfect excuse to hide away at Puspa Cafe with your tentative boyfriend Ifa. He'd managed to convince you to go on more than a few dates with him now, and while nothing was made official, you were pretty sure he was inching in that direction. Regardless of whatever your relationship was right now, he always greeted you with the brightest smile when you walked through those cafe doors. As usual, he'd made space for you already, and your favorite cup of coffee was sitting in your spot, luring you to his side like a deadly trap.

"Evenin'," He greets with his regular low drawl, scootching his chair just a little closer to yours, enough to wrap his arm around you in a side hug.

You lean into the touch automatically, stress leaving you all at once, "Evening, Ifa. Studying working out for you today?"

He sighs, heavy and tired. He was reviewing the same thing he had been all week, and it was starting to wear on his seemingly unending patience. Instead of complaining about it, which you know he wants to do more than anything, he just kisses your temple. Pushing the book back a little as if dismissing it in favor of paying attention to you.

"Big test comin' up," he hums, "lets not talk about that, though. You busy this weekend?"

You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he smiles innocently. Weekend outings with him had become normal now, despite Navia's complaints about feeling 'abandoned' by you. You knew she wouldn't end up lonely by the time morning came, so it was easy to brush off her guilt-tripping. Besides, Ifa was always fun to be around, taking you to so many different places to do so many new things. He knew Sumeru better than you did, having been here for so long, so you always got a little giddy when he asked for your weekend plans.

You shake your head, bringing your coffee mug to your lips, "Nothing much, just gotta peer review something for Venti for that god-awful poetry class, but I can do that anytime. Why're you asking?"

"Playing dumb is cute," he snorts, ruffling your hair playfully, "I wanted to take you somewhere."

"Hmmm... alright, I guess I can spare you some of my precious free time," you reply haughtily.

An annoyed sigh with no real malice behind it, "A friend of mine is throwing a party on Saturday, and I was thinking it would be a good way to... introduce you. They've been bothering me about it since our first date, and I don't think it's fair to hold off on it any longer."

Your heart skips a beat, both at the idea of having to go to a party with a ton of strangers and at the fact that he wants you to meet his friends. On one hand, it's incredibly sweet that he not only talks about you to his friends but he's been talking about you since your first date. You're at least important enough that the people he's close to know about you enough to ask. On the other hand, if you go to a party and Navia finds out, she's gonna be undeniably pouty. Not to mention parties really weren't your thing.

Ifa seems to sense your inner conflict as soon as it pops up into your mind, a hand coming across the table to gently squeeze your own. He gives you a little reassuring smile, warm as the summer sun and gentle as a breeze. He never fails to worry about you or account for your discomfort. You know all you have to say is no, and he'll find some other way for you to meet his friends on your own terms. Yet, you can't find it in yourself to deny him when he looks at you like that. So much love and care behind his pretty teal eyes.

"Sounds like fun," You smile, squeezing his hand back, "I'll tell you now, though, I'm not the biggest fan of parties..."

He smirks, leaning his head on his hands, "Never could've guessed. You actually seem like quite the party animal."

"Oh, shut it," You scold, going for another sip of your coffee to hide the grin growing on your face.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

You turn your body from left to right in the mirror, trying to decide if the skirt you were wearing was too risky or not. It hid everything it needed to, but all it would take was a light breeze and you'd flash the whole of Sumeru with your lacy panties. Navia stands behind you proudly, despite this, completely satisfied with her work.

You couldn't keep it from her if you tried, so you folded and asked her for help. While she was huffy and pissy for the first little while, the second you asked her for advice on what to wear, she was excitedly leaping at the chance to strip you down and dress you up like a doll. Your laciest underwear, your (her) tiniest skirt, and a cute top with platforms to match. You looked hot, but... maybe it was too much? You didn't want to give Ifa's friends the wrong impression of you, or throw Ifa off too much with how different you look now.

Navia's cheeky squeeze to your butt immediately washes all your thoughts down the drain, squealing into a giggle fit. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, sliding her gaze up and down your body in the mirror. She looked positively satisfied with her work, and she did an amazing job. Despite how upset she was initially, she still came through for you where it mattered. She was still your best friend, and you wouldn't ever dream of asking for a new one.

"You look so sexy," She hums, squeezing you tightly.

You smile, "I do. Thank you, Navia. I'd be lost without you."

"I know!" She hums, "I'm still upset you won't let me go to this special 'invite-only' party, but I guess I'll have to settle for dressing you up now."

You roll your eyes, "Ifa asked me to go, not you, I don't think he'd enjoy you barging in on our date."

She scowls, biting your shoulder hard enough you have to push her away. As you do, your phone buzzes, undoubtedly a notification from him. You smile at his message, typing a quick response before tossing it back in your bag thoughtlessly. If you were gonna be out all night, you would need to use it as little as possible, so into the bag it would be forgotten until you absolutely needed it.

"He's here," You hum, and Navia only seems to sour more.

She still finds it in herself to give you a quick smack as you walk out the door, "Be safe. Use protection!"

You scoff, "Shut up! I'll text you when I'm coming back, okay?"

"IF you're coming back."

"Goodnight, Navia."

She sticks her tongue out at you as you round the corner to the stairs, carefully making your way down to the back exit of the dorm. You see Ifa through the window before he does you, a loose-fitted t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of very flattering jeans. He's ditched his usual cowboy hat for wild and free hair that frames his face nicely, highlighting those sleepy eyes of his you've come to love. He's as cool as he always is, hands stuffed in his pockets as he breathes in the night air. Right up until he sees you that is.

There's a visible shift in him, straightening and eyebrows raising near his hairline. Navia did exactly what she set out to do. A lazy smirk crawls up his face, hands immediately reaching out to take your waist in his hands. They fit there perfectly, warming you in spite of the cool evening air. It's easier to kiss him on these platforms, lips sliding against yours like they were meant to be there. There's an underlying heat to the way he kisses you, but he doesn't push for any more than he's given right now.

"You look good," Is the first thing that leaves his mouth, breathless.

You fluster, "Navia helped me out."

"She did a good job," he hums, pressing another warm kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw before he catches himself.

He pulls back, giving you another heated once-over before interlocking your fingers in tugging you along with him. The car ride to his friend's house is full of tension that neither of you wants to acknowledge just yet. But his hand rests a little too high up on your thigh as he drives, and it squeezes a little too tight at every stop light. Like he's reminding himself to behave.

It wasn't as though you hadn't already tried things with him. He was pretty straightforward about everything in the relationship, including his own needs, but he'd never let it go past heavy petting. The tension wasn't unfamiliar, but it was different. Thicker. More... unruly, somehow.

Still, he doesn't jump your bones in the car, nor does he when he finally parks down the block from the party. He's the picture-perfect gentleman as he helps you out of the car, leading you down the street with a hand on your lower back. The music from the party blares loudly down the street, thrumming in your veins already. You nearly ask to turn back there, you know he would too. You're sure he'd take any chance to be alone with you right now, but an excited voice shouts from the sidewalk in front of you, followed by rapid footsteps.

A cute girl with white hair and the brightest smile you've ever seen stops dead in her tracks in front of you. Just short of plowing both of you down as she pants to catch her breath. Given how red her cheeks are, she's already had a few, but she seems more worried about greeting the two of you than her own well-being. She takes both of your hands in hers, bouncing up and down excitedly.

"ARE YOU THE GIRL IFA'S BEEN TALKING ABOUT?" She shouts, far too loud for her proximity.

You flinch slightly, pulling back, and that gets her to back down a little. She frowns, apologetic as she backs away, still holding your hands in hers.

"Sorry, I'm just so excited to meet you! He doesn't shut up about how amazing you are-"

"Alright, Mualani, we get it," Ifa interrupts, holding you a little closer now, "cool it, yeah, bro?"

You smile warmly at her, squeezing her hands back, "It's nice to meet you, uhm, Mualani."

Another set of footsteps comes from behind the bright girl, and a man with black hair comes jogging over. He looks tired, faces expressionless as he carefully peels Mualani off you. A deep sigh tumbles past his lips, giving Ifa what could almost be considered an apologetic look, though his face doesn't shift too much. Ifa nods regardless, so you nod at him too.

"She was adamant she had to be the first person to greet you," The young man sighs again, "I'm sorry for the trouble she might've caused. It is nice to meet you, though."

You smile a little, "Nice to meet you too, um..."

"Kinich," Ifa answers for you, "let's get going to the party already, yeah? I'm gettin' cold."

Kinich nods, and the four of you make your way to the actual party. Mualani excitedly chats your ear off, pressing her shoulder into yours and swinging her arms around animatedly. She reminded you a lot of Navia, if she was a bit more carefree. She was easy to talk to and more than eager to help you get around the party - she even mentioned setting aside a room for you if you got too overwhelmed. 'Comfort comes first!' she sang out.

You nearly take her up on the offer the second you step through the door. The heat of the bodies hits you immediately after the sound does, and you can smell the weed in the air. It's intense enough to make you lightheaded, but Ifa squeezes you close to his side, and it all melts away. It's not so bad, because Ifa is right here, excusing both of you to a more secluded corner and making sure you're okay. Always worrying about you.

"You sure you wanna do this," he asks, crowding your space, "all you have to do is say the word, bro."

"I know, bro. I want to, I just need a second to adjust... and... maybe a drink." You hum.

He smirks, "A drink I can do, too. Stay there lookin' pretty, I'll be right back."

You appreciate the sight of him walking away with a contented smile. From your little hidey-hole, you can see all the people. Some of them chatted, others dancing on each other, some playing drinking games, and a few a little too close to fucking each other raw over poor Mualani's couch. It's nice to have this vantage point, it allows you to take it all in instead of getting overstimulated like when Venti or Navia push you into everything at once. A drink in a quiet corner with Ifa was all you needed to warm up a little.

You feel your nerves melting away just from standing there, knowing he would be coming back. Knowing you would have a drink to steel your nerves soon. A light sigh leaves your lips, contentment sinking into your bones. You could drink, dance, and really let loose tonight with Ifa. That's just what you plan on doing, slutty little outfit giving you more confidence than you might normally have.

A low whistle near you seems to agree, turning your head to find none other than Venti. He looks tickled by your tiny skirt if the way his eyes stick to your legs says anything. He prances up to you with his usual grace, a cheeky grin lighting up his face.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Windblume," He chirps, taking Ifa's previous spot next to you.

The closeness is something you're all to used to with Venti, so you don't bat an eye when he presses his shoulder into yours. Nor when he takes a strand of your hair to twirl it between his fingers. His flirtiness was a part of his natural charm, after all, there wasn't anything to question with him. So you smile shyly at him.

"Me either, honestly." You admit.

He hums, "Thought you were too busy to party with me."

"I am busy," you defed.

"And sober," he jabs an elbow into your side, leaning in close, "want me to get something for ya. I know a real good combination that'll have you giggling in no time."

"Already got it covered," the very dry voice of Ifa responds for you.

He slides his arm around your shoulder, effectively walling Venti away from your face. He doesn't seem to take it too hard, shrugging and dipping around to keep his eyes on you. You roll your eyes at his antics, taking the red solo cup from Ifa who affixes an unfriendly look over your head on Venti.

"Ooo, who's this? Got yourself a little boyfriend now?" Venti teases lightly.

