#need a tag i’ll instantly forget

[rowanthestrange]

Look, I don’t exactly know how this would go down, but that’s never stopped Russell from executing a story before.

Fifteen remembers that Fourteen “fixes yourself”. Yet this also ends in Fifteen having ‘no-one’ straight after the family episode where we all cry.

So let’s say Fourteen decides what the Doctor really really wants was to grow up normal with a real family. Logical desire. Fifteen was split off with magic and is clearly considered a separate entity by the universe because there’s no Blinovitch limitation effect. So Fourteen is free to do that - to rewrite time, and unlike with the Eleventh Doctor situation, the universe exists just fine because there is still a Doctor here to keep the balances in check.

Fifteen is stuck as The Doctor, knotted in the timestreams by their bootstraps, but Fourteen and back get to be Lulubelle. Happy ending. Ish. Cus obviously it isn’t. We saw the fridge. None of the companions will exist as they do. Fifteen is utterly alone. However is also happy with Fourteen.

(Also while I assume 15 means abandoned in the sense that it seems self-evidential as across eternity no-one ever tried to find them, if 15 knows anything we don’t…that could be worrying. But also this resolution wouldn’t stand long term anyway, as we saw with Ruby. Enough time for fans to worry and sharpen pitchforks, but not anything meaningful long term. Rusty loves that sort of thing.)

Fifteen is keeping the info from us, just as they’re keeping the fact they know it’s Ruby who abandoned herself from her while inviting her so that can happen. We’ve seen with Chibs that manipulating the audience to essentially have the same emotions as the characters has interesting results. Makes sense, feels good, feels organic.

So we have our bootstrap paradox wibblies like Ruby and potentially Mel (though if that ever goes beyond subtext and inferences, Rusty truly is bananas (affectionate) frankly the Glitz mention seemed surprising).

“But speaking of Mel, you uh, have seen the trailer, right?”

This is where I say I dunno how it would work, even if thematically it feels logical.

But if I was Rusty with his willingness to play bullshit, I’d say that Fourteen hasn’t actually gone and done it yet. Fifteen remembers, sure. But the universe always pivots around the most recent Doctor. We now have two concurrent focal Doctors. So if Fourteen decides to do this in December 2024, then we are still in our ‘normal’ world until Fourteen makes that decision and essentially pop goes the timeline.

Does that entirely make sense, not really, but neither does time travel anyway, and certainly not anything where we play with timelines like silly string. Would it be watchable and followable, yeah I think so.

Doesn’t mean anything, I could just be way off, but eh. Vibes.

[cei1ne]

—How the MHA men would react to you wiping their kiss as a a prank!

დ”*•.Summary:

Reaction of male My hero academia character of you wiped their kiss after they had kissed your lips

◌⑅⃝♡⋆Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki ; Denki Kaminari ; Kirishima Eijirou ; Sero Hanta ; Shoto Todoroki

✩•̩̩͙*˚Tags: Fluff, funny, prank, loving, married life, aged up, kissing

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰Wordcount: 1.3k

❧◦°˚A/N:

I hope I included the very important sexy men ‌​and maybe I’ll do a part two but I’m not very famous right now but I think I will but also please don’t forget this is one of my first ‘story’? And English isn’t my first language! Ily guys!

Pt. 2. Masterlist

ᰔ ᩚ| Bakugou Katsuki (After he comes home from work)

The front door slammed, signaling Katsuki’s return from work. His heavy boots thudded against the floor as he dropped his bag and ran a hand through his messy hair. His usual scowl was deeper than usual—clearly, it had been one of those days. You greeted him with a soft smile, moving closer to help him shed his jacket.

“Tch, don’t bother,” he grumbled, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

“Well, hello to you too,” you teased, standing on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his lips. He froze for a second, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he leaned into the kiss. It was sweet, rare, and enough to make his bad day feel distant. But the moment he pulled back, you wiped your mouth with an exaggerated grimace.

“Ugh,” you muttered, loud enough for him to hear. “Tastes like explosions.”

His crimson eyes narrowed, and his brow twitched. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?!”

“I don’t know,” you said with a casual shrug. “It’s like… smoky. A little bitter, maybe.”

His mouth opened as if to yell, but then he stopped, his expression shifting from irritation to disbelief. “Are you messing with me right now?”

You tried to keep a straight face, but the smirk tugging at your lips gave you away. “Maybe.”

Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so sensitive!” you teased, poking his chest. “You’re not mad, are you?”

He scoffed, but the tips of his ears turned red. “Mad? Tch. Please. I don’t care.”

But as he turned away, you caught him muttering, “Next time, I’m making you taste like explosions.”

ঞ| Denki Kaminari (After he gives you a gift)

Denki burst into the room, grinning from ear to ear as he held a small, brightly wrapped box. “Guess what I got you!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing in place.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Hmm, is it a puppy?”

“Better,” he said with a wink, handing you the box. Inside was a handmade bracelet, colorful and slightly mismatched, with beads spelling out your name and his. It was endearing and so Denki.

“Aw, Denki! It’s adorable,” you said, slipping it onto your wrist. “Thank you!”

Unable to contain your excitement, you leaned in and kissed him. He melted instantly, his cheeks glowing pink. But as soon as you pulled back, you wiped your mouth with an exaggerated motion.

His face fell immediately. “Wait… what was that?”

“Just… something tasted off,” you said, feigning confusion.

His eyes widened in horror. “Off?! Like, bad? Oh no, am I a bad kisser?!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as he started pacing, mumbling to himself. “Maybe I need to brush my teeth more. Or chew mint gum before—”

“Kaminari, relax,” you interrupted, unable to hold it in anymore. “I’m joking.”

He froze mid-step, blinking at you. “Joking? You mean… I don’t taste bad?”

“Of course not! You’re fine, idiot.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a mischievous grin. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.”

Before you could react, he tackled you onto the couch, peppering your face with kisses. “Let’s see if you wipe these off too!”

ஐ| Kirishima Eijirou (While working out together)

The gym echoed with the sound of weights clinking and Kirishima’s encouraging voice. “C’mon, just one more set! You’ve got this!”

You groaned, your arms trembling as you completed the last rep. “Done!” you announced, dropping the weights and collapsing onto the bench.

Kirishima laughed, offering you a water bottle. “Good work, babe. You’re getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you teased, taking a long sip. He leaned in, his red hair falling slightly over his eyes, and kissed you. It was quick and sweet, but as soon as he pulled away, you wiped your mouth with an exaggerated grimace.

His smile faltered. “Uh… what’s wrong?”

“Just… sweaty,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

His face turned red, and not from exertion. “Wait, I’m sweaty?!”

“Yeah, kinda gross,” you added, biting back a laugh.

For a moment, he looked genuinely hurt, his hand subconsciously touching his lips. “I—I didn’t think I was that bad…”

Unable to take it any longer, you burst out laughing. “Eijirou, I’m kidding! You’re fine.”

Realization dawned on his face, and he broke into a wide grin. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?”

Before you could escape, he grabbed you, pulling you into a bear hug. “If I’m sweaty, you’re gonna be too!”

“No, Eijirou, stop!” you laughed, squirming in his arms. But he just held you tighter, his laughter joining yours.

❦| Sero Hanta (While watching a movie)

You and Sero were sprawled out on the couch, surrounded by snacks and watching a cheesy rom-com he insisted on. His arm was casually draped over your shoulders, and every so often, he’d glance at you to check if you were enjoying the film. As the leads leaned in for a dramatic kiss on screen, Sero smirked and turned to you.

“Bet you didn’t know I can do it better,” he teased, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. It was sweet and unhurried, his grin lingering even as he pulled back.

You wiped your mouth dramatically with the back of your hand, scrunching your face. “Ugh.”

Sero blinked, confused. “Uh… what was that?”

“Just… felt sticky. Like tape residue or something,” you said, fighting the urge to laugh.

His jaw dropped, and he let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, no you didn’t. Are you saying I kiss like tape?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.”

He stared at you for a moment before his lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Okay, you’re asking for it now.”

Before you could react, he launched himself at you, pinning you down on the couch and peppering your face with kisses. “Let’s see if you can wipe all these off, huh?”

“Stop! Hanta!” you laughed, squirming beneath him, but he only laughed harder.

Shoto Todoroki (During a quiet moment in the garden)

The garden was peaceful, the air filled with the soft scent of flowers and the warmth of the sun. Shoto sat beside you on the bench, his mismatched eyes fixed on the petals of a nearby bloom. You loved moments like this, where his normally stoic demeanor softened into something tender.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” you said, leaning in to kiss him gently. He returned it, his lips cool against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed still.

But as soon as you pulled back, you wiped your mouth with an exaggerated frown.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Mm, kind of tastes… icy,” you said, smirking. “Like kissing a popsicle.”

He blinked, his face expressionless, but you could see the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. “You knew I was cold, and you kissed me anyway. Complaining now seems counterproductive.”

You burst out laughing, and his smirk became more evident. “You’re such a troll,” you teased.

“I’m simply stating the facts,” he replied, but there was a rare glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Next time, I’ll use the hot side.”

[forcaleb]

thirty minutes, they said — xavier

warnings — fluff, sleepy xavier, very minor angst if you squint your eyes hard enough, xavier is just a big teddy bear who i wanna kiss and hug and- ok i'll stop

notes — oh to have a xavier hug you while you sleep :( // tags: @sydneybee @tojicide @okkotsuprince

“don’t you think you’re working too much?” xavier asks as he lies on the couch. “it’s the weekend, and you’re working?”

“sorry, xavi,” you mumble, offering a weak apology. “jenna wants these papers done by monday, and i don’t want to deal with them tomorrow.” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “i don’t even understand why she needs them so early. these kinds of papers aren’t due for another week.”

xavier sits up, noticing the stress on your face. “why don’t you just talk to her? i’m sure she’ll let you relax this weekend and adjust the deadlines.”

“hey, come on. this is jenna we’re talking about,” you reply with a small laugh. “she wouldn’t change the due date even if the world was ending.” you glance at him. “good for you, though—you get to relax while I do all this.”

“yeah, but i want to relax with you,” xavier whines—a rare moment of complaint. he gets up and slumps his large frame over you, his hair falling into your eyes. “come on, just take a quick nap with me, and then i’ll help you finish your paperwork. i’ll be as fast as light!”

you burst into laughter. “xavier, i don’t think that’s how the saying goes. isn’t it supposed to be ‘as quick as lightning’?”

“whatever, same thing,” he mutters, his voice muffled against you. “come on. just thirty minutes, okay? i promise.”

you look at the stack of paperwork, noting that you only have four more pages left to review. reluctantly, you give in. standing up, you watch xavier’s face light up as he follows suit. “okay, fine! but i’m setting an alarm because i know for a fact that you’re not waking up in thirty minutes.”

xavier’s face practically sparkles with excitement (maybe it’s also his evol now that you think about it). “really? okay, great! this’ll be the best nap of your life, i promise.” wiithout wasting a second, he drags you to the bedroom, pulling you into his embrace the moment he flops onto the bed.

the comfort of the bed and xavier’s arms makes you instantly relax. “this feels good,” you hum, shifting to get comfortable. “we really need to get a new chair, though. i swear the one we have is giving me back pain.”

xavier snorts, earning a glare from you. “hey! what’s so funny?”

“back pain? you sound like a grandma,” he teases. “but i agree—the chair’s seen better days. let’s go furniture shopping tomorrow and get you a new one. maybe a table to match, too.”

“really? i think the table we have now works just fine,” you say, skeptical. “are you sure we need a new one?”

“yeah,” xavier nods. “we could get a bigger table so i can put some photo frames on it. that way, if you ever go on a mission without me—which is highly unlikely—i can look at the pictures and pretend you’re still here with me.”

“that’s… sad when you say it like that,” you remark, watching confusion flash across his face. you quickly brush it off. “never mind. forget i said anything.” a big yawn escapes you, and you snuggle deeper into his arms. “why is it that i can always fall asleep so easily when i’m with you?”

“maybe i’m just really comfortable for you,” xavier says, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it over both of you. “now sleep. i’ll wake you up in thirty minutes, i promise.”

you hum in agreement, already drifting off. xavier follows you into slumber just five minutes later.

(as expected, neither of you wakes up in thirty minutes. instead, you both wake up two hours later.)

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Spicy chatting with Stan and Ford? Consider this ask my vote for that ❤️💙

(Love your writing, I've lurked for a while and finally remembered to follow)

sexting Stan and Ford headcanons

2 part of this

also thank you so much <3 im so glad to know you enjoy my writing !

tagging : @nekovmancer

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ he tries. god, does he try. but his texts are a combination of filthy and absolutely unhinged, it’s straight to “doll im sittin' here thinkin’ 'bout how good you’d look bent over my desk.”

✧ typically sends a blurry pic of his bare chest, captioned, “betcha wanna get your hands on this masterpiece, huh?" and you’re just staring at the picture like. . . gosh, Stan, who took this? did he set a fucking timer? he looks hot though 

✧ so yeah Stanley sends you photos, usually unprompted and always blurry because he’s just an old man, dear, what did you except?? his clothes half-open, pants unzipped just enough to give you a peek of what’s underneath and next message is: “betcha wanna see the whole thing, huh? be a good girl and ask nice.”

✧ texts you in the middle of the day: “gonna bend you over the kitchen counter tonight babe. make you cum on my fingers before I even think about putting my cock in you. whaddaya think?”

✧ he loves it when you’re bold, you send him something like: “what if I sit on your face instead?” and he’s instantly typing back: “doll, don’t threaten me with a good time. ya know I’d keep ya there till your legs give out.”

✧ Stan worships your photos. you send him a quick pic of you in bed and he replies immediately: “FUCK look at you. LOOK at THAT body. im gonna make you regret sending me that when im back. you better be ready for this cock, doll, ‘cause im not holding back.”

✧ a huge tease tbh, he wants you to beg. “tell me what you want, sweetheart. you want me to spread those legs and eat you out until you’re shaking? or maybe you want this thick cock filling you up?“

✧ “you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t ya? cant stop thinkin bout me pounding into you, huh? go ahead, baby. lemme know how bad you want it.”

✧ he’s got no shame about jerking off while texting you, you say one dirty thing, and he’s already: “jesus fucking christ, you’re killin me here, doll. im so fuckin hard right now. If you were here, I’d have you on your knees, taking care of me like the good girl you are.”

✧ Stan’s aftercare starts in the texts. so after he’s talked you through your orgasm, his messages turn soft. “that’s my girl, bet you look real pretty all flushed and satisfied. get some rest, doll you’re gonna need it when I get home.”

✧ Stan LOVES it when you play hard to get. “cmon, baby, don’t leave me hangin’. I swear, I’ll make it worth your while when I get my hands on you again.” but when you finally cave and give him a little, just a little, taste of what you want, his reply is “yeah that’s better, let me see that pussy of yours. you know I can make you feel good. let me prove it.”

✧ as you have already understood, this man is shameless, and he knows he’s good at getting under your skin.

“been thinkin’ about that pretty little cunt of yours, doll. what’s it gonna take to get my face buried there tonight?

✧ if you send him something back, it’s over. he’s going to double down with something that makes your toes curl. “you don’t know how badly I wanna fuck that smart mouth of yours until you forget your own name.” 

✧ the man is a sucker for dirty talk. he loves it when you tease him back, but he’s the most eloquent in his replies

✧ “If I was there right now, you wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. id have you moanin’ so loud they’d hear you down the street. you like the sound of that?”

✧ “you know I could really go for you in that tiny skirt of yours right now. make you bend over and fuck you while you’re still wearin’ it.” damn

✧ he’s a man of action. his texts are short and right to the point. “im gonna make you scream my name tonight, sweetheart. better be ready.”

✧ sends you something filthy right out of the blue. "you’re really makin' it hard for me to concentrate on work, baby. every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way you looked last night, riding me till you couldn’t walk.”

✧ if you send him a picture, especially if you’re in lingerie or something that shows just the right amount of skin, he goes wild. “WOAH, sweetheart. you’re gonna make me LOSE IT. I wanna tear that off you and fuck you right here RIGHTJ NOW.” the author's spelling has been preserved.

✧ a lot messages like: “tell me, doll, what color are those panties you got on right now?“

✧ but the minute you call him on his antics in person, he’s all cocky smirks and “ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to spoil my favorite girl, can ya?”

bonus 

Stan: hey doll, you up?

