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ggukivrse · 2 months ago

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JUST THIS ONCE | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff (?)

word count: 5.1k

warnings: you’re gonna get sick of the title loll, brief alcohol consumption, this is lowkey pwp (there will be more plot soon i promise) swearing, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, fingering, oral (m. receiving), he’s very cocky but also pathetic, multiple orgasms, lots of banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk calls oc a brat x2, multiple positions, insinuated aftercare, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: you guys built this fic!! this was supposed to be out on thursday but i realised i was being wayy to ambitious cuz i definitely needed more than two days to write this loll. but alas, it’s here :3 as always, likes, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are very appreciated! enjoy reading angels <33

ps. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You fumble with your keys, swaying just slightly as you try to jab the right one into the lock. Behind you, Jungkook’s laughing under his breath, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck.

“Need help?” he asks, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

“I’ve got it,” you say, jabbing the key with exaggerated precision. The door finally clicks open, and you push it in with a triumphant, “Ha!”

“You’re so competent,” he deadpans, clapping a mock applause as he follows you in. His shoulder bumps yours as he passes. “It’s honestly inspiring.”

You kick off your shoes, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “And you’re so annoying,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

Jungkook drops onto your couch like it’s his own, sprawling out like he owns the place. Which, in some ways, he kind of does.

A hoodie of his is already slung over the back of a kitchen chair, from some night two weeks ago when he stayed too late and decided not to drive home. There’s an energy drink in your fridge with his name written on the lid in Sharpie. The blanket he’s tugging over his lap? That’s the one he gifted you for Christmas, mostly so he could use it whenever he came over.

It’s always been like this.

He tosses his denim jacket on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge, chucking one to him without warning. He catches it with the ease.

“You were definitely flirting with that bartender,” he says, unscrewing the cap and looking at you with that maddeningly smug smile.

You scoff. “He had a mullet and called me ‘miss.’ It wasn’t flirting— it was survival.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding like he totally believes you. “That’s why you laughed at everything he said, even when he asked if you liked your tequila neat.”

“It was neat!” you say, defensive and laughing at the same time. “And besides, you flirted with the girl in the fishnets for, like, an hour.”

He shrugs. “Guilty. She had good taste in music. And thighs.”

You groan and flop down beside him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your thigh brushes his, but you don’t move. Neither does he. The buzz from the party is still warm in your blood, and the apartment feels too quiet now — too intimate without the noise and lights and other bodies.

“You ever think we’re just... really bad at dating?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Constantly,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.

You glance at him. “Like, maybe we peaked in college.”

He makes a face. “Don’t say that. I refuse to believe my best years happened while I was still eating instant ramen and failing comp sci.”

You laugh, and he turns his head toward you, watching you with that soft-eyed expression you know too well. There’s something about Jungkook when he’s like this — no bravado, no teasing smirk, just... present. His hair is a mess from the wind, and a dark tank top hugs his figure.

He’s too comfortable here. Too familiar.

“I genuinely think I’ve forgotten what a good kiss feels like,” you say, mostly to the ceiling, like it’s a throwaway thought.

Jungkook hums. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not even bad, it’s just...” You trail off, searching for the word. “Empty. Mechanical. Like everyone’s going through the motions, but nobody’s actually there.”

He shifts slightly, angling his body more toward you. “So no decent kissers at all lately?”

You shake your head. “No decent anything, if I’m honest.”

He raises an eyebrow, curious.

You hesitate, but the alcohol in your system makes it easier to say what you probably wouldn’t sober. “I haven’t slept with anyone in like... almost a year.”

Jungkook blinks, not in judgment, just surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You rub at your temple with a laugh. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It just kind of... kept not happening. And then it became this weird streak, and now here we are.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Well,” he says eventually, “maybe your standards are just too high.”

“Or maybe men are just mid,” you shoot back.

That gets a laugh out of him, loud and bright. He tips his head back, and you watch his throat move as he laughs. Too long. Too hard. When he calms down, he gives you a look — something mischievous that you've grown to know too well over the years.

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him with a smile.

He shrugs. “I mean... I could help."

“With my standards?”

“With the streak.”

You snort. “What, you offering?”

“Maybe.”

You tilt your head. “So what? You wanna bang it out?”

It’s meant to be funny. You’re grinning when you say it. But when you look at him — really look — he’s not laughing.

His gaze lingers on your mouth for a beat too long. Then his eyes flick up to yours.

“Just this once?” he asks, voice low. Careful. Like he’s giving you an out.

You don’t answer right away. The room goes still. The hum of the fridge feels too loud. His eyes are still on you, and it’s not a look you’ve ever seen from him before.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You swallow. “Wouldn't it be weird?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.

“Only if we let it be.”

You sit there for a second, the weight of it all hitting a little too fast. Your brain’s still catching up to your mouth, to the way your body’s buzzing — not from the alcohol anymore, but from him. From the heat in his eyes, the way he said it — almost like a dare.

And then his expression shifts.

His eyes flick away, and his tongue runs over the silver ring on his bottom lip, like he’s pulling it back, reeling it in.

“Only if you want to, obviously,” he says, quieter this time. “We don’t have to.”

He starts to lean back like he's resetting the mood — like this moment can still be folded back into the safety of your usual teasing — but you stop him.

You move first.

You grab the front of his tank top — not hard, not dramatic, just enough — and you pull him in.

You kiss him.

It’s abrupt. Heat over hesitation. A split-second decision that tastes like tequila and impulse, like comfort and fuck it all wrapped up in the same breath.

At first, he doesn’t move, frozen in surprise. But then he kisses you back — really kisses you back — and suddenly you're not thinking anymore.

His hand slides to your thigh, just enough pressure to ground you, and you shift toward him instinctively, knees brushing his. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of focused laziness, like he’s savouring it. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how you taste.

You pull back half a second, just to breathe, lips brushing his as you mutter, “Took you long enough.”

He laughs into your mouth, low and smug. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, well. You looked like you were gonna bail.”

“I was being respectful,” he says, voice muffled against your jaw as he starts kissing along it. “But sure, let’s call it bailing.”

You gasp a little when he nips at your neck, just enough pressure to make you arch toward him. Your hands slide under his top, fingers skimming the warm skin of his back, and he shivers under your touch.

“Jesus,” you murmur. “How are you this built? You eat, like, gas station snacks and leftover noodles.”

“I work out,” he mutters between kisses, grinning as he drags his mouth back to yours. “Also, you’ve seen me shirtless.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

“Like what?”

You tug him closer until your chest presses to his. “Like I get to touch.”

That shuts him up real quick.

He kisses you again, this time more urgently, and you feel the change in the air — less teasing, more want. Your legs shift to straddle his lap without thinking, your hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just a little.

He groans, deep and rough, biting down on your bottom lip before kissing it better. You rock your hips forward slightly and he bucks up into you with a hiss.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

You smirk against his mouth. “You offered, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m rapidly realising that was a dangerous choice.”

You laugh, breathless, before kissing him again. He tastes like beer and something sweeter — probably the gum he always chews. You bite his lip and feel him groan into your mouth, hips jerking beneath you.