You fluster, feeling a little humiliated by the teasing, especially in front of Ifa. It strikes you now that Ifa really hasn't seen the way you interact with anyone other than himself and Ororon - occasionally Navia when he's lucky. Venti's flirty banter could come off the wrong way, and you don't want Ifa to get the wrong idea. It doesn't seem to matter though, because he quickly responds.

"Sure does. That a problem for you, dude?" He's more dry than usual, and it's lacking in humor.

Venti takes it in stride, "No! Of course not! Weird though, she hasn't mentioned you to me before."

Ifa scoffs, pressing you closer to his side, "She only sees you what, once or twice a week right? Not much you can say in so little time to someone who doesn't shut up."

You can feel the tension between them building way too fast for you to keep up with, so you swallow down whatever fruity concoction Ifa got for you quickly. Feeling more confident with the alcohol in your veins, you pop back into their conversation somewhere about responsibility and taking things seriously.

"Hey, y'know, I went to read your poem last night and there was nothing on the document," you suddenly voice, tearing through the tension, "I think it might've been deleted."

"Are you serious?" Venti asks, suddenly a little more serious.

You nod, "Yeah. It was totally blank when I looked."

"Shit." He spits out, "I gotta go check on it... it was nice to see you. I'll talk to you later?"

You nod adamantly, "I hope nothing happened, see you later!"

He nods, waving at you as he slowly melds into the sea of people toward the front door. You feel Ifa relax as he finally walks away, tossing back the rest of his drink with a sigh. You peer up at him and find he's already smiling knowingly down at you. He caught on fast.

"Are all your friends that insufferable," He asks, humor back in his tone like it never left.

You smile, "Nope. Venti's just good at getting under your skin. He's really nice, I promise."

"Oh, he wanted to get under something, alright..." He mumbles under his breath.

You tilt your head curiously, "What was that?"

"Nothin' darlin'," he sighs, "why don't we go find something fun to do. I'm aching to let loose, dance."

You nod excitedly, the buzz from your drink giving you the confidence you need as he tugs you out of the corner and to the dance floor. It's bodies on top of bodies, brushing against each other, heat emanating from every direction. Yet, all you can focus on is Ifa as he smiles at you like you're the only thing worth looking at. His hands keep themselves at your waist, despite how they twitch to be anywhere else.

He does a good job of it too, holding you with the respect that any young man should. It doesn't last long though, not when the song shifts to a much more upbeat one. An 'ass throwing' song, as Navia likes to say, and you can't help but agree with her now. Turning around to throw it back on Ifa, laughing when you see him visibly short-circuiting over your shoulder.

You're not sure what's going through his mind in the few seconds he's stun-locked, but when he starts reciprocating, grinding back into you you can get an idea. His hands slide up your sides and over your stomach, keeping you pressed tight into him. He's rock hard against you, and you can feel how soaked your panties have gotten. The skirt leaves little untouched by him, and you can tell he wants it all to be untouched by the way his fingers dance along the bottom of it, the other hand cusping your breast.

You feel electricity pressed up against him, feeling sinfully sexy with how he's all over you. When he leaned down to press his face into your neck, you knew the two of you were done for. It was just you and Ifa right now, and you're sure if he was more than tipsy he'd probably take you on the floor with all these people watching. You don't dare admit how much that turns you on.

Instead, he whispers in your ear, "Wanna go check out that room Mualani was talkin' 'bout?"

You don't respond, just turning and pushing him. He guides you around the house like second nature, pulling you up a flight of stairs and to a quiet corner of the house no one seems to bother visiting right now. The door to the bedroom creaks open, and he takes a second to make sure it's empty, before pulling you in.

His lips are on yours again so fast you nearly stumble to the floor, but he catches you by the small of your back and leverages that to deepen the kiss. You shove at his jacket frantically, sighing as his tongue presses into your mouth. It rolls along yours, playfully coaxing you to join in, only to fight when you finally do.

He doesn't break it until he's tugging your shirt off, then his. Only for a moment before he's back on you with a fury, determined to swallow you whole it seems. Your bra follows after this, and then his belt and jeans fall with a dull thud. As soon as they do, he's hauling you up into his arms, grasping your thighs like a lifeline as he carries you to the bed. You bounce a few times when he tosses you on it, looking down at you with unrestrained excitement.

You're not any different, swallowing up the contours of his abs happily. He looked like some kind of god like this, making your head spin from more than just the buzz you had. He seems to have a moment of clarity, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"You wanna do this? All you gotta say is-"

"Yes. God, please, you've been eye fucking me all night and I can't stand it anymore." you groan out.

He laughs, "Guilty as charged. Can you blame me though? This little skirt doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"That's the point, yeah." You snark back, earning you a warning squeeze on your thigh.

"Don't be nasty now, bro."

"Call me bro one more time and you're not getting any ever."

He nods, "Noted. Now... let's see what's goin' on down here..."

He crawls down your body with his lips, hands spreading you out like you were a delicious buffet made just for him. He smirks at the lacy panties, and more specifically at the very obvious wet spot staining the middle of them. You realize he hasn't taken your skirt off, staring at him like this, and go to do so, but he stops you. Eyes moving up to yours like a warning.

"That stays on. Got it, sweetness?" he warns lowly, and the words rush right to your aching pussy, clenching around nothing.

You nod stupidly, and he hums satisfied. Returning to the object of his interests. He thinks about it for a moment, eyes looking to yours, and then with a smirk, he leans down and licks a long stripe up your clothed entrance. Eyes locked on yours, making sure you're watching him like he wants. It draws a long whine out of you, and his smirk widens.

He leans down, mouth clasping around you and allowing his tongue to roll over your clothed folds. It's an oddly pleasant feeling, the wet lace pressing into you, leaving an imprint of it against you. He groans at the taste of you, vibrating through you to your core. It's not enough for either of you, which is why he quickly tugs your panties down your legs and delves right in again. He immediately searches for your clit, finding it with little effort and absolutely abusing the hell out of the little nub.

It's shockwave of pleasure after shockwave of pleasure, and it's only made worse when his sneaky fingers are suddenly pressing inside. Stretching you out for the main event. He moves them at a languid pace, pumping in and out of you with ease from how damn wet you'd become. Each pump is followed by a roll of his tongue, surrounding you with nothing but him and the pleasure he gave you. You were lightheaded in minutes, ready to fall apart at just a single word.

Yet, he pulled away right before he got to the good part, leaving you breathless and worked up. You whine at him, and he grins apologetically, though he doesn't seem that way.

"Sorry darlin', I wanna feel that when I'm inside you for real. You can understand that, can't you?" He purrs, annoyingly convincing for his cause.

He moves across the room, digging in his pants for something, sighing when he finds it. The little package glints in the light, and you realize it's a condom as he settles himself between your legs with his boxers gone. Why did he bring condoms with him, unless he planned to fuck you tonight, which was honestly kind of hot.

"You just carry condoms around with you," You ask.

He chuckles, "I do, yeah. I may not need 'em... usually... but my friends are some freaks. Gotta make sure they're not havin' kids at these parties, y'know."

You smirk, "You sure you weren't just planning on sleeping with me?"

"Well..." He hums, "I won't say I wasn't hoping for it."

"Got your wish then," you answer.

He smirks, "Damn right I did. You ready?"

He leans down over you, lacing your fingers together and pressing his forehead to yours. It's incredibly sweet the way he looks at you, gentle and loving, despite the fact he was about to fuck you. You nod, reciprocating the gestures.

"Squeeze my hand three times if you need me to stop, okay pretty?" He hums, and you nod again.

His other hand comes down to help ease himself into your sopping entrance. It's a stretch even with his earlier help, but that can't be stopped you suppose. Besides, he goes so slow and gives you all the time you need to adjust, so it's not so bad. It takes a bit before he is fully sheathed inside, but once he is, it's like you're in heaven. He fills you up so good, stuffed full and ready to have your world rocked by him with the pounding of the party music behind you.

One last check, a little squeeze of your fingers, and he finally moves. Small and shallow thrusts first, testing the waters, but they make you squirm nonetheless. When he is certain you are taking him well, his movements get deeper, and more meaningful in the way he moves against you. The brush of his cock inside your walls is dizzying, dragging along them at an easy pace making your head spin.

His fingers tighten around your hand, his other hand tapping along your hip like he's trying to distract himself. His usually lidded eyes have fallen impossibly lower, each breath looking like an impossible task for him. It's got you biting your lip, fingers tightening in his grip. He glances up at you, catching your shameless staring, and gives you a breathtaking smile.

"Enjoying the view?" He pants out, still keeping that same pace.

You nod, unable to focus on one part of his face, eyes darting from one to the other, then his lips down his chest and back again. Too much brain power to focus on one part of him when all of them look so good right now. It gets him to coo at you, hand sliding up your side in a slow and easy crawl until it cradles your jaw.

"Can't even focus, am I really that good?" He asks though you're in no state to answer and he knows it.

He leans down to kiss you before you can try and mumble something half-coherent out, swallowing the sounds as they die on your tongue. It dips in and out at the same pace he does, slow and deep, reaching further and further as if trying to imprint himself inside you. His free hand slides back down your body, giving your breast a playful squeeze on its way, and slides around your thigh. With no effort on his part, he lifts it up to wrap your leg around his waist. The new angle deepened his thrusts even more, pressing up against your sensitive walls relentlessly. Steady and firm and unshaken.

You keep yourself level by following the movements of his tongue, pressing against yours, encouraging you to keep up with him. He tastes like the fruity drink from earlier, with the slightest hint of something savory underneath. The alcohol was nothing against him, practically blackout on his taste alone. You might never drink again if this was the replacement. You bring your free hand up to his hair, running your fingers through his curly locks. They curl around your fingers, sinking you into him even further, temping you to get lost in him.

Each draw of his hips sent fire through your bones and every time they collided with yours you swear lightning struck your body. The pounding music only aids in making your head fuzzy, encouraging you to be as loud as you like against his lips. You moan and sigh and whine, just like he wants you to, eating up each sound with another swipe of his tongue. You think you might suffocate against his lips, but you don't mind that at all. It would be an honor to die smothered in his devotion, so much so that you whine when he begins to trail his lips away from yours.

Open-mouthed kisses tumble down your cheek, along your jawline, and right to the side of your throat. He nips at you playfully when you clench around him, having to take a second to groan against your skin when you clench even harder at the feeling. You're not sure how many marks he leaves in the heat of the moment, but it feels as though he means to leave no room to question what exactly you'd done tonight. What he'd done. What he was going to do.

He readjusted the hand he was holding, placing it around his neck and tapping three times as a reminder. Then it falls down in between the two of you, squeezing the fat of your thigh tightly. Leveraging himself up into a sitting position with its help, tugging you flush against him as soon as he's adjusted. The room is much cooler with him off of you, your nipples pebble along with your skin. You don't think when your hands come up to play with them, pulling and tweaking the sensitive buds to warm yourself up again. The effect it has on Ifa is a different story, eyes blown wide and watching you with nothing short of hunger.

"Shit, dude- fuck. I meant- goddamn... you're gonna kill me here, darlin'," He flusters for the second time that night.