You: it’s 1 AM Stan

Stan: exactly

Stan: perfect time to talk about what you’d look like on top of me 

You: …smooth 

Stan: c’mon don’t act all shy

Stan: you were thinkin’ it too. bet you’re wearin’ somethin’ cute right now, huh?

Stan: or nothin’. nothin’s good too! 👍👍👍

You: why are you always texting me at the most unholy hours?

Stan: unholy?? c’mon sweetheart i’m just here tryna spread a little late night joy

Stan: i was thinkin’ about you though

Stan: well. you. and about how that sweet little mouth of yours looked last night

You: oh my godd

Stan: what?! it’s the truth

Stan: bet you’d look even better right now

You: you’re horrible

Stan: and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous

Stan: now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearin

You: literally in my pajamas Stan

Stan: cute

Stan: betcha look sweet all wrapped up in blankets… though you’d look sweeter wrapped around me instead

You: fuck

You: Stan! 

Stan: what? i’m just bein’ honest. you want me to lie? fine! i’m thinkin’ about taxes. there. happy?

You: oh, shut up old man 

Stan: nah i’d rather talk about how soft your thighs are. how they’d feel so good squeezin’ around my head. c’mon, sweetheart, gimme somethin’. don’t make me do all the heavy liftin’ here

You: only if you promise to return the favor

you smirk, biting your lip, already excited because god you love playing hard to get with this man. so you let the moment linger just long enough to make him squirm before snapping a photo, of course you were lying bout pajamas and Stan damn knew, he felt 

you send the picture: lacy panties of your favourite colour barely covering anything, paired with an oversized sleep shirt that’s slipping off your shoulder

Stan: holy fuckin shit

Stan: you’re gonna make an old man’s heart give out

You: what, you don’t like it? :(

Stan: don’t like it? baby i’m gonna FRAME this picture and hang it on my wall

Stan: better yet i’m gonna print it out and carry it around so i can show off what’s mine

You: wtf that’s absurd

Stan: no what’s absurd is how hard i am right now. fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. every inch of ya

You: your turn, old man

You: prove it 

you don’t expect him to actually follow through, but then your phone buzzes

Stan: look at what you’re gonna get, babe. and it’s all yours

a photo. exactly what you imagined: poorly lit, shot from a slightly awkward angle, but still breathtaking and so damn hot. his cock is thick and heavy in his hand, flushed and glistening at the tip, veins are prominent, pulsing down the shaft, and his fingers, broad, calloused, strong, wrap around it like he’s ready to ruin you as he strokes himself 

your mouth goes dry, you blink at the screen, your lip caught between your teeth. hell, you’ve seen him before, touched him, tasted him, but this photo is something else entirely. your fingers twitch like they want to reach through the phone because you’d crawl through the damn screen if you could

your fingers hover over the keys, trying to think of something clever to say, but the words won’t come. thighs clenching instinctively as you just stare at the screen.

You: okay, not bad, old man

Stan: NOT BAD?!

Stan: sweetheart, you’re lyin’ through your teeth. i know you’re sittin’ there soakin’ through those little lace panties of yours

You: please, you think one dick pic is enough to faze me 

Stan: oh, is that right? big talk comin’ from someone who’s gonna be beggin’ for it by the end of this

You: you wish old man

Stan: nah I know. let me paint you a picture, sweetie

Stan: you, spread out under me, that pretty little pussy so wet i can hear it every time i slide in. your legs wrapped so tight around me like you’re scared i’m gonna pull away. and me, fillin’ you up so deep you can feel me in your fuckin’ throat

and there your smugness falters

You: oh god

You: Stan

Stan: what’s the matter? 

Stan: cat got your tongue? betcha you’re soaked right now, huh? sittin’ there with that pretty little pussy all wet, wishin’ i was there to fill ya up

Stan: admit it, baby. your fingers aren’t even enough. you’re mine. every inch of you belongs to me and i’m gonna remind you of that the second i get my hands on ya

You: you’re not winning this old man

Stan: heh sweetheart, i already HAVE

your fingers fumble on the keyboard as you type, cheeks burning

You: please come

Stan: there you go, now that’s my girl 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ he starts out so awkward it’s painful. you’ll send him something suggestive, and he’ll reply with: “Oh. Well. That’s… intriguing.” Intriguing, Ford? seriously?

✧ as we all know, Ford overthinks everything! it takes him forever to hit send because he’s convinced he’ll say something wrong and he’s so fucking nervous

✧ but as soon as he feels comfortable, he’s sending you long, well thought out messages full of science-y talk about how he wants to make you feel, because of course he’s analyzing you in a way. “I’ve been reading up on the physiological responses of the body during… how should I put this?… intimate interactions. Your body would likely respond most positively to the—” and then he gets really filthy without realizing it

✧ but Ford, dear sweet Ford, doesn’t always realize just how much of an effect his words have on you. if he’ll start spouting off his deep thoughts, you’ll send him, “Ford, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to need to change my sheets.

✧ absolutely loves when you tease him, but he also knows how to turn it back on you. “Good girl, now tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you, in vivid detail. I’m taking notes.”

✧ "I’d have you on your knees, darling. Holding you by the hair while I take you deep, slow. You’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?"

✧ Ford LOVES playing the “I’m going to ruin you slowly” card. It gets under your skin every time. “You won’t be able to think about anything else when I’m done with you. I’ll have you begging for more.”

✧ you’ll send him a flirty text and two minutes later, he’s sent back an entire paragraph detailing how he’d peel your clothes off and worship you from head to toe

✧ as I said, he’s so damn descriptive, I mean bro literally wrote 3 journals, it’s easy for him. “I’d kiss my way down your stomach, slow enough to make you squirm. My fingers would trace your thighs, spreading you open so I could take my time tasting you, savoring every—” you’re already screaming into your pillow

✧ surprisingly filthy when he gets really needy and horny. long messages about exactly what he wants to do to you or what he wants you to do to him

✧ Ford is a huge fan of getting into your mind before he even thinks about touching you. he wants to know what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what turns you on mentally first

✧ he tries to stay composed, but the second you tease him, his composure shatters. you send him a pic, maybe just a peek of your thighs and he’s breathless: “What are you doing to me, darling? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I can’t stop imagining those legs wrapped around me while I’m making love to you, God help me.”

✧ “i would love to feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers as I slowly undress you. I’ll start by trailing kisses down your neck, your chest, until I reach the sweet spot between your thighs. Would you let me do that, darling?”

✧ embarrassingly vocal about how much he needs you. you’ll get texts like:

“I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep thinking about how tight and wet you felt around me last night. We need to make love again.” and then, seconds later:

“Please tell me you’re touching yourself right now. I need to know you’re thinking about me while you do it.”

✧ “God, I’d give anything to have my cock inside you right now.”

✧ If you send him a spicy picture, he just about short-circuits. “You’re exquisite. I need to see more.”

✧ “You don’t even realize the effect you have on me, do you? I’d ruin you in the most wonderful ways, darling.” you’re a puddle in seconds.  

✧ Ford loves when you’re explicit with him. if you’ll text him something like: “I want your cock so deep I forget my own name,” you’ll get: “Careful what you wish for, darling. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

✧ If you ever send him something too really dirty, all your fantasies and wishes, expect him to stare at your text, blink for a second, then type back: “That’s... unexpected. But I’m very intrigued. You must have an incredible imagination.” 

✧ sometimes Ford gets real quiet after a particularly hot conversation, nervous even. “I shouldn’t have sent that… I’m sorry if I…”

“Ford, don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

bonus

Ford: Are you still awake, darling?

You: what do you think?

Ford: Well, considering you’re answering me, I’d say yes. I must say, you’ve been a distraction all day, sweetheart. I just keep replaying the way your skin felt under my hands the last time we touched… the sounds you made when I kissed you, your thighs.

You: sounds like you’re the distracted one, Doctor Pines

Ford: You’re the most beautiful distraction imaginable. Entirely your fault.

you smirk at the screen as an idea strikes

You: how’s this for distracting?

you send the picture: legs spread wide, your pussy glistening under soft light with two fingers pressing yourself open just enough to expose everything. you know Ford’s obsessive attention to detail, the way he adores every curve and line of you. oh god he’ll lose his mind over this

but. . . 

Ford doesn’t reply immediately. one minute. two now. the anticipation builds and your stomach twists.

You: …

You: Ford?

You: oh my god, say something!

You: was it too much? too forward?

five agonising minutes later, your phone lights up.

Ford: Darling… You are beautiful. Utterly perfect. Forgive my silence, I needed a moment to… compose myself.

You: five minutes of silence isn’t exactly reassuring, Ford

Ford: I assure you, I was not silent in my head.

You: damn

You: thought I broke you there

Ford: You nearly did. It’s taking all my willpower to stay coherent.

You: old man ur making me blush

Ford: I’m sorry! I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, my dear. I’d rather make you tremble with pleasure.

You: you really like it that much?

Ford: I’m obsessed, love. Now, listen carefully. Take those fingers, sweetheart. Slowly. I want you to trace circles around your little clit, soft and teasing. No rushing.

and of course you obey

You: im so sensitive rn Ford

Ford: Good, honey. Yeah, nice and slow.

You: like this?

Ford: Exactly like that. Does it feel good, darling? Tell me.

You: so good im already so wet for you 

Ford: Good. Now, slide one of those fingers inside. Don’t go too deep yet. Just enough to feel it.

You: fuck, Ford 

You: feels amazin

Ford: That’s my girl. Now, add another. Stretch yourself out for me, darling. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers instead. Feel how I’d curl my fingers to touch you just right, all your sweet spots. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

You: :((

Ford: Sweetheart? What’s wrong?

You: it’s not the same

You: you’ve got six fingers, i can’t make it feel like you

Ford: Ah, my darling… that’s terribly unfair of me, isn’t it? You’re right. No one else can touch you the way I can. But I promise, when I’m there, I’ll make it up to you tenfold. For now, let’s keep going. I want you to use your fingers, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good for me, pleasure yourself. Please. Slide them deep and tell me how it feels.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 05

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS: we’re back to alternating POVs, many confrontations, a reveal of sorts, seoyeon is goated, namjoon is tired, yoongi learns all kinds of lessons and then instantly forgets them (as per usual), and then throws a pity party and forces MC to attend, this is the most MC and yoongi have been on the same page EVER tho, blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 10k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: GLOSSDEBUT NATION! WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! i’m sorry this took me so long but POF5 is finally here, and hopefully the 10k wordcount makes up for the delayed update. this one is a RIDE, so buckle in and enjoy! don’t forget to send me your thoughts and theories, because they truly help the updates come faster <3 thank you to my loves @ktownshizzle and @yooniivrse for beta reading this chapter!

P.S. if you can guess the two songs yoongi’s working on in this chapter by description alone, i’ll kiss you on the mouth (they’re both arctic monkeys songs)

P.P.S. congratulations to those of you who voted 2 in my poll. please heed the warnings under the cut

CH. 05: TOO FAR TO GO BACK

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of disordered eating, vomiting, drinking, yoongi is an asshole (wbk), dirty talk, nipple play, Yoongi’s Tongue Piercing, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Yoongi vividly remembers the night he first saw you. It’s hard to forget.

He and Namjoon were flying solo that night, sans band. Freshly signed to the label, forced into a blazer he’d never pick out for himself, surrounded by people who didn’t know his name yet and didn’t care to learn. Out of place. He felt out of place all night.

But, as the hyung, Yoongi knew it was his responsibility to do the dirty work. Shmooze. Connect. And, to his credit, when he put his mind to it, Yoongi was actually good at that sort of thing. He knew how to read people, how to play them to get what he wanted. It was how they got signed in the first place. He just needed to wipe the sour look off of his face and remember the goal. For Jeongguk.

It was a music showcase, a big name network. Comebacks and debuts, one after the other. Giddy rookies who hadn’t eaten in days in preparation for their stage, something wild in their eyes. A desire to prove themselves. Yoongi wasn’t there to perform, but his position wasn’t unlike theirs. He had something to prove, too. 

An appearance at the showcase was just that—an appearance. It was the after that mattered. It wasn’t just fans that went to things like this. The audience was full of bookers, promoters, industry magnates that could all mean big things for Burn The Stage if Yoongi played his cards right.

He spent the whole night tuning out blaring bubblegum pop, going over the script in his head—what he should say, what he should do. And then something stopped him in his tracks, forced him to sit up and pay attention.

A soloist, draped in something midnight blue and velvet.

You. Yoongi knows that now.

His first thought was that you had a voice unlike anything he’d ever heard before. His second was that you were beautiful.

All night, he couldn’t sit still. The tag of his blazer dug into the back of his neck. He couldn’t stop tapping his foot, flexing his fists, glancing around. All of the pressure made his chest feel unbelievably tight, because what if the night was a bust? What if nobody was interested in what he had to say? What if the label dropped them and he had to admit that he failed?

But as soon as you opened your mouth and sang that first note, the buzzing in his head quieted in an instant. From beginning to end, Yoongi was enraptured by you. Like nothing else in the world mattered except hearing you sing.

Being in that noraebang with you, years later… It didn’t feel any different. Not one bit.

Yoongi doesn’t follow you when you run. 

Maybe it’s cowardly of him. Maybe a better man than him would reach out, grab your hand, spin you back around. Say something. 

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He doesn't understand what just happened, let alone how he’s meant to fix it. He’s not even sure if there’s anything to fix, not when everything was so broken from the beginning. 

You hate him. He hates you. That was the agreement. So he lets you go.

He goes back inside, avoids Jeongguk’s eyes. Tells everyone you felt sick, which probably isn’t a lie judging by the look on your face when you broke away from him.

It’s not like he didn’t anticipate… something. He’s noticed the way you look at him. He’d wanted to use it, to see if he could catch you in some kind of lie. Catch you staring at him a little too long to be brushed off.

But this? Your lips against his, his tongue in your mouth, the sound you made. Fuck. You almost sounded as sweet as you do when you sing. He wants to forget it ever happened. He wants to hear it again, over and over.

It all happened too fast. 

Yoongi wishes he remembered who had moved first. Someone to shoulder the blame, make things simple for him. He wants it to be you. It would be easy to slip that mask back into place, to hate you. It would be easy. He’d almost stopped, but going back would be so easy.

But something in his gut tells him it wasn’t you. That, foolishly, it was him. You wouldn’t give him everything he needs to point the finger, not like this. 

It had to be Yoongi. He kissed you.

He lifts his head, meeting Jeongguk’s gaze. Jeongguk, who looks concerned. Yoongi doesn’t deserve his concern.

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak, but guilt rises in his throat, choking him. For a moment, he thinks he might confess—his mouth has betrayed him before. But what comes out isn’t words.

Instead, Yoongi surges forward and pukes his guts up. All over the noraebang floor.

★ ★ ★

You need to get the fuck off of this island.

You’ve never booked a flight so quickly in your life. You’d take one tonight, if the option was available, but tomorrow afternoon will have to do. In the meantime, you’ll pack as quickly as humanly possible—and then drink yourself to sleep, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to catch a wink of it at this rate.

You’re freaking out.

Your phone has been buzzing incessantly since you got back to the house, your screen filling with notifications from Jeongguk, Jimin, and Taehyung. Text after text asking if you’re okay, if you got back safe, if you need them to come home. You don’t want to deal with it, can’t deal with it right now. Not when—

Min Yoongi kissed you.

Or, you kissed him? There was kissing, with Min Yoongi, the bane of your existence. Insistently, with tongue.

An incredibly skilled tongue, at that—and that piercing. And strong hands, guitarist’s hands, smoothing over your waist, pulling you closer. You can still smell him on you, citrus and leather and smoke, and—

Fuck, no! Jesus, when did you suddenly become this desperate for cock?

This is exactly why you need to leave. You cannot keep having these thoughts about Min fucking Yoongi, you just can’t. You hate him! He’s rude, and insensitive, and he doesn’t respect you in the slightest. He’s made that abundantly clear.

You text Jeongguk that you’re okay, that you made it to the house, and no, you don’t need him to come back. That’s the last thing you need right now.

What you need is to pack.

You move through the bedroom in a frenzy, tossing your clothes into suitcases that suddenly seem too small. Hyerin somehow managed to make everything fit before you came, but now, your shaking fingers struggle to secure the zippers. Of course.