His fingers slip under your shirt, warm on your skin. Not rushed, just exploring — like he’s been curious for a while and is finally allowed to look.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and his head drops back against the cushion with a low fuck that makes your stomach flip.

“You still sure about this?” you ask, teasing, as your hands drag down his chest, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

His eyes open — dark, focused, amused.

“You gonna stop me if I say no?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Then yeah,” he says, breath hitching as your fingers reach his abdomen. “I’m very sure.”

He catches your fingers before you can finish unbuttoning his jeans.

You raise a brow, breath still uneven. “Seriously?”

He nods, steady, calm in a way that only makes your pulse pound harder. “I said I was helping you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that was like... a mutual helping situation.”

His mouth twitches. “You always gotta argue when I’m trying to do something nice?”

You open your mouth to throw something back — something biting, something stupid — but he leans in and kisses you before you can get the words out. One hand still wrapped around your wrist, the other cupping your jaw.

He pulls back just enough to speak.

“Let me take care of you.”

You stare at him for a beat, heart kicking hard in your chest.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to sound unbothered. “But don't expect any thank yous or shit.”

“I’ll survive,” he says, already smirking as his fingers work at your jeans. “Though, for the record, I think you’re gonna want to.”

You snort — right before he pops the button of your jeans and drags the zipper down, knuckles brushing your skin. You shiver.

“God, you’re cocky.”

He glances up, eyes flicking to yours. “You saying I haven’t earned it?”

You don’t answer. Your breath stutters when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, palm flush against you.

He stills.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “You’re wet already?”

“Shut up.”

He smiles cockily.

You roll your eyes — try to, anyway — but your thighs are already parting, your body moving without conscious thought. His fingers slide into you, testing the waters, and your head tips back with a soft sigh.

He watches your face like he’s waiting for something. When your mouth parts, when your hips twitch toward his hand, that’s when he moves.

His thumb finds your bud and he's gentle at first. Circling, then rubbing just a little firmer. You bite your lip hard, trying not to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.

“Still not thanking you,” you say through clenched teeth.

“Oh, you will,” he says, low. “Eventually.”

You glare at him. He grins back, fingers dragging lower, slipping in without resistance. You suck in a breath, and he laughs softly under it.

“Okay?” he asks, suddenly serious again.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He starts moving his fingers — slow at first, too slow. Like he’s enjoying making you wait. You squirm, trying to rock your hips into his hand, but he tightens his grip on your thigh.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You’re letting me do the work, remember?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re literally grinding on my hand right now.”

You reach out blindly and smack his chest. He doesn’t even flinch — just slips another finger in, and your breath catches so hard it punches the air from your lungs.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

His thumb picks up a rhythm again, and the pressure starts to build fast. He knows it, too. His free hand slides around your waist, steadying you as your body starts to shake. Your fist curls into the soft fabric of his top, needing something to hold onto.

“Still hate me?” he asks, voice rougher now, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Don’t flatter yourself— fuck—”

“Yeah?” His fingers curl just right, and your whole body tenses. “Right there?”

You nod, desperate, eyes squeezed shut. Your thighs are shaking. You’re so close you can’t even keep up the bit.

“Say it,” he says.

“Say what?”

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

You groan. “Jesus, Jungkook—”

He slows down suddenly, barely moving his hand.

You whine. Actually whine.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“God, you’re annoying,” you say, breathless.

He grins. “You're the one being the brat here.”

You drag your eyes open and glare at him, but it’s all heat now. All want. You lean in close, lips pressing against his.

"Fuck— fine. You feel so fucking good, Kook. Please, just don't stop."

He doesn’t.

He kisses you hard and fast, and his fingers start again, slick and firm and relentless. Your body clenches around him and this time, you don’t even try to hold the sounds back. His name leaves your mouth like muscle memory, and he groans into your kiss, like he’s the one coming undone.

When you break the kiss to suck in air, he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough in your ear.

“That’s it. Let go for me.”

You do.

Your body arches, thighs trembling as the orgasm washes over you sharp and fast. Your fingers dig into his back, into his top, into anything that keeps you tethered.

He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, twitching, pushing his hand away because you’re too sensitive now.

He pulls back finally, breath warm against your skin, his fingers wet. He looks at you, gaze heavy, lips parted.

Then, without a word, he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Open,” he says, low and steady.

You blink at him, your body still humming, brain half-melted. “What—?”

He brushes two slick fingers against your bottom lip, and your mouth parts on instinct.

“You said no thank yous,” he says, smirking. “So this’ll do.”

You glare at him, but your lips close around his fingers anyway. He watches every second — the way your mouth wraps around them, the way your tongue slides against the pads. His expression flickers from cocky to wrecked.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice rough now, the smugness cracking around the edges.

You suck once, slow and purposeful, eyes locked on his, and he jerks slightly under you — hips twitching like your mouth is on him instead. When you pull off with a soft pop, your lips are swollen and wet.

“You said mutual help,” you murmur, breath still catching on the end of every word. “It’s your turn.”

He blinks, like he’s short-circuiting.

You slide off his lap slowly, hands dragging down his chest, and his breath catches when you settle between his legs on your knees. You palm him over his jeans, and he hisses, already hard under your touch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, head tipping back.

“You okay there?” you ask, voice sweet, taunting. “Or do you need me to go slower?”

He looks down at you, pupils blown, jaw clenched. “Don’t be a brat.”

You unbutton his jeans, real slow, enjoying the way he twitches under your hands. “No promises.”

You drag the zipper down, tugging his jeans and boxers low enough to free him. He’s flushed and heavy, tip already glistening, and you swear you see his hips flex at just the sight of your mouth this close.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You look way too good down there.”

You wrap your hand around his cock, giving one slow stroke, and he groans like it surprises him.

You start slow. Just your hand. Thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge under the head, watching his thighs tense beneath your touch. His head drops back against the couch cushion, and you feel the way his hips subtly shift toward you, like his body’s trying to chase more without him even realising it.

You lean in and lick a slow stripe from base to tip, tongue flat, deliberate. His breath catches — then shudders out of him like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

“Shit,” he mutters again, voice strained.

You hum like you agree, and wrap your lips around the head, just barely. You suck, not hard — just enough to make him twitch. Your hand works in tandem, slow, steady strokes, and your mouth follows, inching lower until the tip presses against the back of your throat.

He moans, raw and wrecked. “Fuck, baby—”

The pet name is barely more than a gasp, almost like it slipped out without permission. Your stomach flips at the sound it.

His voice borders on the line of sounding pathetic, and it makes you want to press your thighs together.

You fall into rhythm — your lips sliding over him, tongue pressed firm underneath, hand twisting where your mouth leaves off. Every now and then, you let yourself get sloppy. Let the sound of it echo between you, let him hear what he’s doing to you.

He’s falling apart above you. You can tell by the way his hand flexes and releases in your hair, the way his thighs tremble every time you sink a little deeper. He’s breathing hard now, jaw slack, eyes barely open. Watching you. Like he still can’t believe this is real.