You just roll your hips in response, unable to think of any clever comeback right now. All you want is for him to fuck you, and that's what you'll get, one way or another. He reciprocates with ease, once again using your thighs as leverage to fuck himself into you. The pace he sets is much more aggressive now, urgent like he couldn't wait much longer either.

His fingers sink into the plush of your thighs like dough, molding your mind and body with his dick. The heat from earlier is back with a vengeance, running through your whole body and pouring into your core like molten lava. The heat keeps rising and rising with every thrust, and deeper and deeper you fall into madness. The only thing on your mind is him, and it tumbles out of your lips like a mantra. Like a benevolent god, he listens and keeps giving you all you pray for. Pounding deeply within your core until the heat boils over, and you sob his name as the white-hot pleasure sends you tumbling into madness.

He follows after you, bending over you to suck one last purple hickey between your neck and your jaw, and then moans your name. Low and deep, rumbling between the two of you. He comes down first, pressing soft kisses into your neck as you float from your high, lightweight as a feather. You bask in the affection he gives you, sighing into the air, still thrumming from the party below you.

"Feel good?" He asks.

You nod, "I think I needed that."

He smirks into your skin, taking a second before responding, "I think I needed it too."

It takes a few moments for either of you to get up, basking in the warm glow of after-sex. Yet, the party still roars beneath you, reminding you that you are not at home and that to relax you would have to get home. However, with Navia there, it wouldn't be very relaxing - especially after she sees what you did to her skirt.

Ifa pulls himself up first, easing you into a sitting position as sweetly as he can. Quietly he dresses himself, collects your clothes, and helps you do the same. As best as he can, that is. He takes about three seconds to look at your panties before stuffing them in the pocket of his jeans. Your bra he does manage to get on, clipping the clasp together with little struggle thanks to his steady hands. Instead of bothering with your top, he simply zips you up in his jacket and shoves the thin piece of fabric into his other pocket. It's all an incredibly endearing show, ending when he pulls you up and tugs your skirt back down over your ass. Not that it matters when his jacket is longer than it was in the first place.

He knows the way out of the house, navigating the two of you through the crowd with ease, making sure he is positioned right behind you. Just in case. Certainly not to get another feel as he pushes you through the bodies. You almost feel bad for leaving without saying goodbye or having properly met his friends, but you know you'll get another chance to do so. Hopefully in a more calming setting.

He's quiet as he leads you back to his car, eyes focused on something off in the distance that you couldn't see. The quiet night air keeps you company instead, and the cool breeze cools your still-heated skin with kindness. It's sobering, hitting you all at once with the realization you just did the most cliche college act in the book, and it was amazing. Maybe not the best idea- scratch that, it was a really good idea, but maybe Ifa didn't agree? You couldn't tell with the way he was acting.

Quietly sitting down in his car, making sure you didn't ruin his seats as he drove you home. He still kisses your forehead before he takes off like all is well, but his grip is knuckle white on the steering wheel. He swallows hard every few minutes like whatever he's thinking about is difficult for him. Did he regret sleeping with you? It didn't seem like it while it was happening, but maybe being outside sobered him up and he realized what a huge mistake he made?

You shake your head, mentally scolding yourself for wallowing in self-pity. With a warm smile, you rest your hand on his arm, startling him out of his thoughts. He blinks a few times, seemingly shaking off whatever is on his mind, and smiles at you like the luckiest man alive.

"You alright... you seem... distracted?" You ask quietly.

He takes a moment to compose himself again, fingers tapping along the steering wheel as a distraction. He's holding himself back again, an unidentifiable tension that you weren't aware of standing between you and him. A moment of internal debate, before his shoulders finally relax and his hand comes to slip into yours like it was meant to.

"I have been dreaming of having sex with you since our first kiss," he admits brazenly, glancing at you a few times to gauge your reaction.

Reasonably, you're flustered at the admission, but you can't shame him. You'd had similar feelings for a while, but admitting them out loud was harder than it seemed. You admired that he could do it so easily, though. Finding his boldness charming more than startling.

You squeeze his hand, "Well... you're not alone in that."

He snorts, "Yeah, well, now that I've gotten a taste I dunno if I can stop. You've got me addicted from one taste."

You bite your lip, emboldened by his confidence, and slide his hand up your thigh. Resting it just below where his jacket ends, message more than obvious.

"No one said you had to stop," you hum, relishing in how his hand squeezes you so tightly, "it's healthy to treat yourself sometimes. You told me that, remember."

"I did, didn't I?" He hums, fingers crawling under your skirt once more, "I hope you don't mind my indulging just a little longer?"

You send him a suspicious look, “How much longer?”

"How about until someone gives us a noise complaint, hm?" he purrs.

Your eyebrows shoot up, he wanted to keeping going in his dorm?

"What about Ororon? Won't he-"

"Visiting his granny," he dismisses, "and don't worry about Cacucu, I sent him off with Ororon this weekend. Figured I'd be busy."

You can't believe how shameless he was, but you can't find it in yourself to be anything other than happy.

"Well then, I hope your neighbors don't mind missing a few hours of sleep tonight."

He hums, fingers finally right where they need to be, "They're really understanding, so don't worry too much about them."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

You had to go to great lengths to hide all the hickeys Ifa very intentionally left all over the most visible parts of your neck. His punishment was running to the drug store to buy you all the cheap color-correcting makeup you needed, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it. Not when he sighed so dreamily as he watched you struggle to cover up all his doing. Luckily, he got the cumstains out of Navia's skirt, so you could forgive him for that at least. You're not sure she'd even want it back anyway.

After nearly an hour of painstaking work, you've finally covered all the hickies you could see. Which was most of your neck, of course. You tie your messy hair up in a bun, not wanting to handle it any longer. He'd left you quite a mess, and you only had enough energy left to fix one of the several. Still, when he came up behind you to kiss you farewell before his 8am, you couldn't stay mad.

"You're gonna come to Puspa tonight, right? Mualani was thinking of stopping by with Kinich and some of our other friends," he asks, pressing his face against yours from behind.

You smile at him through the mirror, pressing your cheek closer to his, "Yeah, I can come. I still feel bad leaving like we did."

"Trust me, bro, they're not upset," he pulls back with that, leaning down to press one last kiss to the back of your neck, "stop by the library before lunch, too, Ororon wants to see you."

"I will," you call to him as he waltzes out the door.

From there, you go about your day as usual. Your first few classes are peaceful and quiet, with no one bothering you about anything. Monday is the only day Navia has no morning classes with you, so it's all nice and easy without her pestering for details every five minutes. It's not until you bump into Kazuha that things seem a little off. He has an uneasy smile on his face when he taps your shoulder from behind, but still wraps you in a hug like always when you do.

"Hey, it's my boyfriend!" You hum playfully.

He hums back, "I've missed you, my darling girlfriend. I heard you went to a party this weekend, did you have fun?"

There's a hidden question in his tone, and you know what it is, but you dismiss it. There's no way he of all people would know what you and Ifa did... all weekend unless Venti somehow found out, but you doubt it. He was really serious about the poem that you may or may not have lied about.

"Yeah! It was super fun, I met some cool new people and... and I really got to unwind!" You dance around the subject easily.

He doesn't push it, thank goodness, "That's great. You really push yourself too far sometimes, a good rest is what you deserve."

"Thanks, Kazuha." You're genuinely appreciative of it too. It's nice to hear him talk so positively of you, "I gotta get to my meeting with Kaveh, but take care, yeah!"

He smiles, waving you off, end with a, "Remember if you ever feel the need to unwind again, just call me next time!"

A little weird on the phrasing, especially considering what 'unwinding' meant to you, but... surely not. There's just no way! You dismiss it quickly as it comes, not wanting to relish on the thought and ruin your perfectly good day.

But then, Kaveh and Alhaitham are acting a bit... odd. You don't usually study with them, but Eula was busy this evening, and using study room five without her felt sacrilegious. So, you managed to convince Kaveh to do so during his free period, Alhaitham promising to stop by later once his class was out. Kaveh had been tense since you set your bag down, unable to really focus on his paper.

When Alhaitham comes in the behavior only gets odder, the older of the two immediately scolding him when he goes to ask you a question. They bicker back and forth about it for a moment, before Alhaitham drops it with a sigh. Weird, given how stubborn he was all the time. But he kept glancing at your neck, making you feel a little self-conscious. Had the makeup rubbed off? You told Ifa to get the good expensive stuff so it shouldn't have so easily.

You finally get your answer when Wriothesley and Navia come across you as you're heading to the library to meet with Ifa and Ororon. You hear Navia before you see her, gasping loudly like she'd seen something horribly scandalous. When you turn to them, you are surprised to find Wirothesley scowling at you. Or, more at your neck. Self consciously you place a hand at the back of your neck.

"Ohh, honey," Navia coos, rushing to your side, "why didn't you come and see me, I would've made sure you got all of them!"

Wriothesley, on the other hand, is as dry as ever, "Do I need to take care of someone for you, cause I most certainly can. Might cost you though."

"No, you don't... yet," you sigh, "is it bad."

Wriothesley nods, "Like someone tried to eat you."

"Well, at least I know why you didn't come home this weekend," Navia mumbles, "goodness, it really does look like he tried to eat you. Lemme help you cover it up."

You wave a hand at her, "No, no. I'll just hide it with my hair. Besides, I'm already late to meeting Ifa, and Childe's gonna throw a fit if I'm not at our regular table in fifteen."

She pouts as you brush past her, but doesn't push you any further. She had all night to do that anyway, so you'd get your scolding from her later.

Wriothesley sends you a smirk as you walk away, "Just say the word!"

"I'll let you know!" You call back, practically storming your way to the library.

Ifa smiles when he sees you, then frowns when he sees your hair. That bastard. You nearly rip him a new one, if not for the fact Ororon greets you before you can get to it. He is blissfully unaware of what his roommate had done on both sides of the room this weekend, and you think it's best kept that way. It does not stop you from glaring over at Ifa when Ororon isn't paying attention, though.

When he offers to walk you to the cafeteria, you take it as your opportunity to scold him like a mother would a child.

"Why didn't you tell me? I walked around like that all day. People probably think I'm a cheap whore," you whine.

He smirks, "You're a very pretty cheap whore."

"Ifa."

He holds his hands up, "I'm kidding, bro, I'm kidding. You're not a whore, you're the opposite actually."

"You're so insufferable," you roll your eyes, but you're not angry much anymore, "I don't get why you had to leave all these marks. It's like you like getting in trouble."

"Only with you," he remarks cheekily, quickly moving on to, "Besides, I gotta 'stake my claim on you' somehow."

You level a flat look on him, wholly unimpressed with his animal kingdom language, "That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard.

He smiles at you like he always does, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, "It's true though! You've always got a million eyes on you, if I don't leave my mark they'll think it's okay to take what's mine."

You raise an eyebrow, though your heart flutters in your chest, "What's yours?"

"That's what you are, right?" He leans in close, "You're mine, aren't you?"

You have to turn away to save face, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously. God he was so attractive, it wasn't fair.

"Guess I am," you answer simply.

"Good, just how I like it."