Irritated, you dig your flask out from your purse. It’s running empty, but it’s more than enough to swallow down the nausea that’s been climbing up your throat since you cut and run.

By the time you’ve packed up the rest of your belongings, the room is spinning, your gut threatening a different kind of sickness. It’s a familiar one, at least. After the events of the night, a little alcohol-induced vomiting is nothing.

Still, in an effort to fend it off, you force yourself into a horizontal position. You take a steadying breath, shifting onto your side. You know the drill. In five minutes, you’ll either be dead to the world, or hugging porcelain.

Luckily, it’s the former. Before you know it, you’re drifting into a sleep so deep you don’t even stir when Jeongguk gets back.

★ ★ ★

In the morning, you say the necessary goodbyes. 

Jeongguk is clearly confused, obviously concerned, but he doesn’t twist your arm. It must be the expression you’re wearing when you tell him you’re going. You can only imagine how it screams, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

The others are sad to see you go. Taehyung hugs you tightly, with promises to catch up when everyone is back in Seoul. Jimin does the same, although he’s remarkably quiet in comparison. 

And Yoongi…

You stop at his door last. You shouldn’t, you know that. All of the questions swarming through your brain about where you stand with him, about what last night meant—they don’t matter. A clean break. That’s what you need.

But still, you knock with a shaky fist, his stolen jacket clutched tightly in the other.

When the door swings open, you force yourself to meet his eyes. Yoongi looks surprised—for half a second, maybe—but the expression vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar indifference. His voice is flat, unreadable.  

"What can I do for you, YN?" he asks, already stepping away, like your presence barely registers. He returns to whatever he was doing at his laptop before you knocked, attention fixed anywhere but on you as he types.

You shift your weight. "Uh, your jacket," you say, holding it up. "I accidentally took it with me last night."  

"You can put it on the bed."  

You do as he says, carefully laying it down, though your fingers linger against the fabric. There’s a hesitation in your movements, a weight pressing down on your chest. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge the silence stretching between you. You clear your throat.  

"Can we… Can we talk for a minute?" you try.

His fingers pause briefly over his keyboard. "About?"  

"Well… Um. Last night. Shouldn’t we clear the air?"  

Yoongi waves a hand dismissively, not even glancing up. "Consider it cleared."  

You knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but the casual way he brushes you off still stings. You steel yourself, pressing forward. "It’s just—I’m leaving. I don’t know if you heard. And I just wanted to—"  

He scoffs before you can finish, finally swiveling around to face you. He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he smirks. "What, were you expecting a goodbye kiss?"  

Something inside you hardens at that. "No," you say, voice clipped.  

His smirk doesn’t falter. "Then have a safe flight, dollface."  

You let out a breath, scoffing under it, more at yourself than anything. Stupid to think this could have gone any other way. "Yeah," you mutter. "Bye, Yoongi."  

You don’t wait for a response. You turn, stepping out of the room, the weight in your chest sinking deeper with every step.

Your Uber pulls up just as you step outside, the driver barely glancing at you as you slide into the backseat. The car smells faintly of leather and mint, and the quiet crackle of the radio fills the space, but none of it does anything to settle the tightness in your chest. You swallow hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the cool window as the car pulls away from the curb. The streets of Seogwipo blur past, Yoongi’s house slipping away behind you.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with Seoyeon’s name. Shit. You forgot you texted her this morning—she must be following up. You exhale sharply before answering.

"You’re coming back?" Seoyeon doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

"First flight out."

There’s a beat of silence, and then, "sooner than I thought."

"Yeah." The word comes out thinner than you’d like. "I just—can you pack my schedule? As tight as possible. Meetings, shoots, interviews—whatever you can get me."

Seoyeon doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t need to. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about her—she doesn’t make your personal life her business unless forced.

"Alright," she says, brisk and efficient as always. "I’ll have everything lined up by the time you land. You sure you don’t want a day or two to breathe?"  

You close your eyes for a second, picturing the alternative—hours alone with nothing but your thoughts. "No. I just want to work."

Seoyeon exhales, like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. "Okay," she says instead. "I’ll handle it."

"Thanks."

"Get some rest on the flight," she says, like she knows you won’t. And then the call ends, leaving you staring at your reflection in the darkened screen.

The rest of your ride to the airport is quiet, save for the soft music on the radio. Your thoughts swirl, looping back to Yoongi. The way he barely looked at you, how easily he dismissed you. Maybe this is better. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to let it all go.

The flight into Incheon is uneventful, but fatigue pulls at you the moment you step off the plane. Everything feels hazy, like you’re just going through the motions. You move through baggage claim, through the terminal, into another car without fully registering any of it.

And then you’re home. Seoul is as grey as ever.

By the time you unlock the door to your apartment, exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. The familiar scent of home greets you, clean and untouched, but the silence is deafening.  

It’s strange—coming back to this emptiness after being surrounded by the band for so long. No voices filtering in from another room, no aroma of freshly-cooked food, no strumming of a guitar. Just you, the hum of your empty fridge, the quiet creak of the floor beneath your feet.  

You drop your bag by the door and let out a breath, rubbing your face with both hands. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s settled deeper, heavier.

You’re alone, for the first time in weeks.

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

★ ★ ★

Yoongi can’t focus.

He sits hunched over his desk, fingers poised above the keys of his laptop, but the words won’t come. It’s not like he doesn’t have lyrics—he does. He always does. But now that they’re laid out in front of him, neatly transcribed from notebook to laptop, they all feel wrong. Disingenuous.

He’s been at this for hours—writing, deleting, rewriting—but it all feels pointless. He glances at the clock. 2:45 a.m.

The label needs a progress report. Yoongi has to come up with at least six usable songs soon, and his mind should be locked into it, but instead, it keeps wandering. Every minute, every second, the image of you keeps pushing its way in.

The way your voice shook when you asked to clear the air, the way you hesitated before leaving, like there was something else you wanted to say, but couldn't. He can't shake it. Even gone, you’re a distraction.

Yoongi fishes his phone out of his pocket for the millionth time tonight, his fingers moving instinctively as he searches for your username. 

He’s not proud of it. It’s beyond pathetic, checking up on you like this. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for—some kind of indication of how you’re doing? What you’re feeling? Yoongi knows he won’t find any of that on an Instagram account that you don’t even personally run, but it’s all he has.

All he has, short of texting and asking you himself. Yeah, right.

You haven’t posted anything new since the last time he looked, so Yoongi swipes through your most recent update again. It’s a carefully curated photo dump announcing your return to Seoul. Yoongi has probably looked at it about twenty times tonight.

It’s not like it’s a particularly interesting photo dump—Taehyung is the master at those. It’s all normal shit. Clouds outside of an airplane window, an airport selca, the details of your outfit with all of the brands tagged. It’s classic model—a pretty girl doing boring shit and documenting every last detail.

The last one, though. The last one fucks Yoongi up.

You, standing in front of your well-lit bathroom mirror wearing an Innisfree face mask, your infamous Burn The Stage hoodie—and from the looks of it, not much else.

He knows it’s not for him. If anything, it’s probably preemptive damage control. Something to appease the fans before they start asking questions, wondering why you’re back in Seoul when Jeongguk is still on Jeju. But, fuck.

Yoongi flexes his free hand, stretches his fingers before curling them into a fist again. If there are two things you excel at, it’s looking pretty and riling him up. He should be focused, should be writing, but instead, his mind insists on wandering to places it shouldn’t. Dangerous places. Places that make his cock stir in his sweatpants, while simultaneously making his throat tighten with guilt.

What a predicament Yoongi’s managed to get himself into.

He’s so consumed by his warring emotions that he barely registers the sound of Jae clearing his throat.

"Yoongi-yah, we’ve been at this for hours," Jae says, effectively breaking Yoongi out of his reverie. His lips flatten into a thin line as he swipes out of your most recent post, back onto your profile. "Maybe we should take a break."

"It’s fine," Yoongi mutters dismissively, not looking up.

Jae sighs. "I think you’ve hit a wall."  

"Yah, I’m fine," Yoongi snaps, finally glancing up, agitation creeping into his voice. "I’m working."  

"Are you?" Jae asks, tilting his head toward the phone in Yoongi’s hand.  

Yoongi exhales through his nose, sets the phone down with a pointed click, and swivels back toward his laptop. He taps at the keys, opening and closing files he hasn’t touched in hours. "Four mostly finished songs isn’t half bad."  

"But you need six," Jae points out. 

"Mm." Yoongi barely responds, still clicking aimlessly. "Still two songs I didn’t have this morning."  

"What about this one?" Jae rolls his chair closer in Yoongi’s periphery, sliding his open Leuchtturm across the desk.

Yoongi���s eyes flick to the page, and he immediately stiffens. It’s that song—the one he’d written about you, sang for you when he was bitter and angry. The reaction is instant, his body language shutting down before Jae can even say anything else. "No." He snatches the notebook from Jae's hand, shutting it with finality.  

Jae frowns. "What?"

"That’s not going on the album," Yoongi says.

"But it’s fully written," Jae points out, eyes narrowed. "And good. Why wouldn’t it go?"

Yoongi shrugs, feigning indifference. "Doesn’t fit the vibe."

"The vibe," Jae repeats, unimpressed.

"Yeah."

"What vibe?"

Yoongi hesitates. "It’ll make us sound like assholes."

Jae snorts. "Well, you wrote it."  

"Ha."

Jae sighs, glancing at the shut notebook. "It’s good, Yoongi-yah. It’s something to show the label, at least."

"I have time to write something better."

Jae gives him a long, exasperated look. "You haven’t written anything all day." His patience is wearing thin, Yoongi can tell. "Come on. I’m trying to do what you asked me to come and do."

"It’s one song, Jae-yah."

"You’ve been pushing back on everything I’ve tried all day," Jae replies, voice tinged with frustration. "I can’t help you if you don’t let me."

Yoongi rubs at his temples. He knows he’s not being fair—that Jae came here out of the kindness of his heart, just because Yoongi asked him to. Maybe Yoongi’s monopolized enough of his time.

"Yeah, I know." His voice is quieter now. "Look, it’s… I’m not trying to be difficult. I can do this myself. I know you have your own shit."  

Jae watches him carefully, his gaze so penetrating it makes Yoongi shift in his seat. Then, he says, almost too casually, "we were making good progress over the weekend."

Yoongi’s posture tightens. "…Yeah." Over the weekend. Before the noraebang.

Jae leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "Could this lack of focus have anything to do with YN’s sudden departure?"

Aren’t you the source of all of Yoongi’s hardships lately? You and that stupid Burn The Stage sweatshirt, those deadly fucking silk shorts you flounced around in the whole time you were here. The fact that he kissed you—or you kissed him, the jury’s still out on that—and that you’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend, and that Yoongi has been shifting between guilt and delirious arousal since you left.

"You’re crazy," Yoongi scoffs. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Jae hums. "Sure."

Yoongi pretends not to hear the knowing tone in Jae's voice, shifting the conversation with practiced ease. "I’ve taken up too much of your time, Jae-yah. I only have to come up with two more songs."

"You kicking me out for bringing up YN?" Jae teases. "Tyrant."

Yoongi huffs a laugh through his nose, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I just think I need to figure the rest out on my own."

Jae shrugs, seemingly disinterested in pressing the matter any further. Thankfully. "If you’re sure. I should be heading back soon anyway."

"Yeah," Yoongi reassures. "I’m good, Jae-yah. I promise."  

"Okay. I’ll figure something out tomorrow, then."  

Yoongi grunts in response, already turning back to his laptop.  

Jae stands, grabbing his jacket. On his way out, he reaches for Yoongi’s half-empty coffee cup and confiscates it with a small smile. "I’m going to sleep. I suggest you do the same, Yoongi-yah."  

Yoongi rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He just watches as Jae leaves, the room settling into silence once again. 

His eyes flick to the dark screen of his phone beside him, fingers twitching like they want to reach for it. Instead, he exhales, drags a hand through his hair, and turns back to the lyrics in front of him.

★ ★ ★

The set is busy today. Cameras clicking, makeup artists fussing over the music playing from the speakers. Hyerin, who has been buzzing around you all day like a fly, runs her fingers over the expensive garments you have yet to be photographed in, inspecting them for imperfections. Assistants flit around the room carting coffees and clipboards. You’re wearing Moschino. It’s everything you’ve dreaded for the past several years, but today, you’re thankful.

It’s familiar, muscle memory taking over as you move through poses. You arch, tilt, shift, your body following the rhythm of the camera’s shutter. The stylist adjusts the hem of your outfit between shots, fingers quick and efficient, but you barely register it. Your gaze lands just past the camera lens, somewhere indistinct. You don’t need to be fully present for this; you just need to be good.

And you are.

The morning had started before sunrise—a briefing with your team, a fitting for an event later in the week, hair and makeup. Then, a quick coffee you barely tasted before being ushered into wardrobe.

Seoyeon delivered exactly what you asked for. The next few days are stacked to the brim—more shoots, trendy pop-up events, interviews. You have no room for anything else.

Still, your mind wanders. Between outfit changes, between shots, between the moments where you stand still as hands fuss over your hair and clothes. Your phone sits face-down on the makeup counter, silent. It’s stupid that you even notice. That you’re even thinking about—

"Okay, let’s reset for the next look!" the director calls out, snapping you out of your haze.  

The second you step off set, Seoyeon is at your side, clipboard in hand. "You’re doing great," she says, brisk. "They’re running a little ahead of schedule, so we might be able to squeeze in that interview with Elle later this afternoon. Sound good?"  

You nod automatically, reaching for a bottle of water. "Yeah. That’s fine."  

"You holding up okay?"  

You fiddle with your straw before taking a sip, careful not to mess up your lip gloss. "I’m fine," you insist. 

Seoyeon doesn’t push, but she doesn’t look convinced either. "This is the last outfit change. We’ll get proofs back in a few days."

"That’s perfect." Your smile is practiced, professional. "Just keep it coming."

"You have an early call time tomorrow," she reminds you. "I’ll send you the details tonight."

And just like that, she’s gone again, moving onto the next task, making things happen. You exhale, tipping your head back, willing yourself to shake off the weight pressing against your ribcage.

One of the assistants calls you over to wardrobe, and you go, slipping seamlessly back into the performance. It’s easier that way.

★ ★ ★

Once Jae leaves, Yoongi knows he’s on borrowed time. He can’t stay holed up in this bedroom forever. It’s only a matter of time before Park fucking Jimin calls him on his shit.

To his credit, he’s been much more productive now that he’s alone. There’s a fifth song now, and he’s well on his way to a sixth. Sure, they’ve come at the expense of his health and hygeine, but hey. That’s the music business, baby.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. That the sleepless nights and skipped meals are for the sake of the music, that the burning in his chest is just exhaustion, not something deeper. That the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach is just another feeling to be ignored.

He’s in the middle of scrawling something down—a song about beautiful women and kissing with teeth, something reckless, maybe with a catchy bass riff for Taehyung?—when his bedroom door swings open. Yoongi hears Jimin call his name, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his head down, pen moving across the page, clinging to his last thread of focus.

"Yoongi-hyung," Jimin says again.

Yoongi ignores him. Keeps writing, because what he’s coming up with now is way better than the song he was workshopping earlier—which, lyrically, was just a heavy handed metaphor for jerking off. Surely that says something about where Yoongi’s head is at lately.

Then—bang. Jimin’s palm slams onto the desk, making the pen in Yoongi’s hand jump. His pulse spikes in response. "Min Yoongi!"

"What?" he mutters, his grip on his pen tightening as his teeth grind together. His voice comes out hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in days. Maybe he hasn’t.

Jimin doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches forward, snatches the pen from Yoongi’s fingers, and throws it across the room.

Yoongi watches it go, the small clatter of plastic hitting the floor echoing in his ears. "What the hell is going on with you?" Jimin demands.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. Holds and releases. Tamps down his mounting irritation. "I don’t have time for this, Jimin-ah."

"Make time," Jimin says, tone final.

Yoongi exhales, finally pushing away from his desk. The wheels of his chair scrape against the floor as he turns to face Jimin, his patience razor-thin. "Fine. What the fuck do you want?"

"You’ve been acting like a jackass—"

Yoongi scoffs. "Because that’s so out of character for me—"

"—since YN left," Jimin finishes, crossing his arms with a smug finality.