“God, your mouth—” His voice cuts off into a moan when you swallow around him, deep and slow. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You pull off just long enough to breathe, lips slick, chin wet. “You deserve it.”

He laughs, but it breaks halfway through. Your hand doesn’t stop moving.

“You like watching me fall apart, huh?”

You look up through your lashes, tongue flicking over the head. “More than a little.”

You go back down — deeper this time — and he chokes on a groan. His hips jerk up too sharply and he curses, hands fisting hard in your hair.

“Shit— I’m—” He’s panting now, thighs shaking. “I’m not gonna last if you keep— fuck, don’t—”

You suck harder, then moan around him just to hear the sound he makes. It’s almost a whimper.

“Baby, stop— wait— fuck— please—”

You pull off with a wet pop just before he tips over the edge, lips red and swollen, saliva clinging to your chin. He’s barely keeping it together. Chest heaving, flushed to the neck, cock twitching where it rests against his stomach.

“You were right there,” you say, feigning innocence, voice soft and ruined.

“Exactly," he says, sitting up. "I'm not done with you yet."

He drags the fabric of his top over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The moment it’s off, your breath catches.

Fuck.

He’s all golden skin and sharp lines, chest heaving, abs flexing with every breath. His tattoos curl over his shoulder and down his arm, black ink stark against flushed skin. His cock’s still hard, flushed dark, resting against his stomach, twitching when he sees the way you’re looking at him.

And you — still kneeling between his legs — can’t look away.

Then you rise, shaky but determined, and pull your top over your head, letting it fall. His eyes snap to your chest, lips parting like he’s just been punched in the gut. You're movements are purposefully slow as you pull down your jeans, then your panties.

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes dragging down your body. “You’re a fucking dream.”

You crawl back into his lap, your bare skin meeting his, and the contact makes both of you gasp. You straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he groans the moment your heat presses against his cock.

He fumbles for a condom, pulling it out from an inner pocket in the jacket he’d draped onto the couch earlier.

You watch as he tears it open and rolls it on, fingers practiced but tense. You reach between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and the second his tip slides against your soaked folds, his grip tightens on your hips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice shaking.

You sink down slowly, inch by thick inch, and your nails bite into his shoulders as you stretch around him. He’s big — your pussy gripping him tight, wet and pulsing as he fills you up. Every nerve lights up, every breath gets harder to catch.

“Holy fuck—” His head drops to your chest, groaning against your skin. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm. Gonna make me lose it.”

You whimper as you bottom out, walls fluttering around him. You can feel every vein, every twitch. It’s almost too much. Almost.

But not enough.

You start to move — slow, dragging lifts of your hips, circling them on the way back down. He watches, hands clamped on your ass, guiding the grind of your body like he already knows how to make you fall apart again.

You ride him, pace picking up fast, desperate. Every time your hips drop, the base of his cock grinds against your clit, slick sounds filling the room with every slap of skin against skin. His cock hits deep, stretching you wide, and a moan passes your lips.

He groans are low and guttural, eyes locked to where your bodies meet. “Goddamn, baby. Watching you fuck yourself on my cock— shit— never gonna forget this.”

You’re panting now, thighs burning, rhythm faltering. You try to keep going, but your legs are shaking.

He notices.

Without a word, he shifts under you, plants his feet flat on the floor, and grabs your hips tight.

“Let me help you, yeah?”

You nod. “Please.”

He starts thrusting up into you.

You cry out, spine arching, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on as he fucks you from underneath, sharp and deep. His hips snap up into you, cock pressing into your sweet spot over and over again.

The new angle is obscene. Filthy.

“Fuck, Jungkook— holy shit—”

He smirks up at you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Look at you— so cockdrunk already.”

Your pussy clenches around him, soaked and messy, and the sound of it is downright pornographic. His balls slap against your ass with every brutal thrust, and you can’t even think anymore. Just feel.

Your head falls back, hips rocking with his. “W-we’re still best friends, right, Kook?”

His rhythm stutters, hips slamming up too hard, too deep, and his jaw drops slightly like he’s not sure if he actually heard you right. His pupils are blown, face flushed, and he stares at you like you just kicked the last brain cell out of his skull.

“What the fuck,” he pants. “You can’t say that. Not when I’m— fuck— inside you.”

You whimper, walls clenching around him like your body’s reacting to how wrecked he sounds.

“That’s so fucked up,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Say it again and I might actually come on the spot.”

You huff out a weak laugh at that, hands tangling in his hair, and he groans, fucking you harder, deeper — like he needs to wipe the thought of friendship off your brain with every snap of his hips.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp. “So close, fuck— don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. One hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit while he pounds into you. You sob his name, hips stuttering, body locking up.

“Come on,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

That’s all it takes.

You break with a cry, body clamping down around him as your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train. Your pussy pulses around his cock, milking him, soaking him, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

He slows just a little — just enough to let you ride it out — but he doesn’t pull out. He’s still hard inside you, jaw tight, eyes blown wide.

You collapse forward, panting into his neck, spent.

His hands slide down your spine, warm and possessive. “You good?”

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Jesus.”

"Good." He swiftly lifts you off him just enough to slip out, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But he doesn’t give you time to think.

He shifts, guiding you onto your back, his body following yours down to the couch. His hands frame your face as he settles between your legs, and when he presses back into you — thick and hard.

His eyes roam over you like he’s never seen anything more obscene or more beautiful. Your lips are swollen, parted in a messy moan. There’s a faint smudge of mascara under one eye from when you’d cried out his name, and your skin’s glowing — sweaty, flushed, wrecked.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, voice gone rough. “All fucked out for me.”

You pull him down into a kiss before you can think. It’s open-mouthed, greedy, teeth clashing a little. His hips start to move again, slow at first — long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch every time he bottoms out.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. His chest brushes yours, sticky skin against sticky skin, and your nails rake down his back.

He gasps into your mouth. “Fuck—”

“More,” you breathe, nails dragging again, leaving angry red lines down the muscle of his back. “Please.”

His hips snap harder, pace picking up again. He braces one hand beside your head and the other slides up your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise. Your body rocks with every thrust, his cock slamming into you, the slap of his hips against yours louder now.

“You feel that?” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “How tight you are around me? Fuck— I’m so deep, baby, you’re taking me so fucking good.”

You moan loud at his words, head falling back against the cushions.

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast — open-mouthed, wet kisses that make your skin burn. Then he’s back at your mouth, kissing you like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe.

He watches you with the kind of hunger that makes your stomach flip, watching how your brows pinch, how your mouth trembles, how you twitch around him with every stroke like you’re on the edge all over again.

And fuck, you are.

“Touch me,” you gasp, voice raw. “Kook, please—”

His fingers snake down your stomach, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit, synced with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cry out, thighs shaking around his waist, and he just watches — eyes dark and wild, like he can’t believe what he’s doing to you.

You clench hard around him, and he curses, slamming into you deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke.