[astonmartinii]

fatherhood looks good on you | george russell social media au

pairing: george russell x fem albon reader

there comes a point in the relationship where you take it to the next level

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 783,409 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: looking so good i want to give you a baby

view all comments

user1: WHAT

user2: we really be saying anything on the internet these days

alexalbon: SHUT THE FUCK UP THE LITERAL ONLY RULE OF THIS RELATIONSHIP WAS THAT YOU KEEP THIS SHIT TO YOURSELVES

yourusername: gosh a girl can't have baby fever in peace these days

alexalbon: unless that baby is coming by stork you can put that talk on hold real fast

yourusername: just because lily is busy does not mean you have to take it out on me and george

georgerussell63: alex is it illegal for a man to be handsome?

alexalbon: if it's illegal to be handsome, you'd have the cleanest record known to man

yourusername: STOP RIGHT THERE DIDN'T YOU KNOW THAT LYING IS A SIN

alexalbon: i'm not going to say YOUR boyfriend is hot, no.

yourusername: just because i got in there first 🙄

user3: i don't think she's serious but also george with a baby is just too cute not to happen

user4: george is the perf instagram boyf like he's so ready to pose

landonorris: well that definitely is something we all want to know

yourusername: i know you would LOVE to know ALL the details norris

georgerussell63: she's never going to let your crush go lando, you gotta just hold it

landonorris: i was THIRTEEN

yourusername: you don't love me anymore? 😕

landonorris: i don't know why i always get in these arguments with you

user5: i love how george just instigates things for y/n lmao

user6: your boyfriend should always support your mess

liked by yourusername

georgerussell63

liked by lewishamilton, alexalbon and 1,209,458 others

tagged: yourusername

georgerussell63: fatherhood is a different beast

view all comments

user8: alright i am so confused

user9: there's no way y/n can actually be pregnant i saw her down at least three pornstar martinis in hospitality this weekend

alexalbon: this better be a joke or i'm gonna kick you so hard you get a free non-reversible vasectomy

yourusername: stop the violence!

alexalbon: THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR GLEE REFERENCES

yourusername: someone is channelling some serious sue vibes right now

georgerussell63: let it be known i like my reproductive systems the way they are

alexalbon: that's kind of the point of a threat, you aren't supposed to want it

yourusername: he likes threats if they come from the right person

alexalbon: i am about one more comment away from knocking down your hotel room door and throwing george from the balcony

yourusername: and deprive our child from a father... alex i expected better from you

alexalbon: that's it i'm on my way

georgerussell63: @mercedesamgf1 PLEASE PROTECT ME I AM PRECIOUS CARGO

user10: these bitches got me actually combing through tiktoks and hospitality menus to see if y/n was actually drinking

user11: i'm gonna be real angry if this is all a big joke

user12: i know kimi antonelli is young but this is NAWT the way to announce him for 2025

charles_leclerc: guys i need you to spell everything out i am confused

georgerussell63: no can do charles you gotta follow the breadcrumbs just like everyone else

yourusername: it's right there sharl

charles_leclerc: actually alex, wait, i'm coming with you these hoes are annoying me

landonorris: don't forget me

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and 1,409,556 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: our baby is here!

view all comments

user15: A CAT?

user16: i just knew george russell would be a ragdoll girl

georgerussell63: they were right i AM a girl dad

yourusername: finally dilf status

georgerussell63: a title i do not take lightly

yourusername: i can confirm libido has gone UP since becoming parents!

landonorris: shut THE FUCK UP

yourusername: you'll understand in time lando

georgerussell63: you just found yourself at the bottom of the babysitting list

landonorris: i don't want to look after it

yourusername: IT? IT? HOW DARE YOU?

georgerussell63: she can hear you lando that's so disrespectful :(

landonorris: ??? i'm not saying sorry to a cat over instagram comment

georgerussell63: expect the same courtesy when i take you out first corner next weekend

user17: i fear that was not a threat but a promise from george

user18: it's kinda hot

liked by yourusername

alexalbon: NEW ALBON PETS LORE AND NONE OF YOU TOLD ME

yourusername: ella can't wait to meet the gang

alexalbon: no offence but ella is kinda a shit name

yourusername: short for mozzarella

alexalbon: i take it back

georgerussell63: cause she's the lil pearl of our life

alexalbon: i love her already

user19: so we went through all this tomfoolery for a cat? a cat called mozzarella?

user20: you have to agree it's iconic

alexalbon

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 889,304 others

tagged: georgerussell63 & yourusername

alexalbon: i knew @albon_pets would get george at some point

view all comments

user22: i love how alex became the chill guy again after it was revealed he was not yet an uncle

georgerussell63: hard on the yet

alexalbon: too soon george

user23: the albon pets signature of approval is a bigger sign that george is in the gamily than if he actually proposed to y/n

user24: they've got a baby now he's an albon

yourusername: horsey is going to kick off over having to share george with me and mozzie

albon_pets: bring it on - horsey

yourusername: alex i'm not arguing with you pretending to be horsey, this ain't roscoe and lewis

lewishamilton: rude

roscoelovescoco: meanie

yourusername: did you just call me mean as your dog?

lewishamilton: you were extra mean

yourusername: fine lets let mozzie and roscoe scrap it out at silverstone - she's got the sass of both me and george btw x

lewishamilton: stay AWAY FROM MY DOG

user25: the merc garage gonna be a whole petting zoo at silverstone i can't

user26: you wanna catch up with red bull? sell meet and greet tickets to the petting zoo

maxverstappen1: this is my official invitation to a play date with jimmy and sassy

yourusername: WE'LL BE THERE

maxverstappen1: is mozzarella civilised?

georgerussell63: of course my child has manners?

maxverstappen1: you crash into people all the time, i had to check

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 896,045 others

tagged: yourusername

georgerussell63: all of the family here for the home race

view all comments

user27: y/n wearing mozzarella in a baby harness i need to be put down

user28: that really is their child oh my

yourusername: make our baby proud georgie

georgerussell63: anything for you two xx

alexalbon: why do i never get these nice comments

yourusername: they're transmitted through our genes x

yourusername: also george more important 👍🏻

alexalbon: i'm literally your brother? your flesh and blood?

yourusername: george cuter

georgerussell63: can't argue with that

alexalbon: well of course he is this ain't alabama. (sorry logan)

logansargent: i'm from florida?

yourusername: even worse, my condolences

georgerussell63: can we get back to talking about how dashing i am?

yourusername: yes!

alexalbon: NO. SAY GOOD LUCK Y/N

yourusername: good luck y/n

alexalbon: what if i crash and you never said good luck, think about it y/n

yourusername: good luck alex (you're an asshole for weaponising the sport (and you being shit at it))

user29: i think i had about three strokes trying to follow this argument

user30: poor logan is just a victim of the albons at this point

landonorris: have a baby and forget about the rest of us, i see how it is

yourusername: you will never measure up to mozzie lando i hope you know that

georgerussell63: what y/n means is that i love my friends, but a child is a gift from god

landonorris: it's a cat. she can't even talk

yourusername: and yet she makes better points than you, makes you think

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 834,019 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: fatherhood looks good on you

view all comments

user31: mozzarella is so big already 🥹

user32: maybe i'm worse than them cause i'm attached to mozzie as well

georgerussell63: no one else i'd rather be cat parents to

yourusername: you're such a romantic

georgerussll63: such a pleasure to take this next step with the love of my life

yourusername: i love you more

georgerussell63: not possible

alexalbon: you being gross about mozzie was better than what ever the fuck this is

yourusername: @lilymunhe does he not treat you right?

lilymunhe: he's a romantic really, he's just exhausting the protective big brother act until george finally proposes

alexalbon: sue me

maxverstappen1: still waiting on the play date ...

yourusername: monaco?

maxverstappen1: done

yourusername: jimmy, sassy and ella will be like the charlie's angles reincarnated

georgerussell63: can't wait for you to see her IMPECCABLE manners

maxverstappen1: okay princess george

yourusername: hey only i can call george princess

maxverstappen1: you keep that to yourself

user33: disappointed that with all the tomfoolery around mozzie that there was no maternity photoshoots

yourusername: oh do not give me a challenge...

fin.

note: NEW SERIES ALERT? i'll create a masterlist after i post this. i hope you enjoyed, this one is more of a tame brother's best friend take but dw they can get more beefy and more sassy - send me any pairings you might like to see! thanks for reading x

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Always Take Care

Caregiver!Agatha Harkness x little!reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: You and your mother never got along, but you're giving her one final chance after years of no contact.

Warnings: Parental neglect, emotional abuse, emotional distress, regression, mentions of past trauma, implied homophobia, emotional breakdown, hurt/comfort, fluffy/happy ending

Authors note: This came from a personal place, so if this hits anyone else as hard, I'm sorry, but also, you aren't alone. This was a request.

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

You and your mom had never seen eye to eye, but when she'd found out about you regressing, she'd flipped her lid. Throwing all your stuff onto the street. You'd gone off on your own for a few years before she contacted you again. 

You'd been in a relationship with Agatha for a year now. She was your girlfriend and caregiver. She'd accepted you right away, taking you in without a second thought. She nurtured and cared for you more in the first week of being together than your own mom had in the first eighteen years of your life.

When you mentioned to Agatha about your mom contacting you, wanting to reconnect, she was suspicious, to say the least, but let you make the decision. She knew how you were with such a big heart. You'd open up to Agatha about the things your mom did wrong, but in the same breath, you'd compliment something she'd done for you. Agatha knew better because of her own mom, of course, but she'd never bad mouth your mom without ever meeting the woman. 

"I'll be in the office while you two talk, but if I hear her say something, I'm coming out immediately and putting a stop to it." Agatha spoke in a stern but caring voice. Her hand cupped your cheek that you nuzzled into. 

"Of course, Mama!" You looked up at her with big doe eyes that made her smile. Kissing your forehead as the doorbell rang. 

"Go on. I'll be right in the office." Agatha said before sauntering off, and you answered the door. 

Your mom stood there, a scowl on her face, same as you remember. Her fake designer bag that you knew now that you'd seen the real thing with Agatha. You try to hug her, but she pushes past you.

"Is this actually your house?" She questions, looking around. 

"Well, it's my girlfriend's place, but I live here with her." You can almost hear your mom gag when you mention being with a girl. It makes you feel sick, like you've done something wrong.

When she gets to the living room, she stops dead in her tracks. She sees the toys you'd left out this morning. Some plushies, trucks, and dinos. All things your mom never let you play with. 

"Are you still on that…What was it?" There’s poison dripping from her words. You can feel your chest tighten. 

"Regressing and yes, mom. I do." You try to steady your voice, but it cracks a bit. The scoff that leaves her lips makes you feel like your blood runs cold. 

"Go on then. Go and regress. I thought maybe you'd finally grown up, but I see I was wrong, and I should have known you wouldn't change. You're just like your deadbeat father." Each word hits you like an arrow. You feel yourself regress before you can stop it. Feeling like that little kid she'd yell at for the smallest thing. 

You sniffle, looking at your feet, feeling so small and stupid to think she'd change. 

"Hey!" You hear Agatha's voice raise in a way you've never heard. Both your mom and you snap to attention. Your moms eyes widen just a bit when she sees Agatha. She's older than you, and it's obvious to your mom. She looks like she could be your mom. "You don't get to talk to my girlfriend like that, and you certainly don't get to come into our house and make jabs at our lifestyle choices that hurt no one." Agatha seethes, her heels clicking on the hardwood of the living room. She steps and sizes up your mom, standing more than a few inches taller even if she wasn't wearing heels. 