Yoongi’s stomach lurches, but he keeps his face impassive. He’s good at that. Years of practice.

Jimin doesn’t back down. "Why did YN leave, Yoongi?"

"How should I know? What YN does has nothing to do with me."

Yoongi knows Jimin isn’t an idiot. He notices things. And even if Yoongi didn’t know that, the way Jimin confronted him (read: scared the shit out of his asshole) last week made it abundantly clear. But still, denial feels easier.

"You haven’t spoken to Jeongguk all week, either," Jimin points out.

Yoongi reaches for another pen, swallowing his guilt. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Not when he’s finally getting somewhere with these songs. "Been busy," he mumbles.

"Bullshit," Jimin says as he grabs the new pen and throws it, too, forcing Yoongi’s now-empty fist to clench tightly. "Tell me what’s going on."

"What’s going on," Yoongi grits out through clenched teeth, "is that I have a fucking album to write. An album that nobody else but me seems to give a shit about. So I’m writing it." He scoffs, gesturing towards his discarded pen. "At least, I was." 

Jimin shakes his head, not buying it. "What did you do to her? What could you have possibly done to make her get on a plane to Seoul with no notice? I told you that you were going too far. And then we went to the orchard, and everything was fine."

Yoongi laughs, but there’s no amusement in it. "I’m not talking about this with you, Jimin-ah. This is none of your business."

"What happened outside of that noraebang, Yoongi?"

"Nothing—"

"Don’t even try to lie to me," Jimin interrupts. His voice is sharp, unrelenting. "I’ve known you since I was twenty years old. You barely drank that night, and even if you did, you can hold your alcohol. But then you come back inside, and you’re spilling your guts all over Taehyung’s shoes."

Yoongi stays silent. That’s really the only option when receiving a certified dressing-down from Park Jimin.

"And less than twelve hours later, YN is back in Seoul. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?"

It’s not. It’s not. Yoongi doesn’t want to fucking talk about this.

"Everybody likes YN, except for you. Jeongguk loves her. And you’re entitled to your opinion, whatever, but that doesn’t mean you can treat her like trash. And you have."

The words snap something in Yoongi. His control slips. "I kissed her." Jimin freezes, eyes wide, and Yoongi looks away. "And she kissed me back."

"She…" Jimin shakes his head, like he’s trying to make sense of it. "You and YN…"

Yoongi runs a hand over his face, frustration curling around his ribs, squeezing tight. "She drives me fucking insane, okay? I don’t know why I did it. Nothing I do makes any fucking sense anymore."

Jimin exhales. "But… Jeongguk—"

"Why do you think I’ve been in here all week?" Yoongi gestures vaguely at the cluttered desk, the crumpled papers and mugs of cold coffee. The ashtray, even though he hates to smoke inside.

Jimin’s expression softens. "Hyung…"

Ah, there it is—the pity, the concern. Yoongi shuts his eyes, his exhaustion settling into his bones. He already knows what Jimin is going to say. "I know."

"You have to tell him."

"I know."

Jimin studies him for a long moment. "Hyung, it looks like you haven’t slept in days. I know you haven’t been eating like you should, either."

Yoongi says nothing, his gaze dropping to his lap.

Jimin shifts on his feet. "I’ve… I’ve never really understood you and Jeonggukie’s relationship. Nobody does, I mean… You’re both so…" He trails off, shaking his head. "You love each other. I don’t think anything could ever get in between you two."

Yoongi’s fingers curl into his palm as he recalls Namjoon’s warning from weeks ago. Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him. His voice comes out quieter than before. "Something already has."

Jimin takes a slow breath. "Jeonggukie knows you would never do anything to hurt him, not on purpose. You just need to talk it out with him, hyung."

Yoongi nods, just barely. "Yeah."

Jimin doesn’t let up. "Promise me."

Yoongi hesitates, then mutters, "I promise."

Jimin gives a small nod before stepping back toward the door. "Okay." He reaches for the handle, pausing. "Get some sleep first. You look like shit."

Yoongi huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh. "I’ll try."

Jimin exhales. "Just… Deal with it before it gets any worse." He pulls the door open. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

★ ★ ★

Yoongi isn’t in the business of breaking promises, so the next night, he ventures out of his room.

He watches Jeongguk stare back at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. His stomach twists.

He has spent years protecting this kid’s dream—no, making it his mission, his purpose, his redemption. Jeongguk had been barely more than a teenager when Yoongi first met him, eyes bright with possibility, looking at Yoongi like he hung the damn stars. 

Back then, Yoongi had just dropped out of college, drowning in the weight of his own failure. He had been a classical piano major—a prodigy, people said. Someone who was supposed to make something of himself. 

But the pressure had been too much, the expectations too high, and when he couldn’t bear it anymore, he had walked away with nothing but a hollow chest and a name that didn’t mean a fucking thing outside those walls.

Jeongguk was an underclassman at the time. The voice of an angel and the dream of being in a rock band. It was stupid—childish, even—but Yoongi saw himself in the kid, saw what he had lost, and he had sworn right then and there that Jeongguk would never know what it felt like to give up. To be crushed under the weight of something bigger than himself. 

If Yoongi could make Jeongguk’s dream come true, then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like such a failure himself.

But now, sitting on the edge of Jeongguk’s bed, watching the hurt in his face, Yoongi wonders if he had only ever been deluding himself.

"You and YN…?" Jeongguk’s voice is careful, controlled, but Yoongi can hear the fracture beneath it.

"I’m sorry." The words taste like ash in Yoongi’s mouth. He knows they’re not enough.

"When?"

"At the noraebang," Yoongi mumbles. He wants to look away, wants to sink into the floor, retreat from the sheer expressiveness Jeongguk’s eyes are capable of. But he doesn’t.

"That’s why she left?" Jeongguk asks, realization washing over his features. 

Yoongi exhales shakily, the guilt settling deep in his bones. "I haven’t called to confirm or anything, but…" He drags a hand down his face. "Yeah. Probably."

"I thought you hated her."

"I do," Yoongi says automatically, but the words feel strange. False. Like he’s clinging to something that was never really there to begin with.

Jeongguk stares at him, incredulous. "But you kissed her?"

"It’s…" Yoongi clenches his fists, bitten down nails digging into his palms. "Guk-ah, it was stupid."

"It sounds stupid," Jeongguk scoffs.

"It was." Yoongi drags a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling over. "I don’t have an excuse, okay? It happened, and I’m sorry. How can I get you to forgive me? I’ll do anything."

Jeongguk shakes his head, the laughter still on his lips, but it’s humorless. "There’s nothing to forgive, hyung."

Yoongi stills. "What do you mean?"

"YN and I aren’t really dating."

What the fuck.

Yoongi feels his mind blank out, practically hears the record scratch. The suspicion that Yoongi’s held so tightly this whole time, and Jeongguk is the one saying it out loud. No fucking way.

 "…What?"

"You think I would bring my real girlfriend around you?" Jeongguk tilts his head, expression unreadable.

Did he say real girlfriend? What the hell does that mean?

It doesn’t make sense. Jeongguk isn’t the type to lie, not like this. But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now—like he’s daring him to deny it—tells him this is very real.

"Hyung, ever since you met YN, you’ve acted like a lunatic."

"That’s not—"

"Yoongi-hyung."

Yoongi shuts up instantly. Fair is fair.

"The girl I’m dating isn’t in the public eye, and YN is," Jeongguk continues. "We’re friends. She agreed to help."

The idea of Jeongguk hiding something from Yoongi—through a scheme this elaborate, no less—feels preposterous. It feels like a practical joke.

But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now? There’s nothing funny about it.

Yoongi shakes his head, struggling to process. "But… Why not tell us? Me?"

Jeongguk gives him a withering look. "Come on, hyung. The backlash from everyone else would’ve been bad, but you? You’re so much worse."

Yoongi’s chest tightens. Fair is fair, but, "I wouldn’t have—"

"You don’t think I wanted to introduce my girlfriend to you, really? I knew what would happen. Things would’ve gone exactly the same as they did with YN."

Yoongi swallows hard. "I just don’t want you to get hurt."

"You’re so protective over me, hyung. Like I’m a kid. Like I’m incapable of making my own decisions."

And that? That hurts. Because Yoongi never meant to make Jeongguk feel small. Never meant to clip his wings when all he ever wanted was to help him soar. But somewhere along the way, his protection had turned into suffocation. He’s the one who pushed him to this, he realizes. The one who made him feel like he had no choice but to lie.

"Guk-ah, I don’t want you to have to hide things from me. Please. How can I fix it? Tell hyung how to fix it," Yoongi pleads.

"I don’t know." The words sound so hollow. Why didn’t he come to Yoongi sooner, if he’s felt this way for so long? Yoongi would do anything for Jeongguk. He thought Jeongguk knew that.

"Jeongguk—"

"No, hyung." Jeongguk snaps. "I introduce YN as my girlfriend and you act like a dick. You humiliate her. I ask her to go out of her way to work things out with you, which I shouldn’t have to do, and things are fine for like, a few days. And then suddenly she’s leaving, lying to me about why, and you’re telling me you kissed her?"

Yoongi stays silent. He’s played the protective hyung card, but where the kiss is concerned, he has nothing to say for himself.

"I haven’t heard from her at all since she left. Until now, you’ve been avoiding me, too," Jeongguk continues. "I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everyone treating me like I can’t handle shit."

Yoongi’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry."

"I don’t want to hear it, hyung. Whatever issues you’re having with her, that’s none of my business anymore. You know the truth now. Just…"

"Yeah," Yoongi says, wiping sweaty palms off on his jeans as he stands from the bed. "Yeah, I’ll… I’ll go."

He hates how final it feels. How he’s left wondering if this is something he and Jeongguk can bounce back from. A half-written album for a band that could be hanging in the balance, because of Yoongi.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop him from leaving. He just stands there, arms crossed, jaw tight—like he’s holding something back, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

Yoongi hesitates for a moment, waiting for something. He’s not even sure what. A sign that things aren’t as broken as they feel. But Jeongguk won’t look at him.

So, he turns and walks away.

The air in the hallway feels stifling, thick with everything left unsaid. His feet carry him downstairs, back to his room. Once he’s back inside, he just stands there, staring at the door, fingers twitching at his sides.

He doesn’t know how to make this right.

Yoongi’s fingers tremble slightly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, moving without him. He scrolls through his contacts and presses call before he even thinks about it.

The phone rings once. Twice.

"Hyung? Did somebody die?"

It’s so Namjoon to pick up Yoongi’s calls like that. He almost laughs, but it dies in his throat. He rubs his face, a sharp breath slipping past his lips as he fights to regain his bearings.

"You knew," Yoongi says simply. His voice comes out deceptively calm.

A long, heavy pause fills the line, a silence that stretches on as Namjoon’s brain catches up to what Yoongi is saying. But Yoongi knows he doesn’t need to say anything else. Namjoon is a smart guy.

"Yeah," he finally says, his sigh crackling over the line. "I did."

"Fuck," Yoongi huffs. His hands are shaking.

"Did he tell you?" Namjoon’s voice is quiet, careful.

Yoongi closes his eyes. "Yeah."

"Is it... Is everything okay?" Namjoon asks.

What a stupid fucking question. Yoongi starts pacing, desperate to change the subject. He’s working on the fly, but he’s not at all surprised by the words that end up leaving his mouth. 

"Look, I have seven songs. Book a flight for me. I’ll come show the label what I’ve come up with."

There’s another sigh on the other end of the line, like Namjoon knows better than to fight him on this. Good, Yoongi thinks. 

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Just for you?"

"I think space would be good. For a few days." Or longer.

"Hyung… What happened?"

"YN and I kissed," Yoongi says. Might as well.

The line falls silent. Yoongi can practically hear Namjoon’s brain processing the information, the shock and confusion on the other side. He doesn’t care. He just wants the conversation over with, wants to move forward.

"What?" Namjoon’s voice cracks with disbelief, the confusion clear even through the phone.

"Namjoon-ah, I’m really sick of talking about it, okay?" Yoongi says, struggling to tamp down the impatience in his tone. "I’m gonna fix it. I just need something from you."

"What do you need?"

"Can you get in contact with YN’s manager?" Yoongi swipes into his messages with Namjoon. His fingers shake as they fly over his keyboard, and then he presses send. "I need you to relay a message."

Namjoon is quiet for a long time, just the static crackle of soft breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is laced with exhaustion. "Okay. I’ll get it done."

"Thanks," Yoongi mutters, voice rough. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t wait for Namjoon to respond. Minutes later, he’s forwarded an email with a flight confirmation. He grabs a bag and fills it.

He has a plane to catch.

★ ★ ★

The last person you expect to see when you open your door is Min Yoongi.

It’s late. Late late. Like, ‘nothing good happens after midnight’ late. Your parents used to say that a lot when you were younger, back when your obsession with live music meant sneaking into venues past curfew. It’s funny—you never believed them. Back then, your nights only got better the later it became.

Now, though. Now you get it.

Because Min Yoongi at your door when he’s supposed to be a plane ride away from you? That can only mean trouble.

But here he is, dressed in all black, a beanie and a face mask concealing his identity from your building’s security cameras. Instead of wielding a knife like you’d expect, his arms are full of crinkly takeout bags.

"Hi, dollface."

"Yoongi? What—"

"I’m not here to fight, okay?" he interrupts, lifting the bags a little as if it’s supposed to reassure you. "Look, I brought you dinner."

Going with poison, then, you think.

"How did you figure out where I live?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Namjoon asked Seoyeon on my behalf," he explains casually, like it's no big deal. "Or, on Jeongguk’s behalf, actually."

Oh, cool. So your manager is just giving your address away. "Why—"

"Can we have this conversation inside?" he cuts in. "The food’s gonna get cold."

You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you, so you step aside to let him in. He moves past you like he belongs there, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter and methodically unpacking its contents.

"It’s chicken," he says casually. "Figured that was a safe bet."

You stare at him, bewildered. "Chicken is… Yeah, chicken is fine."

"I brought beer, too." He finally turns to look at you. You can only really see his eyes, but you can’t help but notice how tired he looks. You try not to care.

"Yoongi, why are you here?" you demand.

Sighing, he pulls off the face mask, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Jeongguk told me the truth."

Unable to help it, your entire body goes rigid at his words. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

"He has a girlfriend," he says, before clarifying, "that isn’t you."

You feel the world tilt beneath your feet. So Jeongguk told him the whole truth. Cool. You really should’ve returned those calls. The ones you were avoiding.

"Why did he tell you that?" you ask, and it’s not even anger that colors your voice anymore. Just a raw, unfiltered panic that you can't hide.

Yoongi turns and leans back against the counter, watching you. "I’ve been trying to figure out why you didn’t tell me that. From the start."

Your defenses instantly go up. It’s par for the course around Yoongi at this point.

"Because he didn’t want me to," you reply coolly, schooling your features into something less panicked. "So, what changed? What did you do?"

"I told him we kissed."

FUCK!

Well, so much for concealing the panic. "You—why?"

"I couldn’t just not tell him, YN," Yoongi reasons. "It was killing me. I felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit all week. You’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend." He snorts, shaking his head. "Or, at least, that’s what you both wanted me to think."

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Okay, fine. You told him. How did he react?"

"To the kiss?" Yoongi tilts his head slightly. "I mean, better than I expected, considering I was under the impression he was in love with you."

Your brow furrows. "So he’s not mad?"

Yoongi lets out a humorless laugh. "Not at you, don’t worry."

Ah. "But he’s mad at you," you guess.

"I’m not getting a world’s best hyung trophy anytime soon." Yoongi shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but you can tell it does.

You stare at him for a long moment, processing. Then, slowly, the words slip out. "So… You flew back to Seoul to… What? Rub it in my face in person?"

Yoongi blinks at you. "What?"

"That you were right. That you knew it was bullshit all along."

Realization flits over Yoongi’s features. He doesn’t look defensive—he doesn’t even look surprised. In fact, he seems oddly amused, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Mm. That’s more like a fringe benefit."

You throw your hands up, completely exasperated. "Then why are you here, Yoongi?"

"To have dinner with you," Yoongi says, breaking into a full-blown grin now. 

"I’m not hungry," you say flatly. 

"Look, I’m not exactly welcome in that house right now," he says, like that’s supposed to explain things any better.