“Gonna come again?” he pants. “Wanna come on my cock like that, baby? Let me feel you soak me?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, tears prickling in your eyes from how fucking intense it is. “Yes— yes, fuck, don’t stop—”

He kisses you as you fall apart — moaning into your mouth, swallowing every sound. You come again, whole body seizing around him. Your nails dig in, and he hisses at the pain, thrusting through it, fucking you right through the high.

When it ebbs, your body goes limp under him, chest heaving, lips swollen, slick dripping between your thighs.

Jungkook fucks into you again — slow, deep, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you pulsing around him. His breath stutters, muscles drawn tight, every thrust rougher than the last.

“I’m not gonna last,” he pants, voice wrecked.

You bring your hands up to his hair, lightly tugging at his locks as you whisper, “Wanna feel you.”

He chokes on a moan, slamming into you one final time as he comes hard, cock twitching deep inside as he fills the condom.

His arms shake, muscles locked tight, and his face is buried in your neck as he rides it out, breath ragged, skin flushed and burning. You feel every pulse of it, every tremble in his frame, and all you can do is hold him there — legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms tangled around his shoulders, your nails still leaving stinging trails across his skin.

He presses kisses against your neck and jaw, eventually trailing up to your lips before pulling back to just look at you.

"I— you're perfect."

You smile, a familiar warmth enveloping your cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, you can stop with the flattery."

But he doesn’t smile back right away. He just watches you, quiet. Like he’s still catching up to the weight of what just happened. What’s still happening.

His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing lazily over your damp skin. “Let me run you a bath.”

You blink. “A bath?”

He nods, lips brushing your temple. “Yeah. You’re shaky. And I kinda wrecked you.”

You snort, catching the smugness in his voice. “What happened to, ‘Shit, baby, if you don’t stop I’m gonna come down your throat’?”

He groans, laughing. “Okay, first of all— rude. Second, I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm, you definitely do.”

He pinches your side lightly. “Keep talking, I’ll re-enact it right now.”

You shut up. But you’re smiling.

He stands a moment later, disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft clatter of bottles, his voice humming something low and familiar.

When he comes back, he tosses you a towel and holds out a hand, that same easy smile on his face. The one you’ve known forever. The one that makes everything feel… normal.

Even now.

You lace your fingers with his, let him pull you up.

Your legs are jelly. His hand doesn’t let go.

And as you follow him into the bathroom, skin still marked by his touch, lips still swollen from his kiss, a quiet thought flickers at the edge of your mind.

You guys were still best friends.

Right?

→ read part two here

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wazifaforlovemarriage · 1 year ago

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Bache Ko Sulane Ki Dua

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Certainly! Here is a comprehensive guide on the dua (prayer) for putting a child to sleep, known as "Bache Ko Sulane Ki Dua" in Islamic tradition:

In Islam, it is a beautiful practice for parents to recite specific prayers or duas while putting their children to sleep. This act not only instills a sense of tranquility and security in the child but also strengthens the bond between the parent and the child through the power of prayer.

The dua for putting a child to sleep is rooted in the teachings of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), who emphasized the importance of invoking Allah's blessings and protection upon children during all stages of their lives. This particular dua seeks Allah's guidance and mercy for the child, ensuring peaceful sleep and safeguarding from any harm or disturbance.

The dua is as follows:

"بِاسْمِكَ اللَّهُمَّ أَمُوتُ وَأَحْيَا" "Bismika Allahumma amootu wa ahyaa"

This translates to: "In Your name, O Allah, I die and I live."

Understanding the Dua:

Invocation of Allah's Name (Bismillah): The dua begins with "Bismika," which means "In Your name" or "With Your name." Starting any action with the name of Allah signifies seeking His blessings and guidance.

Statement of Intent: "Allahumma amootu wa ahyaa" translates to "O Allah, I die and I live." In the context of putting a child to sleep, this phrase can be understood as a supplication to Allah for the child's peaceful sleep and subsequent awakening, invoking Allah's control over life and death, and His power to grant life and revive after sleep.

Meaning and Purpose: By reciting this dua, parents seek Allah's protection over their child during sleep, asking for a night of rest free from nightmares or disturbances. It is an expression of trust in Allah's mercy and guardianship over their loved one.

How to Practice:

Intention and Sincerity: Before reciting the dua, make a sincere intention to seek Allah's blessings and protection for your child's sleep.

Recitation: Recite the dua softly and clearly, preferably near the child's bedside. The calming rhythm of your voice can also help soothe the child into sleep.

Consistency: Incorporate this dua into your bedtime routine consistently. Repetition helps establish a comforting ritual for both parent and child.

Additional Prayers: Alongside this dua, you may also recite other supplications taught by Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) for protection and well-being.

Importance in Islamic Tradition:

Parental Responsibility: Islam emphasizes the crucial role of parents in nurturing and protecting their children. Reciting this dua reflects the responsibility of guiding the child towards a life grounded in faith and piety.

Connection with Allah: Teaching children the practice of dua from a young age fosters a strong connection with Allah and reinforces their reliance on Him for all aspects of their lives.

Spiritual Bond: Bedtime rituals such as reciting dua create a nurturing environment where the child feels loved, secure, and spiritually connected to their parents.

Conclusion:

Reciting the dua "Bismika Allahumma amootu wa ahyaa" while putting a child to sleep is a beautiful Islamic tradition that promotes peace, protection, and spiritual growth. By invoking Allah's name and seeking His blessings, parents fulfill their duty of providing a safe and loving environment for their children. May Allah accept our supplications and grant our children peaceful sleep and abundant blessings.

Remember, the sincerity of intention and consistency in practice are key to making this dua a meaningful part of your bedtime routine with your child.

#Get Fast Astrology Solutions #Instant Solutions #Ask Free Astrology Question Instant Answer

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cardentist · 2 years ago

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hey, so people need to be aware that youtube is now (randomly) holding basic features for ransom (such as being able to pin comments under your own videos) in exchange for Your State ID/Drivers License, or a 30 Second Video Of Your Face.

not to pull a "think of the children," but No Actually. I've been making videos as a hobby since 2015 (and I've had my channel since middle school), I was a minor when I started and I'm not sure I would have understood the kind of damage something a seemingly simple as a video of your face can do.

this is a Massive breach of privacy and over-reach on google's part No Matter What, but if they're going to randomly demand a state ID or license then they absolutely should not allow minors to be creators.

google having a stockpile of identifying information on teenagers is bad enough, but the Alternative of recording your face and handing it over to be filed away is Alarming considering it opens the gates for minors who Aren't old enough to have a license.

and yes, there is a third option, but it's intentionally obtuse. a long wait period (2 months), with no guarantee of access (unlike, say, the convenience of using your phone's cameras for either of the other two), with absolutely No elaboration on what the criteria is or how it's being measured.

it's the same psychological effect that mobile games rely on. offer a slow, unreliable solution with no payment to make the Paid instant gratification look more appealing (the "payment" in this case being You. you are the product being offered).

and it's Particularly a system that (I think intentionally) disadvantages people who don't treat their channels like a job. hobbyists or niche creators who don't create regularly enough or aren't popular enough to meet whatever Vague criteria needs to be met to pass.

markiplier would have no problem passing, your little brother might not be able to. and while Mark's name is already out there there's no reason why your little brother's should be too.

something like pinned comments may seem simple, you don't technically Need it. but it's a feature that's been available for years. most people don't look at descriptions anymore. so when there's relevant information that needs to be delivered then the pinned comment is usually the go to.

for my little channel that information is about the niche series I create for. guides on how to get into the series, sources on where to find the content At All (and reliably so). for other creators it can be used for things Much More Important.