"Who are you to tell me how to raise my daughter?" Your mom spits back.

"Agatha Harkness. Your daughter is an adult. You barely raised her. I'm helping her heal. I only allowed this because she thought you'd change, but you haven't. You still just want to tear your own and only child down. A real mom wouldn't do that. A real mom would love their child unconditionally." Agatha didn't stop or back down. 

Your mom fumed, unable to respond properly before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as the door slams shut behind your mom, Agatha’s hands are on you—gentle but firm, steadying you before you can spiral any further.

"Alright, sweetheart," she murmurs, cupping your face with warm hands. "She’s gone. She’s never coming back. I promise you that."

Your breath hitches, body trembling as you try to process everything. The words, the way she looked at you like you were something broken. You don’t want to feel this way. You don’t want her to have any power over you.

Agatha knows. She always knows.

"Deep breaths for me, darling," she coaxes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "There you go. Just focus on me. My voice, my touch."

Her thumbs trace soothing circles over your cheeks before she guides you toward the couch, settling you into her lap with ease. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it anchors you.

"You’re safe," she reassures, tucking your head under her chin. "You’re my precious little one, and I won’t let anyone hurt you."

The words melt into you, each one a balm over the wounds your mom tried to reopen. Agatha rocks you gently, humming something soft, fingers carding through your hair.

"You are not weak," she continues, voice filled with quiet conviction. "You are not pathetic. You are my sweet, perfect little love, just as you are."

Tears well up in your eyes, the emotions too big, too overwhelming. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, and Agatha is already there, pressing soft kisses over your temple, your cheek, your nose.

"Shhh, I’ve got you," she whispers, pulling the softest blanket around you both. "I always will."

She lets you cry, lets you bury yourself in her warmth, in her scent, in the safety she wraps around you like armor.

When your sniffles quiet, she shifts just enough to meet your gaze. "Would some warm milk help, my love? Maybe a bath?"

You nod shyly, and she smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. "Good girl. We’ll do both, then."

She carries you effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all, murmuring soft praise the entire way. She sets you down only to start running a warm bath, adding lavender bubbles because she knows they’re your favorite.

As she undresses you with delicate fingers, she tuts softly. "My poor baby, all worked up over something that woman said," she sighs, brushing away a stray tear. "But she doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Not anymore. You have me. And I will always, always take care of you."

The bath is warm, soothing, and Agatha stays close, washing your hair with slow, deliberate strokes, rubbing your shoulders until all the tension drains away. When she lifts you out, she wraps you in the fluffiest towel, drying you with all the care in the world.

Then, she dresses you in soft pajamas—ones she picked out just for you, with pastel colors and little stars.

By the time she’s settled you back into her lap on the couch, a bottle of warm milk in hand, the weight of the day has faded into nothing.

"You’re mine, my sweet little one," she whispers, pressing one last kiss to your forehead as you nuzzle into her chest. "And I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Safe, warm, loved—you finally close your eyes, sinking into her embrace, knowing Agatha will always be there to keep you safe.

[luveline]

jade i don't know if you're taking requests, this could be something super short if you want it to be! i am just dying to see rockstar!eddie and reader at a halloween party. i think he'd look so dreamy

rockstar eddie forever <3 fem, 1k

cw friendly use of the word harlot, rough kisses mdni

"Nice costume." 

You pick your head up where you've draped yourself across the pouffe and smile when you realise who it is. "Thanks, Munson. Yours is better. Super brave." 

"Fuck off." Eddie, very much not in costume, puts a knee between your thighs and bends over the pouffe and your splayed body, careful not to drive the stake in deeper. "Superglue?" he asks, hitting the stake in your chest lightly before putting his hands behind your head like a net to lift you up. "Come on, you'll give yourself a migraine." 

"My hero," you croon, sitting up at his insistence. "I have fake blood in my bag, if you want to be my slayer. Or I can just give you a hickey." 

"I'm good, sweetheart. Vampire wasn't outlandish enough for you?" 

"You know I don't stop at what's already been done." 

He snorts and drops your hands, not without kindness. "Where have you been?" your bandmate asks, the curls of his hair dark like oil slick in the red lighting. His pale skin is blushed with blood. 

"Around. Waiting for the hiatus to be well and truly over." 

"Well, you got your wish." He bends down to kiss your cheek. "Missed you, babe. Had a nice vacation?" 

"I did! Saw the 'rents, saw the world." 

"Don't tell me you stayed here?" he asks, gesturing to the walls of Jamison's lavish house with disgust. "The point was to get away from each other." 

"I like his company." 

"You let him fuck your brains out," Eddie corrects. 

"Come on, Edward, you know I only have eyes for you." You bring his hand to your lips and kiss the bone of his wrist, leaving behind a dark lipstick print and a more syrupy splodge of fake blood. "Your refusal to commit the sin of interband relationships is bumming me out." 

"Well, we can't have that," he says, knee again between your thighs, unafraid to rough you up a little as his hands get acquainted with the slopes of your cheeks, pressing your skin back to get an unfettered look at your blood-splattered face. "Once I kiss you, that's it. Not turning back." 

You beam. "Holy shit," you say, breathless, chest heaving in your tight corset and eyes like hearts as he smirks at you. "I don't wanna turn back." 

"You really didn't fuck Jamison?" he asks, eyes heady as they pour into yours. It's hard to distinguish the irises of his eyes from his pupils, the dark of them like dimes in the red-light. 

Eddie has a talent for removing the rest of the room. Whenever you're together, on stage, behind a camera, you have eyes for him and only him, and he's known that for a while. This will they won't they flirting has been a fun pregame but you're ready for the climax, the culmination, the bite of his rings digging in as he bites your lip. Your breath hitches as you think it, giving a wordless nod. "Of course I didn't fuck Jamison," you say, fighting to keep your voice smooth, soft. 

"I know," he says, leaning down. 

The wood of your stake aches between your sternum as his chest hits it, digging in, the kiss of a new bruise as his lips inch closer and closer. You can't close your eyes; you don't believe him. He won't really kiss you. 

"What?" he asks, blinking at your still-open eyes in milk confusion. "Don't want me to?" 

"You're stabbing my heart." 

Eddie rolls his eyes, yanking the stake off of your corset with a cropped ripping sound. "You're always so dramatic." 

"There's gonna be a real bruise there, I'll show you–" 

You lose your sentence as he kisses you. You truly aren't expecting it. Here, now? At some lame party in the Hills, where the biggest celebrities are literally him and the lesser known members of Cat's Club? You always thought Eddie would kiss you on stage in a throw of passion, or slammed up against a wall, a tour bus, a hotel bathroom door. This kiss is tame in comparison, though his knee juts between your legs and the grip he has on your face is as biting as you imagined, lines of rings embedding themselves in your soft cheeks, his lips stickied by the glucose blood and your wet lipstick. You grab a handful of his curls and there, as you've always imagined, is the scratch of his teeth as he pulls the flesh of your top lip between them and pulls. 

You're startled as he kisses it better. Dizzied as he sighs into your lips, a sound that feels like praise. You give into the pressure of his kiss and let your lips part under his, heat like nothing you've ever felt passed between you. His nose digs into yours, the bridge sliding hard as he turns his head this way and that, like he's trying to kiss you dumb. 

"Is it the costume?" you ask as he pulls away for breath, wide-eyed, startled and wanting and needing him closer. 

He tugs at your corset strings teasingly. "It's fucking everything. We were on a hiatus for two weeks and the whole time I'm wishing I kissed you before I left. You're gonna let me do it again, right?" 

"Uh, duh." 

Eddie practically rags you up off of the pouffe to the couch just behind it, "Think we can make everybody else leave?" 

"No–" He cuts you off again with a kiss, two rough kisses, a third, hands at your waist and pressing into you hard, lips pressing harder as he wades in, a laugh humming between your lips. White hot delight and the stupid delirium of giving in, no more than four kisses before he's being pulled off of you by the collar. 

"We have one fucking rule," Jeff says, Jamison with a handful of Eddie's shirt at his side having broken through the partygoers. 

You smile lazily and lay back in the couch cushions, a picture of ardency, fake blood smeared by kisses across your face and up one cheek, your corset ripped.

"Fucking look at her, man, what was I supposed to do? I'm but a mere human," Eddie says. He's whining, but he's grinning at you like he usually does when you conspire against the others, like you're his very favourite person on earth. "Fuck. Let me at 'er." 

You laugh more at his ridiculous overplay. Gareth stomps on his foot as Jamison chucks a pillow at your chest. 

"Harlot. You're a fucking siren." 

"I really don't get why you're all so mad," you say, delighted at finally having gotten what you wanted. 

Eddie winks at you. "Jealousy, babe. S'all it is. Jamie, man, unhand me. Me and Y/N have unfinished business. She has a bruise she wants to show me." 

"I'm sure she does. Idiots." 

[spicypotatoesofttaco]

I'm so embarrassed but it's fine

I REALLY don't want to post this. but it's fine. IT'S fine. It's stupid and lame, but I'm committing. While this may be a brain child of mine (honestly someone could've already made this and I have no knowledge of this) I'm not particularly attached to it, so construct as much criticism as you want. or kill me, either one works.

just a small warning, this is like. soooo not professionally written (or proofread) at all. it's just a bunch of different types of notes slapped on a page. good luck soldier.

@dreamweave01 this is for you

so the main thing i remember is that it's mainly donnie and mikey angst

OH OH i just got something BIG

so it started out with donatello being replaced by someone else for years and the other turtles had no idea. then it was him replacing himself and then it was leo instead and a few other different versions that i plot holed away. i ended up with raph, leo AND donnie being replaced by robots BY the real donnie (who had died along with the other two) for years and mikey had no idea. then i was like, hm another plot hole, robots dont bleed. and THATS where it all came together.... (evil hand mushing)

boom, bop, bam: they're from another timeline/multiverse

and then the angst started. (side note: i personally dont think i have a good handle on their characters/relationships with each other. i need to rewatch the show and watch the other ones tbh, please take this with the finest grain of salt you can find)

scene 1: mikey finds out

right now, it's just him and donatello in the lair, the other two are out or something. he overhears don talking about "day 1,100, didn't think we'd make it this far without michaelangelo finding out, etc."

"who are you? where are my brothers? what's going on?"

"get away from me. don't touch me"

"don't call me that, you don't get to call me that. not mikey, not mike, or mikester or angelo or anything, none of it!"

he's freaking out. 3 years? his brothers aren't even his brothers? initially he's flipping his shit, trying to get away from donnie(?). for all he knows they could be robots, shapeshifters, anything.

scene 2: leo finds mikey (on a rooftop)

"hey bud"

"GET AWAY FROM ME" he's got his kusari-fundō spinning, pointed at leo(?)

leo(?) raises his hands "okay! okay! it's okay dude, i'm not gonna hurt you i promise", he reaches to lift his swords out and throw them to the side.

michaelangelo, breathing so heavily, lowers his weapon yet still spinning it. he's leaning side to side, lightly pacing but never turning his back to his brother(?)