"And you think you’re welcome in mine?"

He tilts his head, amused. "I don’t know, dollface. Am I?"

You gawk at him, your pulse thumping in your ears. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"A kiss isn’t exactly a solo activity, last time I checked."

You bristle. "You kissed me."

"Is that what we’re going with?" Yoongi asks, brow lifting.

"That’s what happened."

"Let’s say I did make the first move, then." You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers to your mouth, then back to your eyes. "You took your sweet time pushing me away."

"And then I got on a plane to get away from you," you counter.

Yoongi hums, his eyes darkening slightly. "Couldn’t trust yourself?"

"What—"

"You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been undressing me with your eyes lately?" He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "I’ve felt very objectified, you know."

"Fuck you," you spit, your pulse racing.

He just laughs—low, knowing. "Everything else is all out in the open now," he says. "Might as well come clean about this, too."

"There’s nothing to come clean about," you retort, your voice sharp, but inside, you’re shaking. "I haven’t been looking at you any type of way. You should get your eyes checked."

"So it wasn’t good for you, then?"

"What?"

"The kiss."

You stiffen. "No."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Okay, then."

"You don’t believe me?" you ask, defiant.

"Don’t get me wrong, your acting has improved. But no." He leans in slightly. "You wanna know what I think?"

"No."

Yoongi grins. "I think it drives you crazy, how attracted you are to me."

Your world tilts on its fucking axis, and you know it shows on your face.

"Get over yourself," you scoff, trying to find your footing again. But Yoongi isn’t having it.

"That sound you made when my tongue was in your mouth?" His voice drops lower, rougher, and it sends a shiver through your spine. "I fucking earned that. No way you would’ve let that slip on purpose."

Your breath catches in your throat, your body locking up. Fuck.

"I can get all kinds of sounds out of you, if you let me," Yoongi continues. He steps closer, cocking his head at you. "I think you know that, too. I think you know I can fuck you the way you’ve been waiting to get fucked."

Your breath stutters, heat creeping up your neck.

"No one else has gotten it right, huh?" His voice is softer now, coaxing. "Too nice, too boring. But I can. And you hate that you want it."

His words settle into the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You can’t look at him.

"If I’m wrong, tell me." He studies you closely, hand raising to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. That first touch, skin on skin, stupidly makes your thighs clench on instinct.  "I’ll drop it. I’ll get on a plane tonight and go right back to where I came from."

The silence stretches. Long. Loaded.

Then, more gently, "am I wrong, dollface?"

You exhale shakily, and—slowly, reluctantly—you shake your head.

"Here’s the way I see it," he continues smoothly. "I have no reason to stand in the way of your arrangement with Jeongguk anymore. But you and I are still going to be around each other, whether we like it or not."

You don’t say anything. You don’t even know if your ‘arrangement’ with Jeongguk is still on, after all of this. But that’s the furthest thing from your mind right now.

"Might as well make the most of it."

Your throat is dry. Your skin feels too tight. You force yourself to take a steadying breath, despite the heat pooling between your legs.

"Beer isn’t gonna cut it," you decide suddenly. 

You push past him, moving toward the kitchen.

Yoongi laughs, watching you. "That so?"

Wine feels right. You pour yourself a glass, glancing at him across the island. "Want one?"

"Yeah, okay," he agrees, amusement evident in his tone.

You pour another glass before you walk to the couch in the living room, settling down with a long sip before meeting his gaze. "Let me get this straight."

He sits beside you, taking the glass you offer to him. "Uh-huh," he says, urging you to continue.

"You want to fuck me."

His lips quirk. "I wouldn’t be opposed."

You huff in frustration. "No, Yoongi," you say. You’re over the games. If he wants to do this, he’s going to have to put a little bit more work in. "That’s what you came here for."

Infuriatingly, Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, only taking a slow sip of his wine.

"You got in a fight with Jeongguk, and for some reason, your immediate response was to hop on a plane and proposition me," you continue. "I’m not even gonna pretend to understand that train of thought, but I do want to hear you admit it."

He pauses, considering. "That’s what you want?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "That’s what I want. Why should I let you have it that easy?"

"God." Yoongi makes a noise low in his throat, frustration and arousal combined. "Okay, yeah. I want to fuck you," he admits, unwavering.

You let the silence linger for a moment. Then, finally, you nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" He raises a brow.

"Okay," you repeat. "You can fuck me."

Yoongi’s responding laugh is quiet, amused. "Don’t sound so excited, dollface."

Shit, if only he knew. You’re barely hanging on by a thread, shocked that you’ve made it this far without folding. You may not be Yoongi’s number one fan, but you’d be a liar if you said you don’t want to take him up on all of his offers.

"I just want you to stop acting like I’m the desperate one here," you mutter.

"Okay. We’re both desperate, then."

"Thank you," you say primly, trying and failing to calm your racing heart.

Yoongi sets his glass down on your coffee table, eyes glinting as he watches you.  "So… Are you gonna come over here?"

You watch the way he leans back against the couch, his denim-clad thighs spread invitingly, and you bite your lip.

Okay. This is happening.

"Fuck it," you huff, setting your own glass down next to his and shifting your body to straddle his lap.

In an instant, Yoongi’s hands find your waist, molding to your curves. He tilts his head up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Not unlike last time, there’s no finesse to it, but it feels so fucking good—lips and teeth and tongues fighting for dominance, like there’s something to win.

Now that all of the cards are on the table, it’s clear that neither of you are interested in holding back. Your teeth nip at Yoongi’s bottom lip roughly, earning a grunt from him as his hands skim over your thighs, calloused fingers catching on your shorts.

Yoongi pulls back first, his eyes inky black as he feels you up. "These fucking shorts," he mumbles under his breath, hands smoothing over the silk before squeezing harshly. "What are the chances."

With startling clarity, you realize that you weren’t the only one looking when you were on Jeju. You left an impression on Yoongi, too. 

It makes you feel triumphant.

"Like them?" you purr, rucking the hem of your shirt up to give him a better view of the damp fabric clinging to you. Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips, feeling the way he strains in his jeans.

"Shit, you’re a tease," Yoongi hisses, licking his lips as he helps you pull your shirt over your head. His eyes flick between your clothed core and your breasts hungrily, like he’s deciding where he wants to start first.

But your patience is wearing thin. You make the decision for him, dragging his hands up to cup your tits. Yoongi obliges, chuckling with amusement when he catches the way your nipples stand at attention already, without him even laying a finger on them.

Holding your gaze, he leans in, tongue flicking over a sensitive bud. You can’t look away—not when the cool metal ball of his piercing glides so skillfully over it, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your neglected cunt. It feels like he’s touching you everywhere, extra stimulation that forces a moan from your throat.

Yoongi doesn’t let up for a second, sucking and licking at your nipples until they’re aching, puffy and reddened. All you can do is take it, fingers threading through dark locks at the nape of his neck as you whimper for more.

"Look at you, dollface," he rasps, replacing his tongue with his fingers to pinch and tease. "You can be sweet, can’t you?"

"Fuck you," you gasp out, biting your lip to suppress the needy sounds that threaten to spill free. You can’t help it—he can’t win this quickly. He can’t know how badly you’ve needed this, needed him, ever since that fucking kiss.

Yoongi laughs, pinching a nipple one last time before retreating completely. "Always running that fucking mouth." Eyes fixed on yours, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping your cunt so firmly it forces your legs to spread. "Should make you choke on my dick, shut you up for a bit."

Your breath shakes in your lungs as he starts rubbing tantalizing circles over your folds. "You can be a nice girl, mm?" Yoongi growls, finding your clit such exacting accuracy that it makes your head spin, steals the moans from your throat. He noses along the line of your shoulder, murmuring against your skin, "be a nice girl for me."

"Yoongi," you moan, helpless. Without warning, Yoongi’s fingers slip under the leg of your shorts, slipping into you with an ease that makes him groan against your neck.

"So fucking wet," he growls, fingers stroking inside you, rubbing your inner walls. You can both hear how wet you are. He curls his fingers, and you cry out. "Can’t wait to feel you around my cock."

It’s his admission, the reminder that he wants this just as badly as you do, that breaks down your inhibitions. Suddenly, you’re rolling your hips, moaning as you grind down onto his fingers in a frenzied rhythm.

"Fuck," Yoongi breathes appreciatively, watching you move with dark eyes like he’s imagining you bouncing on his cock. "I’m gonna fucking wreck you."

You can’t take it anymore, single-mindedly focused on chasing your impending release. Yoongi’s fingers stroke so deeply inside of you that your eyes roll back in your head, your breath leaving you in staccato bursts of his name. His other hand returns to your breast, pinching hard at your nipple. You’re so close you can taste it.

"Go on," he encourages. His thumb moves to rub at your clit as his fingers fuck into you over and over. "Come for me, dollface."

That’s all it takes.

You sob as your orgasm hits you hard, your vision swimming. Your cunt squeezes around Yoongi’s fingers so tightly it earns a moan from him, but it barely registers. All you can do is moan, pulling hard at Yoongi’s hair until the movement of your hips slows to a stop.

When you finally come down, Yoongi’s fingers slipping out of you as you pant for breath, your eyes focus on him.

He looks fucking delicious.

Pouty lips bitten red. Dark locks mussed where they peek out beneath his beanie. Veiny hand squeezing around the thick bulge in his jeans. 

You’ve never wanted something so badly in your life, and it’s clear the feeling is mutual. He said it himself—he wants to wreck you.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you’re not going to let him. Not tonight.

Suddenly, you reach for your discarded shirt, slipping it back over your body. You stand on shaky legs, reaching for your forgotten glass of wine and tipping your head back to finish it off. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes tracking your every movement, waiting. It fills you with immense satisfaction that he’s waiting for something that won’t come.

"Well, thanks," you say, barely suppressing a grin. "This was fun."

"What?" Yoongi replies, confusion evident in his tone.

"It’s late. I have an early schedule tomorrow," you explain coolly, tilting your head at him. "Surely, Seoyeon told you?"

"But—"

"She’ll kill me if I show up with bags under my eyes," you interrupt. "You understand."

A long silence stretches between you as Yoongi weighs his options. You watch with triumph as his fists flex at his sides, clenching and unclenching. Finally, he schools his features into something neutral and speaks. 

"Fine," he grumbles.

"Great," you say, grinning as he gets up from the couch. "Thanks for stopping by. I’ll walk you out."

The walk to the door is quiet, tension thick between you. Yoongi’s jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets like he’s physically restraining himself. You revel in it, in the way you’ve turned the tables, left him aching.

You reach for the door handle, but before you can open it, Yoongi moves.

In a flash, your back is pressed against the wall, his body caging you in. His hands pin your wrists beside your head, and then his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, devastating. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a punishment. His mouth is all-consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pushes past, claiming you in a way that leaves no room for argument.

The way he surrounds you is dizzying, the hard planes of his body pressed against you all the way down. His hips roll once, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his jeans drags against your still-sensitive core. 

And fuck, you feel it. Every. Single. Inch.

Then, just as suddenly as he came at you, he pulls back.

Breathless, you barely have time to register the wicked smirk curving his lips before he steps away, smoothing a hand down his shirt like nothing happened.

"Sweet dreams, dollface," he murmurs, voice husky, eyes dark with promise.

And then, just like that, he steps away, yanking the door open and walking out without another glance. You stand there, dazed, lips swollen, body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Fuck.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

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[miraclemuncher]

When will Fred Weasley ask you out?

tags/warnings. hogwarts setting, sixth year/gof, not beta read

wordcount. ~1100

notes. i need to get better at one shots cause how did i let this drag on to four parts?? i’m js built for the longfic life in an era of oneshots. also this is kinda rushed sorray sorray. also requests are open atm!!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

You are beyond bloody confused.

To hell with Fred Weasley and his impractical way of expressing himself.

This is all you’ve dreamed of since he purposely knocked over his cauldron to center Snape’s ridicule on himself instead of you. Now that it was actually happening you don’t even know if it’s real.

You choose to skive off the rest of your lessons at least until lunch. You know yourself enough to figure out that you’ll only end up thinking about Fred if you do attend your morning lessons.

Washed off from the lake water, you finally leave your dormitory to get lunch.

Your friends instantly begin pestering you on why you and Fred were missing from the same lesson. He had arrived tardy, soaking wet and now you had damp shower hair.

You fill your mouth with food to avoid answering them.

Thank Merlin they finally shut up for your own good once you force twelve grapes into your mouth.

One of your friends excuses herself and says, “Um, gotta go. There’s a… I’ve got to study!”

After that, one by one your friends all start leaving with a halfassed excuse and stupid grin.

You grow more confused as you watch them file out the Great Hall.

Your questions are answered when that bloody voice speaks up from behind you.

“This seat taken?” Fred says. He takes note of your inability to respond and helps himself to the empty seat.

You spit out the twelve grapes into a bowl as politely and modestly as possible.

Fred reaches over the table and pops a different grape in his mouth. “I didn’t see you in potions,” he says after swallowing.

“I had to shower off the lake muck,” you run a hand through your wet hair. “Speaking of it, you stink.”

Fred smells himself. “You have a point.” He swings his legs over the bench style seats. “If you need me, I’ll be in the showers. Oh! And don’t forget about the chocolates!” He jogged over to a table with his friends.

You see George and Lee punch and shake him out of pride. Alicia and Angelina excitedly look at him with curiosity.

What could they be saying?

You’re still staring when Fred starts leaving the Great Hall. He looks back at you and you’re caught. You don’t know if you have any self respect left to stop staring.

Fred winks at you, then leaves through the grand doors.

Was that invitation to the showers genuine? What did Fred even mean by it?

Like, is Fred saying he’ll meet you by the showers or like, what if he said it just to say? The same way people say, catch you later, ‘cause they’re obviously not gonna be literally catching you

Wait, why are you even still thinking about this?! It’s way past his supposed shower!

Not even that! You should be paying attention to your charms lecture. You knew you should’ve skived off the rest of that day if it was just going to be like this.

Besides that, you feel George, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia stare holes in the back of your head. How did you wind up assigned to a class with all of them except Fred?

An airplane lands on your desk. You push it off and stomp on it.

Then a paper frog leaps onto your desk. It’s too cute to trample, but you also don’t have it in you to unfold it and read whatever they wrote inside.

They win when a paper butterfly flaps over to your desk and settles on your pinky. It promptly unfolded itself right then and there.

The handwriting reads, What’d you tell Fred?

You look over your shoulder to the four Gryffindors. They promptly duck their heads into their charms book to feign disinterest.

Once you turn around you instantly feel their eyes trained on your back. You make a big show of ripping the note to shreds.

They finally take the hint and don’t bother you for the rest of class.

You try to sprint out of class the moment class is dismissed.

“Hey!” George calls after you. You had hoped the crowding corridor would create enough distance. Looking over your shoulder, you see he’s ruthlessly pushing past everyone.

You reluctantly pause and let him catch up to see what he wants. It’s best to end this now rather than later.

“Have you got an answer for Fred yet?” George shouted over the bustle of the corridor.

In confusion you just squint at him.

“Come on, you’ve gotta give him an answer by the end of the day at the very least,” George impatiently whines.

Was he talking about those damn chocolates? “I’ll open them later!” You snap at the same time as the warning bell rings.

“Huh?!”

You roll your eyes and repeat, “I’ll open them later!” Having enough of George’s pestering you irritatingly say, “I’ve got to go now, George. McGonnagall has no tolerance for tardiness.”

He’s finally satisfied with your answer and triumphantly leaves. George gleefully skips over to Lee, Alicia, and Angelina. You watch him relay your answer to them and they jump in unexplainable joy.

That lot is so weird sometimes.

Who cares? You’re about to be late for class!

Fred catches you on your way leaving McGonnagall’s classroom. It’s quite pathetic how you know Fred shouldn’t be anywhere near McGonnagall’s classroom. According to his time tables you’ve memorized during the start of term, his last class is all the way at the Herbology greenhouses.

He smoothly walks beside you and says, “Open to it later, huh? Time’s ticking, y’know.” There’s a hint of desperation hiding in his tease.

You laugh in confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m just saying you need to be careful,” he shrugs. “People are gonna start thinking you’re stringing me along.”

Okay, now you’re laughing in pure disbelief. “Sorry, I’m stringing you along?” You repeat. “Very funny, Fred.”