Moreover, if we let them get away with cutting away "small" features and selling it back to you for the price of your privacy, then they Will creep further. they Will take more.

Note: I have an update to this post here: [Link]

#enshittification #discourse #youtube #google #evillious chronicles #evillious #ec #this isn't overtly About that fandom #but it is #because it affects how I'm able to run my channel going forwards #I have no clue if I'm going to pass whatever 'test' they're giving my channel #so it's possible there won't be any pinned comments under the tobimisa channel ever again #I won't be able to edit old ones either #as that unpins the comment #which I won't be able to pin again

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emergencyplumbingil · 1 year ago

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ronearoundblindly · 10 months ago

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Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior.

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.”

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock.

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?”

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

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glowettee · 4 months ago

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✧˖° studying without suffering: how to actually enjoy learning (yes, it’s possible)

✧˖° let’s talk.

hey angels, it's mindy!

most people treat studying like a punishment. something to be endured, not enjoyed. it’s that thing you force yourself to do, like taking bitter medicine or running a mile in gym class. but what if that’s the reason you struggle with it?

the secret? you were never meant to hate learning.

somewhere along the way, school made it boring. maybe you had teachers who sucked the fun out of it. maybe you associate studying with stress, deadlines, and exhaustion. but learning is supposed to be exciting. when you actually enjoy it, everything changes. you focus longer, retain more, and (ironically) spend less time studying because your brain actually absorbs the information.

so, let’s fix it. let’s make studying something you want to do instead of something you suffer through.

✧˖° ➼ step 1: detach learning from school

(school & learning are not the same thing. stop letting school ruin your curiosity.)

the first mindset shift? realize that school does not own learning.

➼ school is about structure, deadlines, and tests. it’s designed to measure performance. ➼ learning is about curiosity, deep thinking, and exploration. it’s designed to expand your mind. and help you grow as a person.

if you’ve only ever studied because you had to, your brain associates it with pressure. break that pattern. find something outside of school that you actually like learning about. philosophy, psychology, art history, neuroscience, fashion design, whatever makes you curious.

even if it’s unrelated to your classes, it rewires your brain to see learning as an intrinsic activity, not just an obligation. once you enjoy learning in general, you can transfer that energy back into your studies.

✧˖° ➼ step 2: romanticize the process (but actually make it feel good)

("romanticizing studying" doesn’t mean just buying cute stationery. let’s go deeper.)

sensory association is everything. your brain links experiences to the way they feel physically. so if studying feels uncomfortable, you’ll avoid it. the solution? make it a luxurious experience for your senses.

✧ visuals → clean, minimalist desk, soft lighting, aesthetic study materials ✧ sound → rain sounds, classical piano, lo-fi beats (music that enhances focus) ✧ touch → cozy blankets, warm tea, smooth pens gliding over paper ✧ scent → vanilla candles, fresh coffee, the pages of an old book

this isn’t just about aesthetics. it’s neuroscience. when studying feels pleasurable, your brain stops resisting it.

✧˖° ➼ step 3: use high-dopamine study techniques

(forcing yourself to study the “normal” way is why you hate it.)

some study methods are literally designed to be boring. ditch them.

instead, try:

➼ blurting method: instead of passively reading, close your book and write down everything you remember. then check what you missed. (way more engaging than just re-reading notes.) ➼ dual-coding: mix visuals with text. draw tiny sketches next to your notes. turn concepts into mind maps. watch a video explaining a topic right after reading about it. ➼ pomodoro stacking: instead of the typical 25-minute study sprints, customize it. (ex: 50 min deep focus + 10 min break with an actual reward.) ➼ interleaving technique: mix subjects instead of block studying. it forces your brain to stay engaged.

stop making studying harder than it needs to be. find what works for you, and your brain will stop fighting it.

✧˖° ➼ step 4: make studying social (but in a smart way)

(because you’re not supposed to do this alone.)

studying alone for hours? miserable. but studying with others who are just as serious as you? instant motivation boost.

but instead of chaotic group study sessions where no one gets anything done, try:

✧ parallel studying: hop on facetime or join a study livestream. silent, focused, but together. ✧ teaching method: explain concepts to a friend. if you can teach it, you truly understand it. ✧ study accountability: check in with someone daily. send each other your study goals, no excuses.

even just knowing someone else is studying at the same time can trick your brain into feeling more engaged.

✧˖° ➼ step 5: shift your identity

("i hate studying" isn’t a personality trait. it’s a mindset problem.)

if you keep saying “i hate studying,” your brain will never enjoy it. change the narrative.

➼ instead of “i suck at studying,” try → “i’m learning how to study in a way that works for me.” ➼ instead of “i can’t focus,” try → “i’m training my brain to focus longer every day.” ➼ instead of “i don’t feel like it,” try → “i’m someone who gets things done, whether i feel like it or not.”

become the type of person who enjoys learning. once that becomes your identity, everything else follows.

✧˖° ➼ step 6: create emotional attachment to your goals

motivation dies when your goals feel distant and impersonal. if you’re studying just because you “have to,” it’s easy to procrastinate. but if you link it to something deeply personal, it becomes non-negotiable.

try this: visualize your future self. imagine the version of you who already achieved everything you want. who is she? what does she do? how does she study?

then, make it emotional. ✧ if you dream of getting into your dream school, print pictures of it. make a vision board. ✧ if you want financial freedom, imagine the luxury of never stressing over money. ✧ if you want to be respected in your field, remind yourself that your knowledge is your power.

when you make studying personal, it stops being a chore. it becomes a commitment.

✧˖° ➼ step 7: stop making everything harder than it needs to be

(struggling doesn’t mean you’re working harder. it just means you’re struggling.)

too many people study inefficiently because they think suffering = productivity. but studying smarter is always better than studying longer.

some ways to make it easier on yourself: ➼ use study apps → quizlet, pomdoro apps for focus, notion for organization ➼ summarize like you’re texting a friend → rewrite notes in your own words, no unnecessary fluff ➼ study in “levels” → don’t jump straight into deep studying. warm up with light review, then increase intensity ➼ take advantage of spaced repetition → stop cramming, your brain retains more when you review over time

efficiency = less stress, better results. don’t work harder than necessary.

✧˖° ➼ step 8: replace toxic productivity with high-performance habits

studying 10 hours in one night ≠ academic excellence. true high-achievers prioritize sustainability.

➼ quit glorifying exhaustion. taking breaks improves focus. it’s not laziness. ➼ learn when to walk away. if you’re zoning out, step away. 10 minutes of real focus > 2 hours of fake studying. ➼ protect your sleep. all-nighters don’t make you hardcore, they make you ineffective. your brain processes info while you sleep.

the goal isn’t to study the longest. it’s to study in a way that keeps your mind sharp and focused.