"listen, uh. buddy, just come back home and we can talk about this. we'll explain-"

"no! i'm not going anywhere with you"

"do you really think we would wait this long to do something to you if we were going to?"

that stumped him. would they play the long game? tello would. but the others wouldn't and honestly, donnie would get bored eventually anyway.. maybe he should hear them out.

scene 3: the explanation

they all sit down together and donnie explains what happened.

at first, he tells mikey the truth and leo and raph immediately berate him for not going through with their inital plan to lie so that mike doesn't flip again. buuuut then I thought it'd be angstier to go through with the inital plan 🫢

Donatello explains:

"So say," he draws two lines on a hologram, one purple, one orange. he points to the orange one, "this is your timeline and this is ours," pointing to the purple line

"In our world, you died. You weren't strong enough, too young maybe, to handle the ooze. As time went by things were normal for us, then out of nowhere a portal brought us to your timeline."

(context dump: the three completely grew up without him, mike has no memories of the portal why? idk yet...trauma response probably..)

L: "We were all confused at first but eventually we figured out that you had brought us here because your us's were gone."

R: "So we figured out the routine, the rhythm. Played the parts that you expected."

M: "So this is...my fault? I took you from your home and you, you just let it happen?!"

D: "I obviously have been trying to figure out a way back but alas, even the most genius of geniuses have trouble with multi-versal travel.

scene 4: emotional damage

(an: i know, i didn't write much here. i got a little lazy, its literally just the climax)

big crazy scene, like wild colours (lots of orange and yellow) and destruction and stuff like the movie type shi.

D: "MICHAELANGELO, MIKEY, PLEASE. please. I know you're still in there. I- I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. It was me, I lied to you, Mikey."

spell breaks (yippee)

M: "what?"

D: "You didn't pull us away from our timeline. I-" deep breath

"I pulled you from yours."

M: speechless, confused. vulnerable.

D: "You were all alone! You had nothing, no one left. I couldn't just abandon you."

"I thought it'd be perfect. We didn't have you, you didn't have us. It was the perfect puzzle!" sigh "and then we had to go and mess it all up by not telling you the truth."

[sanemistar]

𝜗𝜚 gepard x fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, lots of nicknames, he finds out you’re not eating well. requested. 𝜗𝜚 back: hsr m.list

you’ve been swamped with work all day today, it’s been pretty hectic you could barely catch a break, let alone getting a chance to eat. finishing that one last task in hand, you let a big sigh of relief that your shift has finally ended. all you want is to go home and snuggle up to your boyfriend.

on your way home, you begin to feel all the exhaustion pent up, and you could barely walk properly. but you pull yourself together and drag your tired body back home.

you unlock the door and you’re instantly greeted with the sight of your boyfriend gepard lying down on the couch in the living room of your shared apartment, nonchalantly flipping through the tv.

the moment he hears your footsteps he immediately gets up and wraps you around his arms as he kisses your forehead gently, he always greets you with a forehead kiss when you get back from work, it’s like an unspoken rule between you two. you lean your head onto his chest as you throw your arms around his torso, feeling your exhaustion melt away.

“how was work? you look quite tired. did you eat anything?” gepard asks, eyebrows slightly furrowed at your worrisome sight. you hum softly in hopes of reassuring him that you’re fine, but he’s not buying it.

“you didn’t eat, did you?” he breaks the hug, his big sky blue eyes staring at you as if he can see right through you.

“i did ea–” you begin to protest, and before you even get the chance to complete the rest of your sentence, a loud grumbling sound can be heard from your stomach. confirming gepard’s suspisions, he knows you tend to forget to eat properly when you’re having a busy day. he lets a big sigh as he drags you into the kitchen and have you sit at the dining table.

“you shouldn’t skip your meals, love. even if work is busy, you still have to take care of yourself first and foremost.” he scolds you lightly, and he's right. it's a bad habit of yours to neglect yourself when you're too indulged at work. you smile and nod obediently.

"you sit here, i'll cook dinner for the two of us tonight." you feel a little uneasy, he's never cooked before. will he be alright?

"are you sure, geppie? i can cook something for us real quick." but gepard stubbornly refuses your offer, saying that he got this and you don't have to worry. you let him be and watch him from the dining table, admiring the sight of his wide muscular back facing you as he begins preparing the ingredients and starts cooking, maybe letting him cook wasn't a bad idea after all.

to your surprise, the food turns out to be really delicious. if you hadn't been there watching him cook, you would've thought he ordered takeout. you take your sweet time enjoying the special dinner made by your boyfriend, and before you know it, the dish is devoured.

"that was so delicious, geppie!" you coo as you lean in and give his cheeks a quick peck as a reward for the dinner. "when did you learn how to cook like that?"

"well, i have a troublesome girlfriend who skips meals sometimes so i had to take care of that." he playfully says.

"hey! who do you think is troublesome?" you slightly pout followed by a soft 'humph' sound escaping your lips, and gepard chuckles at your cute reaction.

"i don't mind it though, as long as i have you." he hums gently before locking his lips with yours in a loving kiss.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @yueliie @spkyssn @ayrastv

[circlebuttons]

Blacklisted- Rafe Cameron x reader

A/N: I will probably rewrite this but i have so many finished fics that are taking up space

On the coolest day of the heatwave that had struck the outer banks all you wanted was to go smoke in the woods, but when your usual plug and five more after him ghost you, it only takes a little bit of poking around to figure out why.

You leave the last rickety trailer that was your last attempt at buying weed, slamming the door to your little car hard enough to make it shake and floor it all the way Tannyhill, where all of your problems stem from.

You push through the front door and stomp all the way upstairs, running into Barry coming out of the hallway bathroom as you rush towards the patio.

"Country club! Your girlfriends here!" Barry immediately blocks your path and calls for Rafe at the sight of your furrowed brows and clenched fist.

"Not his girlfriend" you mumble, pushing past him and walking towards the patio table you thought Rafe would be around .

Before you can push open the glass doors Barry grabs hold of your wrist, "You know you can't go over there"

You look down at his hand over your wrist let out a heavy sigh, "Oh my god Barry, be for real."

"What's wrong baby?" Rafe's voice comes from behind you two and is sweet and full of concern as if he doesn't know why you're paying him a visit. Your heads to snap towards the corner he comes around. You can see the scowl forming on his face as he slowly lifts Barry's hand off your wrist with a raised eyebrow.

"Not letting your "not girlfriend" bum rush my stash" He responds throwing up his hands in a surrender and throwing himself down in the furthest patio chair.

Rafe brushes him off, putting all of his attention on you as his hands reach down to hold you at your waist. "No kiss?" he asks, cocking his head to the side, finding it strange that you didn't greet him with much affection, regardless of your relationship status.

"Did you tell every goddamn dealer on this island to not sell to me?" You ask him, looking up with a cold pointed stare.

"Who were you tryna buy from?" He fires back almost instantly, ignoring your question completely.

"Hey dumbass! Don't answer a question with a fucking question" You spit out at him, while pushing at his chest to create distance.

Barry stands from his chair and mumbles, "Should I just go?"

"Sit. I'm leaving soon." You tell him pointing back at the chair, then turning back to your ex boyfriend, "Rafe."

"Baby, you know I-" He cuts himself off with a sigh, instantly raising a red flag to you that he was looking for a cop out answer.

"Go ahead and lie, so I can punch you dead in your shit" The threat is empty, you and Rafe had your own issues seeing as he was emotionally abusive and you were just as much verbally, which often included passionate threats.

Your angers fuels his own as he raises his voice back, "Oh my god fucking sue me if I did! You cant trust what anybody sells"

"You Motherfucker! You know I only buy weed" you go to hit at his chest again, but he doges you, lightly grabbing your wrists.

"These days can't trust that either." He says with a hint of a smirk growing on his face when you pull your hands away from him.

"Jesus Christ, I fucking hate you" You walk away from him shaking your head, causing him to follow you closely behind.

"Who put all this in your head anyways, who were you tryna buy from?" He asks again, head hanging over your shoulder.

His question and even the causality of his tone makes you turn around at an instant. "I'm not your girlfriend anymore, why the hell do you care?"

"Yo dumbass, you cant answer a question with a question" He responds with your own words, almost making your eye twitch at the sound of it.

The weight in the room increases, making Barry throw his head in his hands and groan to himself, "fucking headaches."

You both ignore him, as you swallow the hypocritical hurt of having Rafe talk to you in the same manner. "Sharky snitched on your bitch ass instantly" You're no longer yelling at him, but your words are laced with venom.

Rafe pushes his tounge against the inside of his mouth as he silently signals to Barry to get up. You just as quickly make him sit back down, not wanting your favorite alternative dealer to be tracked down and harassed because of your messy relationship.

Rafe watches you closely as you force Barry to sit, "Sharky really? You know I don't want you around him." You can tell you've struck bigger nerve of his by the way he fidgets. You have no inkling of attraction towards this other guy, but man do you like to see Rafe sweat.

"Oh really?" You dramatically throw your head to the side "Well I didn't like you around that slutty kook but she made her way into your lap eventually, so I actually don't give two shits about what you want." you complete the statement with over the top hand gestures.

His eyes close and he breathes through his nose, "You're still stuck on that?"

"Like glue sweetheart." your tone is condescending as you make clear you're firm in your beliefs.

Rafe runs his fingers through his hair frustrated and then calls for his uncomfortable friend with wild hand gestures "Barry was there! He can tell you nothing happened"

Barry lifts his head up from his hands, "I-"

"Barry shut the fuck up!" you immediately dismiss him, and turn back to Rafe "and you can go to hell!"

"Don't yell at Barry! Or me! I didn't fuck her!" he basically screams out of frustration.

"I didn't say you did, unless you have something you need to admit Rafe." You stand firm with your arms crossed.

Screaming is getting him no where, he pinches the bridge of his noise and starts to speak with artificial calmness. "I did not cheat on you, I was high, all I did was sit there."

"This time." you mutter rolling your eyes.

"This time? Should we talk about what you did on the main land or are you just gonna tell me to shut the fuck up" he says putting his fist on his hips as his composure starts to slip again.

"Shut the fuck up Rafe, she left a hickey on your neck for fucks sake! I let one guy do a body shot off me and you're about to bury yourself"

"Hey Bar, did that pouge or did that pouge not basically lick salt off her tits before said body shot, because I know I'm not crazy?"

"She told me to shut the fuck up." he says definitively.

"My god" Rafe exhales annoyed.

"Yeah, my god. I have shit to do, if i can't get a pre roll by tonight it's both of your asses." you say, turning around to leave. In your peripheral you can see barry throw his arms up at being tied in with rafe.

"You can be mad at me for keeping my girl safe." He says shrugging his shoulders, forming his words in a way that twists the narrative, like usual.

"Bullshit! You don't care about my safety, you care about control." you turn back around to accuse him, "You don't want me buying weed from anyone else, why? Because you were just my dealer too until we fucked raw? Or is it just because you're so desperate for me to talk to you."

"I do care about your safety, that's not bullshit." he say's obviously annoyed, blatantly ignoring everything else you said.

"You're a piece of shit Rafe Cameron." As soon as you say it you know you don't mean it but relentless verbal assault never fails to egg him on in arguments, without it he just gives you smug answers and brushes you off, pretending to be nonchalant.