“The Yule Ball is mere days away and you’re leaving me hanging.”

… What is Fred implying right now?

You don’t want to assume anything just yet. You’re gonna have to play it safe. Just play it cool, you got this.

And apparently playing it cool must mean stupidly staring at him in confusion. Your mind is completely blank. There’s no actually fucking way Fred is hinting that he wants to take you to the Yule ball.

Fred also passed. You just stare at him with crinkled eyebrows.

Finally, he speaks up. “Oh Merlin, George can’t even be nosy right,” Fred says mostly to himself, running his hands over his face. He starts retreating backwards, “Seriously, open the chocolates already!” He spins around and starts a light jog down the hall.

Once alone, you tear open the wrapped chocolates. Knowing better than to bite into one after they’ve taken a dip into the Great Lake, you instead break the chocolate in uneven halves.

It crackles into a small firework show.

Fireworks sparkling of your favorite colors spell out Will You Go To the Yule Ball With Me?

So that’s what the twins have been causing a ruckus over all day.

When will Fred Weasley ask you out?

Apparently he did it this morning.

[cllightning81]

Academic Change

Summary : Everything's changing and the only way you know how to deal with it is by crying. Ollie's there to help though

Pairing/s: Oliver Bearman x Reader

Word Count : 0.8k

Masterlist

Oliver Bearman Masterlist

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A/N : Oh, how I needed an Ollie last night when this exact situation hit me.

It had reached a new academic year, but this year was different. You've finished high school and are now on your way to university. Ollie was signing with Haas, which meant his life was about to get more difficult. However, the worst part about it all was your best friend was moving away to go to university. 

You’d heard the horror stories about best friends that move away and slowly just lose connection until it was like there was never a friendship there in the first place. With all the change that was happening over the next six months, you could feel the anxiety kicking in. 

Ollie was back home for the break between Monza and Baku and you couldn’t be more grateful because during that break you had to say bye to your best friend and it was worse than Ollie leaving almost every week. 

She understood you in a way that no one else could, there were millions of inside jokes that would be shared between you, inappropriate jokes that would have strangers or other people complaining about but that was your friendship. 

It wasn’t until you were lying in bed blocking out the neighbours party that it really hit you. Noah Kahan’s ‘You’re Gonna Go Far’ playing into your ears as the words suddenly hit more than they ever had before. 

Before you knew it, the tears had started falling down your face as the panic set in that actually she was packing up her car and being wherever she was. You’d tried not to cry for months about her leaving, but suddenly, everything was just far too much. 

Ollie who was lying next to you in bed also blocking out the neighbours party with his own earphones in except this time scrolling on tiktok glanced over at you instantly spotting the tear tracks that had been on your face as you swapped from your normal playlist to your sad playlist needing to just let all your feelings out. 

His arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to him as he ran a comforting hand over your back in an attempt to help calm you down however you were too deep into your crying session by now. 

Soon Ollie figured you’d been crying enough and took your phone swapping over to some ‘relaxing sounds’ that in reality just made you want to use the bathroom but you didn’t have the energy to fight him. 

His hand gently pulled your wrist closer to him as he messed about with your smartwatch to start the breathing exercises that were programmed in by whatever company you’d previously bought it from. As you followed the instructions from the watch, you could feel the anxiety of losing your best friend leaving your body and your heart rate dropping back down to normal. 

Ollie sighed, letting you remove your earphones and place your phone on the bedside table before pulling you back into his body 

“I know it’s hard, darling. Trust me, I know, except I was the one leaving everyone behind. I know it from both points of view, and you just need to remember that what you have won’t disappear overnight. You’ll meet new people on your course even if it’s a small course and you’ll never forget about your memories with her. I know your anxiety is through the roof right now, and you don’t deal well with change, but remember I’ll always be here. Even if I’m in Italy or Australia. She’ll always be there whether she’s ten minutes away by bus or half an hour by train” Ollie took a breath, pushing some hair out your face and wiping stray tears from your face 

“Change is hard, and it’ll always be hard for you because that’s just who you are, but I love you for it and remember you’re the first from your family ever to go to university. That’s an achievement. You’re also doing a medical degree technically. I love you” He smiled, and you nodded 

“I love you too. Thank you” Ollie nodded, pressing his lips against yours. 

Everything was changing, and as hard as that was to admit, unfortunately, change was always going to happen in life, and although your facetimes were starting to become irregular, they were still happening. 

No matter what happened in the next few months, at least you always had the memories that you’d created over the past three years at high school. Because you’d left all those friend groups that turned out not to be right, and now you had your best friend. 

It was going to work out, and Ollie knew that after a couple of weeks you’d understand that. 

“Come on time for some ice cream” Ollie hummed, getting out of bed and throwing you over his shoulder, causing you to giggle and cling on for dear life. 

Sitting you down on the counter in the kitchen, Ollie raided the freezer, handing you the carton of ice cream with a spoon as he told Alex to play songs from both your childhoods. After all, much like your best friend, he knew how to make you happy. 

And to quote Lauv “The story never ends”

Coming Soon

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[saintobio]

⊹★⋆ two wheels and a hot guy.

pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader tags. 1k wc, biker boy x biker girl au, non-sorcerer au, crack, fluff, dirty jokes (?), satoru rides an s1k, biker!sukuna mentions, same au as my other fic. sparked by a random idea bcos why haven't we thought abt biker!gojo honestly? he would be so funny on tiktok if he was a biker boy lmao

You’ve all heard about Biker!Sukuna. That famous biker boy on biketok who has tattoos and rides a blacked out Yamaha R1. 

But have you heard about Biker!Gojou? 

Well… For starters, Satoru Gojou wasn’t a seasoned biker. 

In fact, he was more of a poser than anything, but you’d never catch him admitting that. His prized BMW S1000RR, the crown jewel of superbikes, was more about image than skill. The sleek, aggressive lines of the machine, combined with the prestige of the BMW logo, were all he needed to keep up appearances on TikTok. And he learned that appearances were everything, especially when Sukuna, with his obnoxious face tattoos and natural charisma, hogged the limelight (especially from all the girls!) with every post, even with a girlfriend already in tow. The sheer audacity of that scum was enough to drive Satoru up the wall. Fine, he had to admit. He was jealous of Sukuna’s popularity and the fact that he snatched a cute booktok girlfriend as his backpack. 

Suguru, his best friend and fellow biker, didn’t let him forget it either. As they stood by their bikes outside Barnes & Noble to spot booktok girls, Suguru glanced at Satoru’s liter bike and smirked. 

“Pretentious motherfucker,” he muttered, slinging a leg over his Yamaha MT-10, the less flashy but undeniably badass naked bike. Unlike Gojou, Suguru didn’t care about clout. The MT-10 was all about raw power and agility, the kind of bike a real rider appreciated. “You only got that thing because it’s a BMW. You gonna actually ride it for real one of these days?”

“Shut up.” Satoru rolled his eyes, adjusting his white Alpinestars riding gloves while holding his phone up to go live on TikTok. Starting with a 1000cc as a beginner bike wasn’t a very wise choice, but still... “People love the S1K, you know that.”

And let me tell you about Satoru’s favorite time of the day (or night). It was whenever he would go live, and the comments would pour in as soon as his stream started. That was when he could lavish in his social media presence the most.

user19463: Bro, when are you gonna show us some actual riding content?

anon875biker: All that thirst trapping. Bet you don’t even take that thing out of the garage. 

harleysRbetter: U punks R ruining the riding community! 

Gojou grinned at the screen, winking at both his followers and haters. “Alright, boomers, calm down. I’ll post some riding content soon. Don’t cry too much before then, yeah?”

r1.skn: Sir, can you do wheelies? 

Suguru found that comment hilarious, recognizing the username and knowing exactly who it belonged to—Sukuna. But Satoru’s competitive nature kicked in instantly while he continued to scroll through the comments. “Yeah, I can do wheelies. Ignore Sukuna, guys. Focus on me!”

msbikerluvr: Still looking for a backpack, Gojou? Lmao.

“About the backpack… you know, I’m just waiting for the right one. Applications are still open—” He was about to launch into another witty retort when a sound cut through the chatter of his stream—it was a deep, throaty rev that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Satoru’s head immediately whipped to the direction of the sound, just in time to see a flash of race blue zipping down the street.

There you were, riding a Yamaha R7, your black Dainese jacket hugging your curves as you leaned into the wind. The way you handled the bike, so smooth and confident, it was as if the motorcycle was an extension of you. 

“Damn, she’s hot.” Without a second thought, Satoru ended the live stream abruptly, “Gotta go, guys. Someone just stole my heart,” and pocketed his phone.

“Did you seriously just—” Suguru started, but Satoru was already mounting his S1000RR.

“Catch you later, Suguru!” he called, gunning the engine without even looking at his best friend. Soon enough, the 1000cc bike roared to life when he shifted into first gear, and he sped off in pursuit of the blue R7.

He caught sight of you at the next red light, the signal holding you in place just long enough for him to catch up. Thank God there was no sign of a biker boyfriend around when he pulled up alongside you, visor down, adrenaline still kicking him alive. He tried to get your attention by revving his S1K, and you turned your head slightly, barely acknowledging him as you pulled your visor up and revealed the prettiest eyes Gojou had ever seen. 

Satoru flipped up his visor too, then flashed his most charming grin. “Hey there,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth and casual. Like it was a normal encounter. “You’re fast. I like that.”

You may have rolled your eyes, but he could tell you were smirking underneath the balaclava as you talked through the Cardo intercom linked to your AGV K1s. “And you’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.”

Oooh, she’s spicy. He laughed at the silly thought in his head, unbothered by your dismissal. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to get to know the girl who stole my heart in the middle of a live stream.”

“Your heart, huh?” you teased, revving her engine just slightly. “Sounds like you’re more interested in what’s under my jacket.”

“Now that’s a baseless accusation,” he retorted, leaning in slightly. “I don’t do anything on the first night, you know. I usually wait until the second, after a nice dinner. I’m a gentleman like that.”

His remark made you snort, shaking your head at his boldness. “You’re a ridiculous guy.”

“But I’m also serious,” he added, his voice sincere despite the playful glint in his eyes. “Let me take you out, just dinner. No strings, no funny business—unless you’re into that kind of thing. I don’t mind that, either.”

Your laughter sounded like a sweet melody to his ears. “You’ve got guts, mister. I’ll give you that.” Has anyone told you how hot you looked while leaning into your bike? Damn. Satoru was distracted, checking you out for a moment until you spoke again, “Fine. One dinner. But don’t think you’re getting into my pants just because you ride a fancy bike.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, grinning from ear to ear.

The light turned green, and without another word, you revved your engine and took off with Satoru right on your tail. The chase was on, but this time, it wasn’t just about the thrill of the ride. 

For Satoru Gojou, it was about something far more exhilarating—winning the attention of the most intriguing biker girl he’d ever met. 

And perhaps, the biker boyfriend and backpack girlfriend content he’d been hoping to post on Tiktok may slightly change into a different direction than he expected. 

[inksreid]

Cornelia street • S. Reid

SUMMARY: you been wanting to take Spencer shopping in out to eat like a date , for awhile but the thing is you have a crush on him and not sure how he will react , you want to ask for advice but your afraid Derek will tease you so you go to the girls and Derek gets his feelings hurt because you didn’t trust him with the advice…

Pairing : shy/Fem!reader X Shy Awkward Spencer Reid 

Tags : Reader , asks for advice to ask out Spencer , Spencer likes reader but didn’t know reader liked him , fluff they go shopping together no use of your name .. pure fluff except were Derek gets his feelings hurt ..

W/c: 1.9K

A/notes : I took the plunge , making this my first attempt to write fic for Spencer Reid .. I hope you like it I’m scared if I missed anything please be kind to let me know .

@dearlenore thank you for letting me use your format forgetting started .. thank you for the follow back as well 😢💕.

It was warm but cloudy, the kind of day that felt like it could rain at any moment. The bullpen was quieter than usual—just the hum of computers, the occasional clatter of the ice machine in the break room. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something familiar. Spencer’s cologne. Subtle but distinct. You noticed it the second you walked in.

Your eyes found him instantly, sitting at his desk, completely lost in his book. His fingers traced the edge of the pages, his lips moving slightly as he read. Focused. Unaware of the way your stomach twisted just looking at him.

JJ and Emily stood in the corner talking, while Derek walked by, flashing a smirk. You barely had time to react before he stopped right in front of you.

“What’s up, love?”

You stiffened. “Nothing,” you said quickly. “I’ll ask JJ.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “No, you can ask me.” He threw an arm around your shoulders before you shoved it off.

“Actually, no—I can’t. You’ll tease me, and I can’t take that right now. I just need a girl’s advice, sorry, Derek.”

Derek scoffed, holding his hands up. “Alright, alright.”

You turned away, heading straight for JJ and Emily.

“Hey, can I ask you guys something?”

Emily glanced up. “Sure, what’s up?”

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder before lowering your voice. “I wanna take… um, Spencer out,” you admitted. “Like shopping. Maybe grab something to eat. But I don’t know how to ask him.”

Before either of them could answer, a voice cut in.

“This is what you needed help with?”

Your stomach dropped.

Derek stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head.

“I could’ve helped with that without teasing you,” he said, almost offended. “If that’s what you were worried about, all you had to do was ask.”

You opened your mouth, but he just sighed and walked away.

JJ nudged you. “I think someone’s feelings are hurt.”

Your chest tightened. “I’ll be right back.”

You found Derek in the break room, stirring his coffee a little too hard.

“It’s not like you to get upset,” you said.

“I’m not upset,” he muttered. “It’s just—he’s my best friend. And I thought we were friends too. If you needed something from me without the teasing, you could’ve just said so.”

Your shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. Just then

“I really like him,” Derek , in I just didn’t want you to tease me about it .

Just as you said that , “Spencer walked in”..

Spencer froze mid-step, his hands in his pockets.

“Who do you like?” he asked. “Do I know him?”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Great You murmured to yourself, That’s the second time today someone’s overheard me say something today.”

Spencer stepped back immediately. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t, pretty boy.” Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She needs to talk to you.”

Spencer glance at you, eyes filled with curiosity—and something else.

Nervousness.

“ you glared back at Derek..” — it’s okay you thought to yourself you can do this …

Your breath hitched. “Spence, I was wondering… would you want to, um, go shopping? And maybe grab something to eat after?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “It’s… me? You like?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “I was scared to tell you. Maybe just nervous,” you admitted. “I was gonna ask JJ and Emily for advice, but then Derek caught me . He wanted to help, but I thought he’d tease me, and… well, now we’re here.”

You exhaled sharply. “I get it if you don’t want to, Spence—”

“If I don’t want to?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the words.

You could see it then—he was just as nervous as you were. His fingers twitched slightly, his lips parted like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“So… you like me?” he asked, careful, hesitant.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. But it’s not a big deal,” you mumbled.

Spencer stared at you. “Not a big deal? You were literally trying to get advice on how to ask me out,” he pointed out. “How is that not a big deal?”

You hesitated, turning toward the counter, needing something—anything—to do with your hands. “I don’t know, I’m just… not good at these types of things.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment before he admitted, softly, “I’m not either.”

You looked at him.

He gave a small, nervous smile. “I… I didn’t even know you liked me back.”

His voice was gentle, like he was still trying to believe it.

Spencer shifted on his feet, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He hesitated for a moment, then took a breath, meeting your eyes with that soft, unsure look that made your stomach flip.

“Let’s do it,” he said, his voice careful but certain. “Let’s go shopping—whatever you had in mind, I’m in.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Really?”

His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I like you too.” His voice dipped slightly, more unsure now. “And I want to do this.”

You felt like you forgot how to breathe for a second. All the nerves, all the overthinking—it all seemed so ridiculous now. He was just as uncertain, just as hesitant, but he was still standing there, choosing this. Choosing you.

A slow smile crept onto your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “Then let’s do this.”

Spencer gently took your hand, his touch hesitant but warm. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at you.

“Now?” you said, caught a little off guard.

He nodded. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Okay then,” he said, offering a small smile as he guided you out of the break room, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

As the two of you stepped into the bullpen, you hesitated. “Spence… what if—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured you softly. “It’s just our first date.”

Your heart stuttered at the word date, but before you could overthink it, Spencer glanced toward JJ and Emily. They were already watching, grinning as if they had known this was coming all along.