✧˖° ➼ step 9: master the “dopamine pull” method

instead of forcing motivation, use dopamine to your advantage.

➼ habit stacking → pair studying with something enjoyable (ex: study while drinking your favorite matcha) ➼ mini rewards → after finishing a chapter, reward yourself with something small but satisfying ➼ gamification → track progress like a video game. every completed task = a “level up”

your brain loves dopamine. give it reasons to associate studying with good feelings.

✧˖° ➼ step 10: let go of perfectionism (but keep high standards)

perfectionism leads to procrastination and burnout. instead of striving for flawless, aim for consistent excellence.

✧ done is better than perfect. stop rewriting notes 5 times. ✧ progress is the goal. each study session should move you forward, even if it’s small. ✧ your worth is not your grades. strive for success, but don’t let school define you.

when you release perfectionism, you actually start achieving more. keep your standards high, but don’t let them paralyze you.

✧˖° mindy’s personal tips

(things that helped me romanticize studying & actually make it enjoyable:)

➼ set a 5-minute timer. just start. most of the time, your brain stops resisting once you begin. ➼ don’t let study guilt ruin your breaks. rest is productive. ➼ have a “study fit.” i swear, dressing up just a little makes a difference. ➼ invest in one high-quality pen. something that glides effortlessly. small detail, huge difference. ➼ study in cafés, libraries, parks. switch locations to keep it interesting. ➼ make it ✧ cozy ✧. fuzzy socks, oversized sweaters, soft blankets. your comfort matters.

✧˖° homework: rewire your study experience

➼ for one of your study sessions this week, try at least two of the techniques above. ➼ write a short journal entry: how do you want to feel while studying? how can you make that happen? ➼ change just one thing about your study setup that makes it more enjoyable.

then come back & tell me. did studying feel better? (you can always message me or send me an ask in my inbox)

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infamous-if · 2 months ago

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May 2025

Happy May! It's my favorite month because it's my birthday month and I'm one of those annoying people who treat their birthday like it's a national holiday (sorry)(yes im a gemini). I'm turning MC's age (26) so that's cool. I will now be auditioning for a big reality tv show pls watch out for it and vote for me.

I am CONFIDENT chatper 4 will be done in may. It's written. I just had a lot of logistical things i needed to work out. Plus I made a mistake in the earlier chapters that i didnt realize about until it came to bite me while writing this chapter (i fixed it). I have been doing a lot of moving around and even had to move my outline around—the same outline i barely rearrange—in preparation for the upcoming chapters. I've kinda been all over the place with this chapter because now things are happening. like actual things. real things. and im trying to prepare myself so im not a mess later. (ive learned from past experience). There are some things in chapter 4 that don't see a solution until later and it has me screaming. (i like instant gratification and this is the opposite of that)

But it is my favorite chapter. I'm really happy with how it turned out.

Something happens in this chapter that can go many ways which is why this chapter feels longer. Not only because of the Challenge but because of how this Challenge pans out. I think what this character and this week does will surprise some, maybe not others. But I'm excited to see the reactions of *that* anyway. heh.

I realized with every update the stats are my biggest problem and i realized it's because they don't feel like they're representing what i want them to represent. personality stats being measured in the story and will still influence flavor text so that hasn't changed but i've reworked the stat page to hone in on what truly matters in the story. for example, i made the attached/detached stat visible in the "band" part of the stat page. I've also added a Castmate/Competitor stat that ive always measured but i've renamed it and made it visible. That felt like something I didn't want to keep hidden. Stuff like that. You'll see it in the next update. All of this in preparation for the rest of the story.

This sounds like a huge change but it's not haha. I've just streamlined it so it better suits the story.

Yeah! This, like the other chapters, is a biggun. But I'm happy and proud of myself.

I've been asked again and i want to reiterate that patreon gets everything first, band tier and then fan tier and then to the public. The Seven POV should be up tomorrow.

Thanks guys! Can't wait to release Chapter 4 :)

#author update #update

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rootedinrevisions · 4 months ago

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Juice Boxes & Bedtime Stories

Summary: When a last minute babysitter cancellation forces you to leave your little girl in the hands of Lt Jake Seresin, you return home later expecting chaos. Instead you find warmth, laughter, and a glimpse of a future you never thought possible.

Warnings: Mentions of Partner Loss (implied death but undefined)

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Based on the Superbowl Commercial Glen is doing for Ram. Gif credit goes to @kaizsche (the BEST blog for gifs!)

The soft clatter of toys echoed through the living room as you adjusted the strap of your dress, glancing up just in time to see your daughter wrapped in a fluffy blanket like a burrito pouting from her spot on the couch.

“But why do you have to go, Mommy?” she whined, dramatically flopping onto her side. “I want to have a movie night with you and Jakey!”

A chuckle rumbled from across the room. “Jakey, huh?” Jake stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, grinning in amusement at his new nickname.

Your daughter giggled, momentarily distracted from her sulking.

You stood, smoothing your dress with a smile. “Sweetheart, I won’t be gone long. And the babysitter is super fun, remember? She said she’d even bring that princess coloring book you love.”

“But what about my bedtime story! You always read me my story! And she always forget!” Your daughter pouted, lips pursed.

Jake immediately stepped in to try and help. He made his way over to her and crouched beside her, tapping her nose lightly. “Tell you what, kiddo. While your mom finishes getting all fancy, how ‘bout we build the biggest pillow fort ever?”

Her eyes lit up. “Bigger than last time?”

Jake smirked. “Way bigger.”

That was enough to pull her attention away. As she scrambled off the couch to start gathering pillows, you mouthed a thank you to Jake before slipping down the hall to your bedroom.

You grabbed your earrings and slid them into place as you took one last glance in the mirror. You didn’t get nights like this often. Time to be you, and not just "Mommy."

You reached for your phone to check the time when a notification popped up. Babysitter: Hey, I am so, so sorry, but I have to cancel tonight. I’ve been feeling kind of sick all day and don’t want you guys to get it!.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself. You immediately dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail.

Okay. No big deal. You had other options. You scrolled through your contacts, calling the first backup. No answer. The next one was busy. One by one, your already limited options dwindled, and by the time you lowered your phone, a sigh slipped from your lips. There it was. Your long-awaited girls' night, slipping through your fingers.

You took a breath, pressing your fingers to your temple. Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” You turned to find Jake leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that familiar cocky tilt of his head.

You closed the distance between the two of you, stepping into his space and wrapping your arms around his torso. The moment your head fell against his chest his hands slid down your back resting there with a comforting squeeze.

He didn’t say anything at first, just held you. Let you take a second to breathe.

You let out a long sigh. “The babysitter cancelled.”

You felt Jake shift, glancing down at you. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Not ideal, but not the end of the world.”

“I called my backups. No one’s free.”

“Ah.” He nodded, like the picture was coming together. “So, what? You’re canceling your night?”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, frustration flickering behind your eyes. “I mean, what else can I do? I can’t leave her here alone and I can’t take her with me.”