Your insult is exactly what tips him over the edge. "You've stayed on the opposite side of the island for a month! We've broken up a thousand times and you've never gone no contact. What type of shit is that? You just want me to be okay with not seeing you? talking to you?" This time when he yells his eyes widen, no longer flashing the same crazy in his eyes that used to filled you with adrenaline, but instead filled with hurt. You cutting contact had genuinely hurt him and he obviously didn't know how to handle it.

"I don't know what to do anymore rafe. We aren't healthy for each other. We both have a lot of growing to do that can't happen if we don't set boundaries. I need space Rafe, please." You plead with him, desperately missing how fast he usually is to crumble at your pleases.

"I gave you space for a whole month and I know it doesn't depend on my terms but it's torture for me. I won't text you or call you or pop up anywhere, but can you at least come here every so often to get your weed, free of charge." He's speaking to you softly and before you know it you're letting him hold you by your waist, but the little voice in the back of your head is incessant to remind you that you can't just kiss and make up. Boundaries need to be set.

"I don't want handouts from you, I don't want to have to do anything for your sake. I want to be able to go buy drugs or do normal shit without property of rafe cameron on my forehead"

"I get it. You don't want me controlling you wether we're together or not, and I may have had a lapse in judgment" he says anxiously rubbing at the nape of his neck.

"You always have a lapse in judgment, then you apologize and expect everything to be fine" you add, starting to bite at your lips

"Baby, i'm trying" he pleads.

"If you're really trying you'd respect my boundaries even when we're broken up."

He pauses at the last part "Okay, I hear you, i'll genuinely try to"

"Thank you" you huff out, relieved to finally reach a satisfying point in the conversation.

"I'm sorry for being controlling and blacklisting you." Rafe apologizes, his thumb making circles on your lower back as he does.

"Apology accepted, I'm sorry for all the name calling." You meekly apologize as well.

"Apology accepted, I still don't want you going no contact though" he adds kissing your forehead.

"I just told you space is healthy for us" you whine hitting his shoulder

"Space and becoming nonexistent are two different things." He says firmly and you look up at him with knowing eyes.

"I won't cut all contact if you don't invade my privacy" you tell him, bartering for your peace.

"I've learned my lesson, I won't. Promise"

"So I can go buy weed on my part of the island now?" you ask hopefully.

"No. Those guys are paid off for a while sweetheart." he smirks

"Rafe."

"You don't even have to talk to me. I'll silently hand it to you and you can leave immediately after. Just let me see you, please."

"Okay, but let barry get it. I'm still mad and I still don't want shit from you"

"I hear you princess" he responds with his hands surrendered, "I really am sorry" he speaks softly before pulling your chin up and kissing you. It's sad how quickly you open your mouth and let his tongue swipe through.

"I know, 'm still not your girlfriend." you tell him breaking the kiss before he can deepen it any more.

"I know" he says under his breath quickly before reconnecting your lips and letting his hands travel down your back.

"Why'd y'all break up again?" Barry asks, bringing your pre rolls to you per request.

"Can't stop cheating on each other." You both say simultaneously as you take them from his hand and put them in your purse.

[apocalypseornaw]

Real or Not (Pt 2/5)

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Just as you're beginning to feel like you overreacted the biggest challenge yet gets thrown your way

@lacilou s idea

You sang lightly along with your Playlist, Kaleo cranking through the Bluetooth speaker you'd hooked your phone up to as you worked through the stack of lore books the boys had stored in the small room just outside of the "dungeon" as they called it. They'd gone on a supply run into town and despite Dean asking you to tag along you'd chosen to instead stay behind at the bunker.

A couple weeks had passed since that day you'd overheard him and Sam talking about Camila. You'd been more careful of announcing your presence coming into rooms hoping to not walk into the middle of any more reminiscing. A part of you hoped Dean hadn't noticed any change in you while another part of you was nearly desperate for him to notice, to soothe your worries.

You let out a louder sigh than you'd meant to, noticing the legal pad in front of you was still blank despite the fact that you'd come in here with intentions to gather more information for the hunters journals you and Sam had been compiling to make assisting other hunters easier. "That thing say something bad to you? Cause I'll kick its ass" your eyes flew up to where Dean was now leaned against the doorframe watching you.

A small smile slipped onto your face "How long you been there?" He shrugged "Long enough to see that you looked like someone kicked a black kitten in front of you" you tried to look genuine when you said "Nothings wrong Dean" he nodded slowly "You sure?" "Of course" he smiled before walking closer, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips he tapped his knuckles against the legal pad before playfully saying "You hurt my girl's feelings again I'll set your ass on fire" you laughed despite yourself. Why were you worried when here he was threatening an inanimate object for you?

Yet again you found those three little words warming your lips begging for escape and yet again you choked them back down denying them the freedom to be released into the world. You did love Dean, you were in love with him but you wouldn't say it first. Take away the doubts lingering in your mind you knew him well enough to know the man didn't commit often, you were one of few lasting relationships and wasn't about to say it first just to freak him out.

You realized you were staring at him and felt the tips of your ears warm. Why you weren't sure considering you shared a bed with him and had for a while now. A smirk slipped onto his face before he said "Don't be shy sweetheart. You can feel free to check me out whenever you want, I'm all yours" your head flipped in your chest.

"I just fed your ego even more didn't i?" You teased and shrugged "Maybe just a little" you laughed and shook your head before pushing back from the table and grabbed his hand "Cmon I need a break. I'll help you and Sam put everything away"

You were beginning to think you'd simply over reacted to the mention of Camila. You had a few exes that you ended on good enough terms with that you still spoke to them occasionally and would back them up if need be on a hunt. While it was true none of them came near holding a candle to Dean you had cared about a couple of them.

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

You hissed lightly when Sam touched the ragged slice across your arm. Fucking ghouls, you hated the little scavengers. "Easy Y/N" he comforted, the antiseptic cold as he applied it to your wound.

Dean looked up from across the room, the slice across his cheek somehow added to his looks. It wasn't fair he always looked amazing, even when he was bloody "Sweetheart I haven't seen someone take down ghouls that fast in a while" you grinned slightly "Coming from one of you two I'll take that as a compliment"

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

Once Sam was through throwing a couple stitches in your arm he placed a bandage over it and smiled over your shoulder at you "all patched up" you nodded "Thanks Sam" He wished you and Dean goodnight then headed for the door that connected the two motel rooms you'd gotten.

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

Normally the three of you would just drive back to the bunker but considering you'd had to make the drive down to New Orleans to help a coven with their ghoul problem it had been a unanimous decision to crash halfway back for the night.

When you suggested just getting one room Sam had shook his head "No, I am not risking waking up to the sight of you and Dean being handsy with each other" you had ducked your head from embarrassment but Dean had simply shrugged "She's gorgeous, what can I say?"

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

Once the door shut behind Sam, Dean raised an eyebrow at you "What's that look about dee?" You asked and he shrugged "Just thinking you'd be a lot more comfortable out of those jeans"

You felt a smirk slip onto your face "Oh really?" You held his eyes as you unzipped your jeans and pulled them down your legs, kicking them behind you. A smile worked across his face as he took a step towards you "Now let's get you out of that shirt and bra"

You laughed as he reached for the hem of you shirt "So I'd be more comfortable naked?" He caught your lips in a hungry kiss before saying "Yeah, you would but don't worry I'm gonna get comfortable with you"

When you woke up Dean was curled up to your back, his warm breath hitting your neck with every slow exhale as he slept. Your arm wasn't that sore considering although some other body parts were after the night before. A warmth spread through your stomach and lower at the memory of Dean's lips on your body, the way his hips had rolled into yours both of you clinging to each other, a solid chorus of moans mixed with the skin meeting had filled the room.

As if he could hear your thoughts Dean started to stir behind you, his lips finding your neck "What you thinking about?:" you smiled, leaning back into him "A gorgeous guy" he murmured against your skin "Lucky asshole" before his hands began to roam lower on your body.

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

You'd just gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed when you heard Sam's voice in the other room talking to Dean. You caught a few words like "Gotta talk to Y/N"

You quickly got dressed and brushed your hair before heading into the main part of the motel room. Both Winchesters snatched their heads towards the sound of the door opening "What's wrong?" You asked and they exchanged a look "A hunter nearby called for an assist" Dean said matter of factly so you nodded "Ok, what's the case?"

They exchanged another look before Sam said "Thinking changling" you groaned inwardly, the last case had been horrible. "Let's get on it. Who is it?" With one final look exchanged between the boys Sam finally said "Camila"

@lacilou

@saranghaey

@stoneyggirl2

@marimarvelfan

@roseblue373

@suckitands33

@backtotheshitshow

@jackles010378

@badassbitch-21

@leigh70

@diagnosedpsychosis

[beanghostprincess]

@lunaticus asked me to explain more about the relationship Sanji has with selflessness and why he thinks about self-sacrifice as a form of love and affection (thanks to Zeff, but that comes later). So I think it deserves its very own post!

So we all know Sanji has this thing for self-sacrifice (seen in Skypiea. Seen in Thriller Bark. Seen in WCI. Seen in Wano. Seen all the damn time because he always does this) and I think his parental figures play a big role in this (I mean Sora and Zeff, not Judge. Fuck you, Judge). Sanji uses self-sacrifice as a form of affection but also because he doesn't see his life as something valuable (now this is Judge's doing. Fuck you, Judge x2). Sanji's love language comes directly from both Sora and Zeff, and tbh I think Reiju too:

The first time he has any sort of connection to kindness and love is his mom. Sora literally sacrifices herself so Judge can't keep modifying her kids. She died for her kids. She died for Sanji. And she kept smiling and taking care of her little angel nevertheless because Sanji was her only joy. She ate stuff that was probably awful just because it made Sanji happy. It made him follow his dream. And he knew the food was bad but his mom ate it anyway, and that only made him want to keep working until his mom had a real, awesome meal. So Sora sacrifices her own life and her taste buds (RIP Sora's sense of taste) to make Sanji happy.

Then Reiju. It's not as obvious as the other two and it's not really self-sacrifice, but she does stay with an abusive family even though she could've tried to run away with Sanji. She saves him. Tells him to find better, kinder people out there. And she stays in hell because she sees herself as part of the family even if she isn't like them. The way Sanji speaks to her in WCI just makes it more obvious that even if she didn't sacrifice herself exactly (she doesn't see it as a sacrifice) she still has the same thinking as Sanji of: I deserve to be here. I belong here. But I'm gonna help Sanji run away because he doesn't deserve this. While Sanji thinks literally the same when it comes to leaving the crew behind.

And then, Zeff, who I think is the most influential one here. He cuts his own fucking leg to protect Sanji. For Sanji, a kid he barely knows, to survive. That obviously changes Sanji's life forever and he starts owing his life to Zeff (not owing, but, you know. He does at first and then it's more like the way a son feels about his dad giving up everything for him. It's just the way dads are, right?). It's the most selfless and self-sacrificing thing Sanji has ever witnessed. And it was to save him.

So of course, after all of this happens, Sanji sees self-sacrifice as a love language. The most important people in his life did this because they loved him. Of course he's gonna protect Usopp and Nami from Enel even if it means dying electrocuted. Of course he's gonna offer himself to feel Luffy's pain instead of letting Zoro do it. Of course he's gonna quit his new family to protect them from his bloodline. Of course he's gonna use the suit that makes him want to throw up to fight for Wano and of course he's gonna take his life so lightly, asking Zoro to kill him if he loses himself.