Just as you reached the exit, Hotch stopped the two of you. He barely lifted his gaze from his paperwork, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Have fun, you two.”

You and Spencer exchanged a quick, nervous glance before smiling. Then, without another word, you walked out together.

“Do you wanna walk?” Spencer asked, glancing at you. “Or ride?”

“Walk,” you said without hesitation, smiling. “We’re so close to everything, and it’s, um—” You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “Never mind.”

Spencer looked at you curiously. “More peaceful?”

You nudged him lightly, rolling your eyes. “You’re the genius. What do you think I meant?”

A small chuckle escaped him, his smile soft but genuine. “I think I get it,” he said, glancing down for a second before looking back at you. The warmth in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

The first place you stopped was a little bookstore with a small café tucked inside. The scent of coffee and old paper filled the air, making the place feel cozy and warm.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing Spencer’s hand and pulling him inside.

He let out a small, breathy laugh, his lips curling into a smile—of course, he didn’t mind.

You spent the next couple of hours wandering through the shelves, flipping through pages, and sharing quiet comments about different books. Eventually, you convinced Spencer to pick out one of his favorites and read a few pages to you.

His voice was soft but steady, each word carrying a certain rhythm as he got lost in the story.

You couldn’t help but smile as you listened, watching the way his eyes lit up.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, a knowing look in his gaze as he closed the book for a moment.

“I am,” you admitted, still smiling.

“Let’s go,” you said, giving his pant leg a gentle tug to get his attention.

Spencer looked up from the book, blinking. “Where to?”

“No clue,” you grinned. “But that’s the best part. Come on.”

He hesitated for a second before placing the book back on the shelf, his fingers lingering on the spine as if saying a silent goodbye. Then, with a small nod, he followed you out of the store.

Back on the street, the air was crisp, the faint hum of the city surrounding you both.

“The mall is just around the corner,” Spencer offered, glancing at you.

You smiled, leaning against his shoulder for a brief moment. “Okay,” you said. “Let’s go.”

You spent a few hours wandering through the mall, picking up a few things along the way. Spencer did too, though he was more subtle about it. At some point, he had slipped away for a moment, just long enough to buy you something—a delicate bracelet that caught his eye. He tucked the small bag carefully inside his coat pocket, deciding to wait until the end of the date to give it to you.

"Spence," you said softly, glancing up at him as you walked. "I’m having the best time."

His lips curved into a small smile. "Me too."

"Wanna grab some food?" you asked, nodding toward the food court.

Spencer nodded. "Let’s get some sandwiches or something."

You agreed, and soon the two of you were sitting across from each other, the hum of mall chatter in the background as you unwrapped your food.

"This has been a really good first date so far," you said, smiling at him between bites.

Spencer swallowed, then tilted his head slightly. "What’s your favorite color?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "My favorite color? Umm…" You thought for a moment. "Light orange and bright pink mixed together."

"Like a sunset," he added.

"Right," you said, a little surprised.

"What about you?" you asked, taking a sip of your pink lemonade.

Spencer hesitated for a second before shrugging. "I don’t really have one… but if I had to choose, light blue."

You nodded, then paused, watching him. "Wait—" You blinked. "The color of my eyes?"

His gaze met yours, warm and honest. "Exactly," he admitted.

Your heart skipped a beat.

As you finished eating, you both stood up. Spencer grabbed your tray, dumping it before you could, while you gathered the shopping bags.

“Night person or day person?” he asked as you stepped away from the food court.

“To be honest?” You glanced at him. “Night person.”

He nodded. “Most days, I’m a night person too.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re just saying what I wanna hear, Spencer Reid.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shifting beside you. “I mean, I do like my mornings… but I love nights.”

“Fair,” you said with a small smile.

There was a brief pause before Spencer cleared his throat, his voice quieter this time. “Are you… a cuddle person?”

You felt your face warm at the question. You glanced down, suddenly aware of the slight chill in the air. Before you could answer, Spencer was already slipping off his jacket, gently draping it over your shoulders.

“I do like to cuddle,” you whispered, pulling the jacket around you. “But, umm…”

Spencer smiled softly, watching you with that awkward yet endearing nervousness of his. “Good to know,” he murmured.

You finally made your way back to the BAU. It was late, the bullpen quieter than usual, only a few desks still occupied.

“I had a great time today, Spence,” you said, turning to face him. “Honestly, hands down the best date I’ve been on in a really long time. And with a guy who actually listens… who actually enjoys my company.”

Spencer’s gaze softened. “I’ll always enjoy your company.”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag that had been tucked away the entire day.

“What is it, Spence?” you asked, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

“Open it.”

You did, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal a delicate bracelet, silver with tiny, sparkling bow charms. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“Spence… you didn’t have to spend money on me,” you said, looking up at him. “Just spending time with you was enough. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I wanted to do this for you,” he said simply. “May I?”

You nodded, holding out your wrist as he carefully clasped the bracelet around it. You tried not to let the emotion welling in your chest spill over, but your eyes burned anyway.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Spencer gave you a small, nervous smile. “You’re welcome.”

"Spence," you started, shifting on your feet. Your fingers played with the edge of your sleeve as you glanced up at him. "I was wondering… is it okay if I, umm… can I hug you?"

His lips parted slightly, almost like he hadn't expected the question. But then, that shy, endearing smile of his appeared.

"Of course," he said softly.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. Spencer hesitated for just a second before he hugged you back, his arms gentle but firm around you. He smelled like old books and coffee, the faintest trace of his cologne still lingering from earlier in the day.

You exhaled, melting into the warmth of him.

He didn’t say anything—he just held you, and somehow, that was enough.

[cheynovak]

Just what I needed

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N has a bad moment after a hunt. She text Dean for comfort.

Warnings: None.

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

Y/N stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over the "Send" button. She knew she probably shouldn't, but the weight on her chest was suffocating. Before she could talk herself out of it, she hit send.

Y/N: *I could really use a hug right now.*

Her stomach immediately twisted with regret. What was she doing? She never did this—never let her walls down. And she definitely didn’t go running to Dean Winchester for comfort. She was tougher than that. At least, she tried to be.

A few moments passed before her phone buzzed with a reply.

Dean: *You okay?*

Her heart skipped a beat. Of course, he would be concerned. She never asked for help, never showed weakness. She started typing, trying to downplay the situation.

Y/N: *Yeah, I’m fine. Forget it. Long day, that’s all.*

She bit her lip, knowing Dean wouldn’t just forget it. He was Dean, after all.

Dean: *Don’t lie to me. What’s going on? You never ask for stuff like this.*

Her fingers hovered over the screen again. Damn it. Why did he have to see through her so easily?

Y/N: *Seriously, Dean, it’s no big deal. Just tired from the hunt. I’ll be fine. Really.*

Dean: *Be there in 10.*

Her eyes widened. Panic surged through her.

Y/N: *No, Dean, I’m fine! You don’t need to come over. I overreacted. *

But it was too late. She knew it. When Dean made up his mind, there was no stopping him.

Ten minutes later, she heard the rumbling sound of baby followed by a loud knock at the door, and the unmistakable sound of it swinging open with force.

"Y/N?" Dean called out, his voice filled with concern.

Before she could even think, she was moving—running to him. The moment she saw him standing in the doorway, her resolve crumbled. Without a word, she threw her arms around him, clinging to him as though he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Dean’s arms wrapped around her instantly, holding her tight. "Hey, I got you, sweetheart." he murmured into her hair, his voice soft, soothing. "It’s okay. I’m here."

Her face buried into his chest, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N let herself break. The tears she had been holding back for what felt like forever finally spilled over, soaking into Dean's flannel.

Dean just held her, one hand rubbing small circles on her back, the other resting securely around her shoulders. "You don’t always have to be strong, you know," he whispered. "It’s okay to let it out."

She shook her head against his chest, sniffling. "I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make you come all the way here. I just... I don’t know what I was thinking."

"Don’t apologize," Dean said firmly, leaning back just enough to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "You had a crappy hunt. You needed a friend. You called me. That’s what I’m here for. You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N."

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. But as she stood there, wrapped in Dean’s warmth, she realized maybe—just maybe—she didn’t always have to be strong. At least, not when she had him.

And for now, that was enough.

--

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[obsessednothing]

Her

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: being stood up by your fiancé a week before the wedding is something woman doesn’t want to go through in her life, ever

Warnings: nothing special maybe heartbreak, break up, curse words, cheating, no use of Y/N, one use of L/N

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: I really love Sex and the City movies, so this is basically inspired by the events from the first movie. My English is sometimes hot or not, so I’m sorry for any mistakes! Please don’t use my writing without my consent, also I don’t own any of the pictures! Enjoy.

“There’s no possible cancellation, miss. You need to come to the honeymoon vacation or it’ll expire.”

Yes, the word honeymoon. Woman without a man. The man who stood her up week before their wedding. It was all perfect, everything about their love. And yet, here she stood, single, heartbroken and humiliated in front of the suite for newlyweds that carried their names Mr. and Mrs. Russell. Out of all the girls from the grid family, Kelly was the one to be there for her. She packed her up and got her on this vacation, because she already payed a lot for this to be a surprise for George. One that he’d never forget, one with which she’d shown him how she loved him.

For two days straight she only slept. Kelly fed her a little with some fruits and yogurt from breakfast. It was painful to watch her close friend to suffer like this. She looked pale, her face puffy from all the crying, and her gaze was dull.

As the night fell on the resort in Mexico, Kelly picked up her phone, Max was FaceTiming her.

“Hey, babe. How is it going?” He asked with frown.

“Hey, love… please, promise me, that if you ever want to break up with me, don’t you dare to propose to me before that.” Kelly said in sadness.

“How is she?”

“It’s bad. She’s sleeping for second day already. You should see her face when she saw the name tags on the door… it was like a punch in the gut.”

“I’m really glad, that you’re there with her, Kells. She deserves the best. I must’ve restrain myself very hard to not punch George when I saw him at the paddock today.”

“Wait, what? He’s back at racing? I thought that he was supposed to get a break from all that stuff, like he said to her.”

“Don’t say it to her, but… There’s this woman with him here, like a shiny bracelet on him. Lando nearly threw up from the sight of them and everybody here is giving him a silent treatment.”

“Holy shit… this is a nightmare.”

“Yeah… keep her away from socials, she doesn’t need more heartbreak than she already received.”

“No probs, babe. I’ll keep her occupied and her phone is with me anyway and it’s turned off.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you posted. Take care, love you.”

———

Fourth day into vacation she got up from bed, surprising Kelly at the terrace for breakfast.

“Hi, K.” She said, her voice raspy from all the sleep.

“Ah, the sleeping beauty. How are you today, darling?” Kelly hugged her instantly.

“It’s strange, but good. I think the most of the hurt is gone. I know it’s not that simple, but today is good and I’m gonna enjoy it.” She softly smiled but her eyes spoke another story. Kelly gave her a sympathetic look as they talked through the breakfast.

“Max is wishing you well. He’s so worried about you.” Kelly said sipping on her coffee.

“Aw, thanks. He’s a good man, Kelly.” She smiled kindly with little sigh.

“Hey, don’t let your mood flatten, we’re here to have a good time, you’ve worked hard for this. So, we’re gonna make the most of it.” Kelly said with amused smile.

And they did. Girls nights, partying a little, spending afternoons at the pool and beach, some trips around the resort too. Two weeks went by like a click, when they stood at the airport waiting for Max’s private jet.

It was also first time after that weeks of freedom when Kelly gave her her phone back.

“It’s time to go back to reality and I know it’s gonna be hard, but we’re gonna do this. Don’t get those things get to your head. You’re you and you’re the most amazing human in this world.” Kelly reassured her.

She turned on the phone with her stomach churning. Millions of notifications of messages, emails and tags. In the tons of photos at the socials she noticed that one photo, that George posted. She felt like she’s gonna throw up. All the sickness was back, the pain in her chest too.

“Mi amore. Love you to the moon and back.”

George and his new girlfriend. She was so pretty, like a doll. And god, how he was glowing.

As they boarded the plane, Kelly noticed the turn in the her mood as she slipped her phone to her bag.

“I guess you found out, don’t you?” Kelly asked with frown.

“Y-yeah. I don’t know what to say, it’s driving me insane. And he’s back at racing, he just… he’s a fucking liar.” She was at the rage stage.

“It’s gonna be okay. We‘ll manage.”

———

And it was true. Kelly managed to get a people to pack her things out of their shared apartment with George, the first day they went on that vacation. She didn’t want to stay in Monaco, she wanted to go back home to London, where her flat was for rent. She was lucky that it was free in the moment.

Getting from the Heathrow airport was like a blur, feeling all the nostalgia from the surroundings and memories of her past life were everywhere. But it didn’t hurt as much as when she finally unlocked the door to her apartment, getting in the known scent and looking over the boxes there and there. All her life packed like it meant nothing. She was in no mood to start unpacking, because she was afraid to untangle the suppressed emotions. It was a job for her in the next months.

———

It was like six months after the called off wedding. She shut down her socials, getting herself a fresh start with private profiles with a few people following on them. Her main public profile was still up, she didn’t post any new photos, the last post there was a photo of her tasting the sweet cake for wedding with caption wedding vibes #therussells.

She turned her attention to the direction of self love, reconnecting with her old friends in London and little bit of vacations and mainly work. Her going to the Monaco was absolute no go, so when someone from her grid friends wanted to see her, they needed to visit. But they were more than glad. Nobody talked about George, it was her strict rule number one. She practically erased him from her life and mind.

Life just has a strange ways to make things a little crazy.

Sunny morning in London, she went to the café for her morning coffee. She liked to try new places. As she was on the phone working already, she ordered a waited for the cup of hot love.

George sat in the corner of this café, looking through the newspaper like a classic English gentleman. His life turned upside down for the last six months. He was now reminiscing all the things he had done and how he hurt people around him. Brushing another feeling of shame off of him, he looked up from newspaper and his eyes found her standing at the order counter. It was like some nasty dream, ripping his heart apart for another time. She stood there, talking over phone, smiling with her classy appearance. Thinking about the way he wanted to approach her, he tried not to look suspicious. He was the one, who made her life hell, betrayed her the worst.

She slid her phone to her purse, got her coffee and turned around to get out of the café, when she spotted George already staring at her. She was so taken aback by seeing him, that she bumped into the glass door. Hard. Feeling her head spinning and the blood running from her nose, coffee was everywhere on her skirt. People around her was at her immediately, helping her, but she was in some kind of trance.

“Excuse me, please. I need to get to her. Hey, are you okay?” George got through the crowd to her, his protective persona on, getting his white napkin to wipe her bloody nose.

“I-I’m not…” she said still in shock.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital, you may have broken nose.” George frowned in guilt because his presence caused this.

She only nodded, there was no place for denying it. George gave her reassuring squeeze to her shoulder and guided her to his car, which was parked outside on the street. Feeling his hand on her back and on her arm felt strange.

Ride to the hospital was quiet. She held the napkin at her nose, blood was slowly stopping pouring, and she was staring in front of herself, still processing what just happened. She felt her anger rising in her, how dare he shows in her life now, when she’s been on the good way of healing her wounds.

“Why are you here?” She mumbled slightly wincing in pain.

“There’s race in Silverstone this weekend.” He said taking the last turn to parking lot at the hospital. As he stopped the car, she put all her strength to get out from the car without his help.

“You can go, I’m gonna take care of myself.” She took quick steps towards the hospital.

“Wait! I’m not gonna let you handle this alone. I caused this, so let me take care of it.” He ran after her, softly grabbing her arm.

“At least please just don’t touch me, George.” She got out of his grasp still walking.

They were waiting for doctor to see her, while George wrote down the application for her. He stopped at the column about family status. Flagging it as married, he hoped that he would get access to information about her condition. She just signed it off not caring about anything. Her phone rang, it was Kelly. Oh god, they were supposed to meet today.

“Hi, Kells. I really can’t talk right now.” She tried to talk coherently but her lips started to get swollen from the crashing to the door.

“You sound weird, are you okay?” Kelly asked in concern.

“Yeah, I just bumped into the door at the café, hard, that I might have broken nose. I’m currently at the hospital.” She sniffled a little blood.

“What?! I’m getting there, we’re already in London!”

“No, no! Actually I’m not here alone.” She looked up at George.