Jake’s response was instant, casual, like it was the simplest solution in the world. “I’ll watch her.”

You blinked. “What?”

He smirked. “I’ll stay. You go.”

You froze for a moment. You and Jake had been together for about six months now. And you had introduced them about a month ago. He was great with your daughter. He was sweet, playful, and patient in ways you hadn’t expected. But he’d never been alone with her before. And this was a whole night. Dinner, getting her ready for bed…

Jake must have noticed your hesitation because he let out a chuckle, squeezing your waist. “Come on, sweetheart. I can handle a tiny human for a few hours. How hard can it be?”

Before you could answer, the sound of little feet against the hardwood interrupted. You turned just as your daughter skidded into the doorway, her eyes wide with excitement.

“You’re staying with me, Jakey?!”

Jake grinned down at her. “If your mom says it’s okay.”

She gasped, spinning back to you. “Mommy! Please let him! Please, please, pleeeease?” She was practically bouncing on her toes, hands clasped under her chin like she was making the biggest wish in the world.

Jake arched a brow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Well?”

You let out a slow breath, scanning his face. He looked so confident, so sure of himself. Your daughter adored him. And deep down, you knew you could trust him.

Still, you leveled him with a serious look. “Alright. But there are rules.”

Jake smirked. “Hit me.”

You started ticking things off on your fingers. “Bedtime is at eight. No more than one juice box. Snacks are in the pantry, but no chocolate after six.”

Jake held a hand over his heart. “Got it.”

You pointed toward the fridge. “Emergency numbers are on the fridge. If anything happens—”

Jake cut you off with a cocky little grin. “I’ll call you. But we’ll be just fine.” He leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead before nudging you toward the door. “Go have fun, mama.”

Your daughter squealed, throwing her arms around Jake’s leg. “This is gonna be the best night ever!”

Jake laughed, ruffling her hair. “That’s what I like to hear, kiddo.”

And as you grabbed your purse and slipped on your coat, you couldn’t help but smile.

JAKE’S P.O.V.

A little later Jake leaned against the kitchen counter arms crossed, watching as your daughter stood on her tiptoes to peer into the fridge.

"Alright, kiddo. What sounds good for dinner?"

She spun around, her face scrunched in deep thought. “Mac and cheese.”

“Solid choice.” He nodded as he turned towards the pantry to go find the box of Kraft. “Anything else?”

A beat of silence. Then, with a completely straight face, she added, “With ketchup.”

Jake blinked. “With what now?”

“Ketchup,” she repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world. She got the ketchup bottle out of the fridge and held it up like it was a trophy.

He squinted at her. “Is that good?”

She giggled. “Duh.”

Jake sighed running a hand down his face. “Alright, but if this is some kind of prank, I’m calling your mom.”

She gasped, clutching her chest like he’d just betrayed her. “No! You can’t tell Mommy.”

Jake smirked. “Why not?”

“Because…” She glanced around like she was about to spill classified intel. Then she leaned in, whispering, “She thinks it’s gross.”

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “Kid, I gotta be honest…she might be onto something.”

Your daughter gave him an unimpressed look. “Just try it.”

He sighed dramatically, pushing off the counter. “Fine, but if it tastes bad, I’m making you eat all of it.”

She beamed, already climbing onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Deal!”

Jake got to work, boiling the pasta while she chattered away about everything that had been going on at preschool.

When the mac and cheese was ready, Jake slid a bowl in front of her, watching as she enthusiastically squeezed ketchup right on top. He tried not to wince.

“Try it Jakey!” She grinned, pushing the bowl toward him.

Jake hesitated, then took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. And, to his surprise, it… wasn’t terrible.

Still, he scrunched his nose for dramatic effect. “Alright, I admit it’s…okay.”

She clapped. “Told you!”

He chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Alright, alright. You win this round.”

As she happily dug into her dinner she grabbed her juice box and started slurping away. Within minutes, it was empty. She held it up, shaking it a little.

Then, with the sweetest voice she could muster, she turned to Jake. “Jakey…Can I have another one?”

Jake leaned on the counter, arching a brow. “What’s the rule?”

She pouted. “One juice box.”

He smirked. “Mm-hmm.”

A pause. Then, she tried again with big, pleading eyes, bottom lip slightly pushed out.

Jake sighed, shaking his head. “Kid, that’s cheating.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept looking at him with those ridiculously cute eyes. The ones that were just like her mama’s.

Jake groaned, rubbing his temples. With a sigh of defeat, he grabbed another juice box from the fridge and slid it toward her.

She gasped, grinning. “Really?!”

He held up a finger. “On one condition.”

She nodded eagerly. “Anything!”

Jake lowered his voice like it was a top-secret mission. “This stays between us. Don't tell your mom or I'll be in big trouble.”

Your daughter’s eyes went wide. Then she grinned, holding out her tiny pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Jake smirked, locking his pinky around hers. “Pleasure doing business with you, kiddo.”

She giggled, grabbing the juice box and sipping it like it was the best secret in the world.

And Jake? Yeah, he was pretty sure he was screwed. Because this kid? She already had him wrapped around her little finger.

A while later it was 7:50, and Jake was starting to realize your daughter was a master at stalling.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Bedtime’s at eight. You ready to hop in?”

She gasped dramatically. “But I need water!”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you just have a juice box?”

“Yes, but juice doesn’t count. I need water.”

With a sigh, Jake grabbed her cup from the nightstand and trudged to the kitchen. When he returned, she took the smallest possible sip before setting it down.

“Okay, now you’re ready for bed?” he asked.

She shook her head solemnly. “I can’t sleep without my stuffy.”

Jake looked around. “It’s right there.” He pointed to the pink rabbit sitting by her pillow.

She frowned. “No, not that one.”

He sighed, hands on his hips. “Alright. Which one are we talking about?”

Her brows scrunched in concentration. Then she pointed. “That one.”

Jake turned to where at least ten stuffed animals were piled in a corner. He groaned. “Kid, you got options. Just pick one.”

She hummed in thought, tapping her chin. “Mmm… maybe the bear.”

Jake grabbed the bear.

“No, wait! The unicorn.”

Jake grabbed the unicorn.

“…Actually, the bear and the unicorn.”

Jake huffed, tossing both onto the bed. “Alright, final answer?”

She nodded, satisfied, and finally scooted under the covers.

He checked the time. 7:55. Not bad.

With a sigh of victory, he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing the book she’d picked.

“Alright, let’s do this. The Very Cranky Bear.” He opened to the first page. “In the Jingle Jangle Jungle on a cold and rainy day…”

He barely got through the first sentence before she giggled.

Jake frowned. “What?”

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said.

“…Doing what wrong?”

“The voices!” She gave him an expectant look. “You have to do the voices.”

Jake blinked. “There are voices?”

She nodded like this was common knowledge. “Duh.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Kid, I don’t do voices.”

She gasped, sitting up. “But that’s the best part!”

Jake huffed, glancing at the book. “Alright, alright. Show me how it’s done.”