The main difference between these situations and what Sora/Zeff did, is that Sanji genuinely doesn't care about what happens to him. He doesn't see his own value and he doesn't care about dying as long as he gets to protect others. Because that's just the way love is for him. And we don't only see it in these dramatic moments, but in the way he treats people. In the way he cooks (such a selfless passion, wanting to serve others). And in the way he flirts with women (it looks exhausting, the way he's trying his best all the time to make them feel worshipped).

So, yeah, Sanji is selfless to an unhealthy extent because he sees self-sacrifice as a love language. And it could be, if it wasn't because it's his main way to prove his love. And it could be, if it wasn't because it ends up hurting him every damn time and he doesn't even care. So it ends up being dangerous.

I hope you liked my lil analysis on this! I think I could expand the idea a bit better but this is just the basics about it and Sanji's personality <33

[mod-kyoko]

Hello~ I hope you're doing well. Can you do a prompt with Himiko, Miu, and angie with an S/O that absolutely adores them and loves spoiling them with affection. S/O can be any gender you like

himiko, miu and angie with S/O that showers them in affection

info: gn!reader, established relationship

type: hc format, non-despair AU

a/n: you can tell I don't know how to write for himiko my god

⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡

himiko yumeno

of course you would adore himiko

she's so cute!

all of her little rambles about magic and how eagerly she wants to convince you that she's a real mage was all too much

with every opportunity you'll hug her and lift her up... much to her confusion

"huh...? what are you doing...?"

"giving my girlfriend love, of course! you're like a cute little kitten!"

she blushes but doesn't pull away from you, rather she just slumps in your arms

"nyeh.. I'm not little..."

she does like when you hold her, it lets her rest in your arms and often falls asleep no matter if she's laying down or standing

you didn't care about how lazy or sleepy she was, in fact it was one of the many traits that you found really endearing

himiko doesn't really give the same energy as you though. figures.

when she wants to give you affection back she just ends up leaning on you, she isn't exactly good with her words so this is the best she can do

you didn't mind though and you're quick to swaddle her up, telling her how adorable she looks

miu iruma

even though miu is the most vulgar, most rudest and the most sexual person you've ever met

you still can't help but be so in love with the girl

you enjoyed listening to her rant on and on about her inventions, even if it was something as useless like a 'pants warmer' you had your full attention on her

when you first hugged her for the first time she freaked the hell out

"w-what are you doing?! you can look but not touch!"

assuming she's uncomfortable, you pulled away quickly and apologised

"what the fuck?! did I fuckin' say you can stop? get back here!"

she'd grab you and pull you into her chest, getting quite the mouthful of it

so safe to say you were allowed to give her all the affection she needed

at times you were straight forward with it, throwing your arms around her, kissing her cheek and nuzzling up to her, it made her all blush fiercely

other times, you're a lot more subtle with your affection; such as lightly touching her hand or leaning your head on her shoulder whilst she's working on something

somehow things like that made her blush even more

angie yonaga

okay so maybe angie is a little creepy cult artist who wants blood sacrifices a bit too much...

but hey! she was still a cute little artist! and you loved that about her!

you liked watching her paint and sculpt, seeing those hands work away on making a masterpiece forever inspires you

during this time you try and not be a nuisance, you wouldn't want her to make a mistake thanks to your clingy coddling

that's okay to her! she likes your presence

when she's finished for the day you waste no time in hugging her tight

of course she reciprocates, she surprisingly has a very strong grip around you

"nya-ha-hah! I thank atua for blessing me with a perfect partner such as yourself, Y/N!"

angie likes to move around the place when she isn't praying or painting, so sometimes getting her to cuddle without disturbing her is difficult

apparently you have to ask atua for permission to kiss her on the lips, it's not always likely you get a 'yes'

so kisses on the cheek is how you express your gratitude for her and she seems so happy about it

whenever you two do kiss on the lips, she holds it for a long time until you can't breathe

afterwards you'll press your forehead against hers and nuzzle the tips of your noses which makes her giggle

angie's odd, but a good romantic partner all the same

⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡

I don't really like how I wrote this but oh well

-Mod Kirumi

[sunbeamah]

Deleted Scene from Trouble in Tokyo #2

You can read the full fic here!

TIT deleted scenes 1 and 3

This is a completely scrapped scene, so the events in the fic are different, but I initially planned TIT to be a oneshot, so this was meant to be the meeting scene!

When Yuuji got a boyfriend, the entire Kusozu household was up in arms. 

“What’s his name?” Choso managed, playing it so cool. So, so cool.

Yuuji smiled widely, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. 

“Fushiguro Megumi.” Yuuji said. The amount of joy and awe he imbued into something as simple as his boyfriend’s name took Choso aback. But not too aback.

“Your friend from school?” Choso said. “I knew he looked at you weird…”

“Huh?” Yuuji said, looking a bit put-upon. 

“Anyway,” Choso said. “How long have you two been dating?”

“Hm? Just today! I know people probably wait to tell their family about a relationship, but I’m excited and it makes me happy– so I wanted to tell you straight away.” 

“Ass-kisser.” Sukuna scoffed.

“Don’t know if he’ll be the one doing the ass-kissing in that relationship.” Eso said. Sukuna snorted, and Kechizu bumped his head against Eso’s elbow to get into the conversation.

“I saw Fushiguro stare at his ass too!”

“What?!” 

-

And if that wasn't bad enough, Sukuna just had to go out that night and get drunk at a party.

Choso was fuming, Yuuji could see it in his eyes. But he was also really, really worried and that took priority over scolding Sukuna, who was obviously very distressed. 

Obviously very distressed because he was sobbing and crying real, actual tears as he clung to Yuuji and babbled absolute nonsense at him. 

“And I would never, ever kill you by ripping your heart out or cutting your head off or forcing you to eat all 20 of my fingers or—”

“I know, Suku-nii.” Yuuji said, looking resolutely ahead and wondering if it wasn’t just alcohol Sukuna had taken tonight. Choso would probably be the one asking him, if he weren't also crying because Sukuna was. This household...

“And I know it sounds fucking stupid but I don’t want you to get a boyfriend yet because you’re my twin and I only just got you, why should he take you away? And he’s not even good enough for you he’s a fucking wimp I could, honestly, I could fucking destroy him. And your boyfriend should- should be someone, should ask me if he can have you first! He never even asked me! And I would say no! And he never even payed— any— fucking— dowry!” Sukuna hiccuped violently between his slurred words.

Yuuji sighed long and hard.

"I know. Suku-nii."

"Y'know Uraume never paid us any dowry either and you're fine dating them." Kechizu said, using a makeup wipe to carefully wipe Sukuna's eyeliner off.

"I'm not dating Uraume!" Sukuna sobbed, sounding downright miserable.

"You could be." Yuuji snarked. It was the wrong thing to do, apparently, because seconds later Drunkuna was pushing him so hard he landed halfway across the room.

"Shut up! You don't know anything!"

"Yes I do!" Yuuji scoffed, glaring at him as he picked himself up. He rubbed his tailbone lightly. He just knew he was gonna have a bruise the size of his face there tomorrow.

"Are you alright, Yuuji?" Choso asked, leaving a glass of water with Sukuna before coming over to see if he could do anything, all the while wiping his own tears away.

"Yeah, I— oof!"

Yuuji was cut off by a sudden tackle from Drunkuna. For a second, he thought his twin was picking a fight, so he geared himself up to throw him off and pay him back for the bruise— but the hits never came.

Instead, Sukuna was sobbing again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you..." He cried.

Yuuji sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, you big baby." He muttered.

"Smile!"

"What—"

And before he could react or try to stop him, Eso was taking a picture and immortalising the moment.

Even though it would 100% be at the expense of Sukuna over him, Yuuji couldn't bring himself to feel any of the mischievous joy he usually would at the thought of embarrassing his twin. Instead, he wondered, not for the first time, what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

"Let's get him to play Fortnite next!" Eso said, hurrying over to the TV.

What indeed.

[skullsandsteel]

"Among other things," Brock said, simply. "Patience, and expectation."

From what he'd been told, the Russian's had gotten good results out of him from treating him as one of the team. That had ended with Karpov, ended after he exchanged hands. The files, though, were hard to come by-- And it wasn't like he'd gotten a fucking operations manual plopped into his lap when he'd gotten saddled with the worlds deadliest puppy.

It had been a long fucking road to get them both to where they were now-- A tenuous relationship that was hanging by a thin, blood-soaked thread.

"Jack's more heavy handed, don't let the Asset off the leash as much." He explained, shrugging, "Don't know what Pierce does, but if you want to see compliant," He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "I don't want to be stuck watchin' his ass all day, yeah? I got other shit to do-- So as long as he keeps his head down and his hands to himself," He gave the Asset a pointed look, unconsciously touching the still-darkening bruise on his neck. "Then he's doin' just fucking fine." It probably wasn't the best course of action-- And the consequences of treating the Asset like that definitely fucking showed today. Brock suddenly remembered why he'd had the Asset meet him in here. But something like posessiveness flashed in his eyes as Jensen reached out, as he took hold of the Asset like he fucking owned him-- He tensed. "**Релакс." Brock's Russian had never been particularly good, not from lack of trying-- It'd just never seem to stick. He didn't spare a look at the Asset, hearing the plates in his arm kick up was warning enough. "He don't like you," Brock said, sneering, lightly bumping Jensen out of the way with his shoulder. "Ain't gonna get much done if he don't at least tolerate ya'." His hand replaced Jensen's on the Asset's jaw, fingers grinding hard down into the bone as he tilted the Asset's head back, humming softly. "The Asset likes whatever I tell him to." He glanced at Jensen, "Can also take whatever you throw at him." He smirked, again, though this time it was dark.

Brock released the Asset, shoving him back as he stepped away, rolling his shoulders. "Good thing he ain't gotta like you, not for this." The look he gave the Asset was almost sympathetic, if it wasn't for the malice that flashed in his eyes.

"Asset, sweet thing," Brock hummed, cocking his head over to Jensen. "Do you want to help me show Agent Jensen just what I mean? Let 'im in on a little demonstration?" The question was a test-- Of course the Asset had no real choice in the matter, and Rumlow watched him carefully. "Remember," He said, softly. "You can make it easy, or you can make it fun." **"Relax."

The Asset moved forward when the male stood up, almost knowing what the male wanted before he even gave the signal for it. He leaned into the hand into his hair, letting out an almost quiet noise of appreciation but stopped himself when he realised Jensen was still there.

Jensen watched their bond and wondered if there was something else going on than just this. There must have been other ways to keep the Asset so placid. He didn’t know if it had started with Rumlow or if the Asset had been used for other things since he was made.

“So it takes a lot of patience to get him this obedient?” He asked before he was moving to reach his own hand out to grip at the Asset’s chin. “You sure there’s not something else going on too? You and Rollins are the only two that seem to get him like this, but he’s only ever feisty with you.”

His thumb pressed hard on the Asset’s chin. “Does he like it rough? Can tell that he does with how he didn’t even flinch when we had him on the ground earlier.”

The Asset looked up at Jensen before his metal was whirring quietly, wanting nothing more than to push him away.