She cleared her throat, then dramatically deepened her voice. “‘GRRRR!’ roared the bear!”

Jake arched a brow. “Okay, that was solid.”

She beamed. “Now you try.”

Jake rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and attempted his best bear voice.

“GRRRR!”

Your daughter giggled, but then shook her head. “Hmm. That was… okay.”

Jake scoffed. “Okay?”

She shrugged. “It could be scarier.”

Jake groaned. “Tough crowd.”

She giggled again, flopping back onto her pillow. “Keep going.”

YOUR P.O.V.

Stepping into the house, you braced yourself for the worst. Maybe some crayon drawings on the walls, a kitchen disaster, or maybe even Jake waving a white flag of surrender.

But instead, as you kicked off your heels and followed the soft murmur of voices, you were met with something entirely unexpected.

Leaning against the doorframe of your daughter’s room, you found Jake perched on the edge of her bed, actually reading her bedtime story.

Well, trying to.

Your daughter’s arms were crossed as she huffed dramatically. “Jake isn’t doing the voices right!”

Biting back a laugh, you stepped inside. “Oh no. That bad?”

Jake scoffed. “Excuse me, I think I was nailing it.”

Your daughter shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “The bear is supposed to sound grumpy!”

Jake shot you a look. “She’s a brutal critic.”

Grinning, you slid onto the bed beside them, gently plucking the book from his hands. “Alright, let me show you how it’s done.”

Jake sighed in mock defeat, leaning back against the headboard. “Please do.”

As you started reading your daughter snuggled into your side, eyes drooping with sleep. What surprised you though, was Jake—his arm rested lazily around your daughter’s tiny frame, fingers idly playing with the end of her blanket. He looked so at ease, so comfortable with her.

You stole a glance at him between sentences, your heart doing something warm and ridiculous in your chest.

This was Jake Seresin, the cocky, self-assured aviator. The man who walked like he owned the world, who threw out one-liners like they were effortless. And yet, here he was, cuddling a sleepy four year old like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your chest tightened, something deep and achingly fond settling in your bones.

By the time you finished the story, your daughter was barely awake. You kissed her forehead, tucking the blanket securely around her. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Jake ruffled her hair gently. “Night, kiddo.”

Just as you both stood to leave, your daughter’s sleepy voice piped up.

“Mommy…you forgot to give Jake a goodnight kiss.”

You froze.

That smug grin spread across Jake's face as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly relishing this moment.

Your face burned. “Oh. Uh—”

Your daughter blinked up at you expectantly. “What if he has a nightmare cause you didn’t give him a goodnight kiss?”

Jake, ever the menace, tilted his head. “Yeah, sweetheart. Don’t want me to have a nightmare.”

You shot him a glare before huffing out a laugh. Cocky bastard.

With your heart pounding far too fast for such a simple thing, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a quick, feather light kiss to his cheek.

Jake’s smirk softened, eyes warm as he murmured, “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Then with a hand at the small of your back, he guided you out of the room shutting the door behind you. The second your daughter’s door clicked shut, you exhaled, pressing your back against the hallway wall. Your heart was still beating faster than it had any right to.

Jake smirked, hands sliding into his pockets as he leaned against the opposite wall. “So, how’d I do?”

You gave him a teasing smile. “Well, given that there are two empty ones on the counter I think you caved and gave my child a second juice box, let her stall bedtime for as long as humanly possible, and butchered the voices in the bedtime story.”

Jake chuckled, completely unrepentant. “Okay, but I got her fed, kept her happy, and had her in bed by eight on the dot.” He arched a brow. “I’d say that earns me at least a B-plus.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Fine. Solid B-plus. Maybe even an A-minus.”

Jake grinned, stepping closer, his voice dropping to that lower range that always made your breath catch. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep talking me up, and I might start thinking I’m the favorite around here.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. With a shake of your head, you pushed off the wall, heading toward the kitchen. “Come on. You at least earned a beer.”

Jake followed easily, eyes twinkling with amusement. “See, now that is a reward I can get behind.”

You grabbed two beers from the fridge, passing him one as you both leaned against the counter.

For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the house around you. It was a different kind of silence than you were used to. Comfortable. Familiar. Easy.

Jake took a sip of his beer, then glanced at you, something softer in his gaze now. “You know,” he said, voice thoughtful, “tonight wasn’t so bad. She’s a good kid.”

Your chest tightened, that warmth curling deeper. “Yeah,” you murmured. “She is.”

And then, before you could stop it, your mind drifted. To the past. To him. To the man you thought you’d spend your life with. The man who had held your daughter when she was just minutes old, who had whispered promises into her tiny ear, who had loved her with everything he had.

The ache in your heart was always there. Some days it was dull, a quiet hum in the background. Other days it was sharper, catching you off guard when you least expected it.

For so long, you’d feared that no one would ever be able to step into that space he left behind. That no one could ever love your daughter the way he had.

But tonight seemed like something changed. Just a little. Because Jake hadn’t just stepped in. He hadn’t just babysat or kept her entertained.

He had been there. Patient and warm and soft in all the ways you hadn’t expected. He’d let her win their little battles, humored her bedtime stalling, and held her close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t the same. It never could be. But maybe he could be something else for you and your daughter. Something just as important.

Jake set his beer down, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I meant what I said earlier,” he admitted. “I can handle a tiny human for a few hours. I’d do it again for you.”

Your grip tightened around your bottle as you looked up at him, searching his face. “You would?”

Jake’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yeah.” He smirked a little. “Even if she is a tough bedtime critic.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but there was something else behind it. Something more.

Jake tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. He wasn’t smiling anymore, not like before. He could sense it. The shift in you, the way your thoughts had pulled you somewhere else. But he didn’t push.

He just reached for you, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist before sliding up to tangle with yours. He gave your hand a small squeeze. And that was all it took.

A shaky breath slipped from your lips as you let yourself lean into him, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. Jake didn’t say a word. He held you. He was solid and warm with one hand pressed against the small of your back.

For the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy. It didn’t disappear. It never would. But standing there in Jake’s arms feeling the quiet steadiness of him, you thought maybe you didn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

Jake pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His smirk was gone now, replaced by something softer, something real.

“What?” He murmured.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. This was him choosing to be here. Choosing you. Choosing her. And maybe you weren’t ready to unpack all of that just yet, but standing here in your kitchen, with Jake Seresin drinking a beer and telling you he’d do it all over again?

Yeah. You could feel yourself falling. Hard.

But before he could press you on it, you took a step closer and pressed another kiss to his cheek, slower this time. Your lips lingering just a second longer.

When you pulled back Jake was watching you with something unreadable in his expression. Something softer than his usual bravado.

Then, ever so quietly, he murmured, “A-minus, huh?”

You laughed, swatting his chest as you turned away. “Drink your beer, Seresin.”

And as he chuckled, taking another sip, you had the distinct feeling that tonight was just the beginning of something much bigger.

Something that, for once, you weren’t afraid of.

#Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin Fanfiction #Jake Seresin Fanfic #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader

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