“You’re full of surprises, girl. Is that the new man, you’re seeing?”

“No, it’s not him. It’s George.”

George was listening to her conversation and pinpointed the word him. Is she seeing someone new? Is she in love with him?

“Holy shit, what the fuck?!”

“Calm down, K. I can’t talk right now, all you need to know, that I’m okay. I’m gonna text you, bye.”

She sighed putting her phone to her purse.

The awkward silence between them lasted for a while.

“Is there- are you-“ he started to ask but it came out as a blurt.

“I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you want to ask. I’m just tired of questions if I’m still single, so I said to my friends that I’m working on my dating life. So no. I can’t love anyone after what you’ve done to me and you have this sick luck of hurting me still.” She said with sad sigh.

“I’m sorry.” He said plainly.

That was words she wanted to hear from him all this time. She met his gaze full of guilt.

“I’m so so sorry. I was just stupid and foolish, I really didn’t care about things I had around me, in my life. I was so ungrateful. And I hurt the most precious thing in my life. You. No words can mend the wounds I caused. I just want to make it up to you, so bad.” His eyes was glistening with tears as he talked sincerely.

She processed all the words he just said. Her heart broke again, but now for him. For the way how he talked, how he was honest. After that months of silence between them and his lies from the last conversation they had together.

“I forgave you. A while ago. I just didn’t understand those lies you told me. About you taking a break from everything we shared together, that it drowned you. And then I saw that post on the socials, you back at track with her.”

George felt pang in his chest, he was deeply ashamed of his actions. Before he could say anything else, nurse peeked from the doctors office calling her inside. She stood up and George assisted her.

“You’re her husband right? You can come inside too.” Nurse politely smiled.

She wanted to protest but George interrupted her. “Yeah, I am. Thank you.”

After getting some scans and check up, doctor said, that she doesn’t have broken nose, just little bruised and that in few days the swelling would be gone same as bleeding.

George took her to her apartment, helping her with everything she needed. Sitting on the couch with cup of coffee in her hands, he was in process of putting the cream on the bruise on her nose. She sat still her eyes closed. He took in her features, how she was still herself. The same woman he loved, and still loves.

“You’re supposed to be with her, not with your ex fiancée.” She said while opening her eyes to look at him.

“I’m not with her for some time now. As much as it was mesmerising, it wasn’t it. I had time to think about my mistakes. I was the number one asshole.”

“You were, that’s for sure. I was so mad at you, angry and pissed off. You just threw our lives we built together out of the window. We could’ve talk about that, I would understand anything. But not that huge heartbreak you put me through. I had a surprise honeymoon booked for you. And I went on it with Kelly, because it cost really so much money…” her eyes were filled with tears as she relived the memories of pain.

George looked down in shame, he was pained by his actions towards her. She truly loved him, deeply, she was always so caring and he was… him.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve talk to you more, not just tear you from me and destroy our life.”

Their conversation was interrupted by doorbell.

“That’s most likely Kelly and Max.” Grace said. George retreated from her as she stood up to get to the door. As she opened, Kelly hugged her immediately and Max looked through the space for George with mad look.

“How are you, love?” Kelly looked at her nose with frown.

“I’m good, Kells, really. George took care of me.” She softly smiled.

“Really? No doubt that he did.” Max looked with narrowed look at George, who stood in the doorframe to living room.

“I’m on my way out, I see that she’s in good hands.” George said plainly.

“In the best hands.” Kelly said with not amused look.

She sighed tired from all the tension.

“Take care.” George kissed her forehead lightly as he brushed off around them.

All three of them were looking at his figure until he disappeared in the elevator.

“How- what the actual fuck?” Kelly asked looking at her flushed face.

“Kells, please.” Max groaned at the word fuck.

She took them inside as she prepared some coffee for them.

“How was your flight?” She asked casually.

The duo looked at her in disbelief. “You just had your ex in your home and you’re asking us about flight?”

“Yeah and yeah?”

“Tell us everything!”

She sat in front of them in the armchair. “I was at the café this morning, you know, I like to try new places and he just happened to be there. I spotted him and I was so in shock, that I crashed to the glass door. He got me to the hospital, took care of everything. And he apologised for everything he put me through. He said that he was number one asshole.”

Max snorted as Kelly looked over him with stern look.

“And then you came and that’s it.”

“He kissed you. You’re okay with that?” Kelly asked sipping on her coffee.

“Why not?”

“Because he practically left you at the altar?”

“Oh that. I nearly forgot about that.” She gave her an sarcastic smile.

“You’re falling for his lies again.”

“No, I’m not. We just talked, he was nice. I deserved to know, what was on his mind and behind his actions. I can move on now.”

“Can you?”

The question was hanging in the space. She was sure, to this day, that she wouldn’t even lay her eyes on him. But it was all nice and she felt loved again. All the wrong things.

“Can you?” Kelly asked again.

“Fine! I don’t know!” She rolled her eyes.

“You’re unbelievable. He broke your heart, you were a mess. And now he’s messing with you again.”

“I know, I know all that. And I’m grateful for the care you have for me. But… it’s complicated.”

“It’s not. You love him.” Max interrupted them. Kelly gave him another look of disbelief.

“I’m not sure, I don’t know. I’m not ready for anything but it feels so close to home.”

“Jeez… just be careful. Anyway, it’s perfect timing really, because we wanted to get you to spent a weekend at Silverstone with us.” Kelly said with sour face, now her idea sounding not so perfect.

“I need to think about it. And I don’t know how this thing will turn out to appear.” She pointed to her bruised nose.

“You know the power of makeup, dear.” Kelly rolled her eyes.

“As much as I like you here with me I need some space right now.” She said with sigh.

“Just think about it and give me a call and we’ll manage it. You could use some fun around old friends.” Kelly said while she hugged her.

Max gave her reassuring smile as they walked into the elevator.

———

She took a shower as she thought about George. How his fingertips felt against her skin, his scent calming her down, how he looked at her with care and love, he was completely different. He looked like he was ready to die for her.

Then there was the other side. How she felt humiliated when he left her at the restaurant in Monaco with smile, ready for his new life.

How the ring on her left hand was somehow heavy.

Thoughts there and there, she needed to be honest with herself.

She loved him. Still. And truly. Even after all of this.

As she laid in bed scrolling through her phone, she got a call from unknown number.

“I have a package for you, is this Ms. L/N ?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

She went down to receive the mystery package. Back at the apartment, she opened it. There was VIP and paddock pass with her name, also she spotted a sticky note with handwriting.

“Just in case you want to have fun on the weekend. GR”

Her heart skipped a beat as she read those words. Snapping a photo of it she sent it to Kelly with comment I think the plans are clear for the weekend. Kelly answered with crazy emojis and comment I can’t wait.

She decided not to tell George that she’s actually coming, because he deserved a little silent treatment. He’s gonna need to win her heart back.

As the Saturday approached, she was already on her way to the paddock gates. The first she spotted her was Lando.

“Oh my god! Am I dreaming?” He nearly shouted as he hugged her tight.

She giggled happily. “No, this is real.”

Greeting with others went well as she arrived at the Mercedes hospitality, her stomach churning and turning in nervous way, reliving all the memories she had there. She got to chat with some people, which were surprised that she’s there. Nobody had the courage to ask her, why she’s there and she was glad.

Grabbing some coffee she stood outside on the little terrace looking at the Silverstone track. It was like coming back to home.

“You came.” The voice said behind her causing her to turn around. There stood George, wearing his Mercedes shirt and white pants along with kind smile.

“I thought that you not being sure if I’d come, would be a good treatment for you.” She sipped her coffee with a little smile.

“I absolutely deserve that.” He said coming to her side.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. Kelly and Max were there for me for all that shit you put me through. They’re worried.”

“I understand that. They’re really good friends. I’m grateful that they helped you through tough times.”

“I thought I’d never see this again.” She looked over the track.

“I thought I’d never see you here again.”

“I don’t want to poke in that hurtful things from past anymore. If anything, I want things from fresh start.”

“Again, I’m sorry. And I understand.”

“You know, it’s not like winning race to win my heart.”

“I’d likely do both.”

“We’ll see.”

She chuckled as she was enjoying messing with him.

“Good luck.” She smiled softly giving his arm a little squeeze as she walked out to find Kelly.

———

George got the pole position and she couldn’t be more proud. She fought that huge smile on her face as she noticed, how Kelly was watching her. Max took a second place.

She leaned against the frame of the entrance to the Mercedes garage, where George celebrated with everybody around him. Then he noticed her standing there and smiling proudly. Immediately he walked towards her getting her into his tight embrace while she giggled.

“You’re incredible, George.” She said laughing.

“You’re my lucky charm.” He said as he placed kiss to her hair. His embrace was warm and soft. All she missed that long.

“Please, just don’t let me go.” She whispered to his chest.

“I’m not gonna make that mistake ever again.”

[rapunzelbro]

Imagine Angel Dust and reader being handcuffed as a “trust bonding” exercise or something that Charlie came up with but the key gets lost somewhere and Angel and reader end up being stuck handcuffed together all day? Reader is not amused and embarrassed cause Angel is a flirty little shit and will not stop messing with them?😂❤️

Imagine Being Handcuffed to Angel Dust

Okay so to the person who requested this. I am so sorry for the long ass wait. I have been on major writers block for this idea ngl. But hey enjoy if you’re still around haha.

Masterlist Taglist

When Charlie was figuring out ideas to bring the hotel together you didn’t expect the fucking situation you ended up in

For context. You were never quite fond of Angels personality, his jokes and comments would 100% make you flustered and borderline uncomfortable

Everyone knew that you two definitely had issues that needed to be solved because you two were polar opposites

“And then I put it in his ass and the camera got~”

“Nope Nope Nope Nope Nope bye”

Yeah that often happened

“Guys! We are having a trust bonding exercise that you can’t say no to”

The fuck does Charlie even mean?

Yeah it didn’t take long to figure that out when Angel runs his ass over and closes the other half of the handcuff to your hand wrapping himself around you instantly

“Hiya bitch~”

“What. The. Fuck. CHARLIE WHAT THE FUCK”

I think that’s the first time they have ever heard you swear

Her laughing awkwardly rambling why it would be a good idea while trying desperately to find the key because of how pissed you were

Yeah she lost it

Alastor is amused as hell about the entire thing watching as you’re fuming he totally was the one to hide that key

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist we are going to have so much fun together!”

Oh no you’re not

He is a very touchy feely person and you’re 100% not

He forgets your handcuffed and will zoom somewhere and you have to catch up with his ass.

Will beg to do your makeup and you legit give up after him asking nonstop

Legit nonstop he would ask every 10 minutes

It honestly takes a while to get used to him

When you do you start realizing the person he really is behind the jokes

Especially when he got a call from Valentino and you couldn’t exactly leave you room

You just listening in silence the whole time as he is being screamed at

“Val.. no no I promise I’ll… I’ll.. Yes Valentino”

The way he gave up so quickly instantly just broke you

“Angel, are you okay?”

Angel wouldn’t respond to you for a while, just sitting on his bed as you interlock your handcuffed hands together, you two don’t talk but it’s known that he appreciates the gesture considering he didn’t try to yank his way out

After a while he would come clean and tell you what happened, what he goes through

And my god did you mistake him so badly. You apologize nonstop and he just says to not worry about it

You two end up watching a movie or something before Charlie comes with the key that ‘Mysteriously’ disappeared

She’s happy you two got along

Even if she doesn’t know what happened

Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @juskonutoh @screechingxiaosimp @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15

[slowdrawl]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 3: Miller Lite | wordcount | 3.4k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!} series chapters: one. two.

| a/n| Hey y’all—Chapter 3’s where Bird really starts stirring the pot, and Joel’s already regretting his life choices. This one’s got bar fights, drunk texts, and that dbf!Joel tension we’re all here for. Thanks for sticking with me. hope you enjoy the mess! Let me know what you think, and buckle up for where this shitshow’s headed. xoxo “Before long, you find yourself back in the center of it. The band plays something jazzy, a sensual-sounding R&B track that makes you forget the person grinding up against your ass is Tommy Miller. At this moment, you’d rather keep him on you than anywhere else in the bar starting a fight, so you let it happen. Joel reads your last message and, as he shifts the truck into drive and heads over to Sam’s, curses at himself when he feels his cock twitch.”

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, Alcohol consumption, drunken behavior, mild violence (brief altercation), sexual tension, suggestive dancing, age gap dynamics, strong language, reckless behavior. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

“Where are you headed off to looking like that?” your dad asks as you head toward the front door. He’s sprawled on the couch with Joel, both nursing beers, the TV droning some game. Joel’s eyes flick up from the screen, catching yours. Dark, quiet, like last night still lingers. “Lookin’ sharp, Bird,” he mutters, voice low, then looks away fast, like he’s scared to hold it. You’d kill for him to say more, not let you slip out that door, but you just turn around to face him and shrug your shoulders.

“Karlie and Mel asked if I wanted to go to the bar. I figure I can’t keep blowing them off to hang out on the couch with you two.” You gesture between him and Joel.

Your dad clutches his chest jokingly.

“Ouch, thanks, that hurt,” he says in a fake pained voice.

“Sorry, old man, I gotta get my fun in while I can, you know?” You laugh.

He nods his head and hums.

“Okay, well, just don’t stay out too late. If you need a ride home, text me, okay, Bird?”

“Yes, sir. I should be back before 2, but I’ll keep you posted. Love you!” you promise as you walk out the door, heels clacking on the hardwood.

The air is thick and warm outside, instantly making you feel sticky—the humidity in the south was something you hadn’t missed one bit while you were away at school. You spot Karlie in the passenger seat of a yellow taxi cab at the end of your driveway.

“Smart girl,” you whisper to yourself as you walk up to the car and hop in.

“Hey, baby! Where are we going tonight?” you ask.

“It’s a surprise!” Karlie replies, twisting her body in the seat to smirk back at you.

“Sam’s it is,” you nod and smile right back at her.

Sam’s Town Point isn’t the worst dive bar in town, but it certainly isn’t the nicest either. The owners hadn’t done a lick of renovations since the seventies, giving it an almost nostalgic, hanging-out-in-your-grandparents’-basement vibe that’s somehow endearing. The pros outweigh the cons for you—the food is alright, drinks are cheap, and they always have a band playing regardless of the day of the week. Sure, the decor is dated, it smells like stale cigarettes, and the health inspector probably gets paid to not shut the place down, but it’s better than any of the newer hipster joints in the city. Austin is filled with unnecessarily bougie speakeasies and clubs, always crawling with douchey university students and even douchier has-beens from your past.

You’d pick Sam’s over any of those joints any day, just to avoid getting hit on by some gym bro named Chad going to school for business with his daddy’s money, or some kid from biology class who’d drunkenly claim he always had a crush on you in school.

You stare out the window as you make the drive into the city, refamiliarizing yourself with home, taking notice of how much it had changed just in the last year alone.

You pull up to the bar, and Karlie hands the cabbie a few bills before jumping out of the front. She turns to the back of the cab and lets you out, grabbing your hand and pulling you in for a hug.

“I missed you so much, babe! Thanks for coming out with us tonight!” she chirps, her big blue eyes gleaming in the glow of the streetlamps above you.

“Mel’s already inside, let’s go!” Karlie locks her hands in yours and leads you up to the front door. Security checks your IDs, and you saunter in, doing a quick sweep to see if you recognize anyone inside. You let your shoulders relax after determining the coast is clear—no ex-flings or high school bullies in sight.

Thank you, God.

Looking around again, you see Mel sitting by the bar with a tall glass in her hand, something pink and filled to the brim with ice, condensation dripping off it. She sees you both come in and waves her hands excitedly, gesturing for you to come over.

You make your way to a table in the corner of the room with your own drink in hand, tucked away just enough that you can hear each other talk without yelling in each other’s ears. You sip your syrupy cocktails through thin black plastic straws, taking turns catching each other up on your lives, gossiping, and complaining about school and work. Karlie gloats about the new guy she’s been seeing—he actually sounds alright, which is shocking coming from her. She had never been lucky finding good guys. Every boy Karlie had dated in high school either cheated or ended up getting physical with her, both situations usually ending with her daddy showing up to the guy’s house and scaring them straight.

In the last semester of your junior year, she caught Jake Campbell making out with Sarah Stringer after a football game; she and Jake had been dating for around five months at the time. Karlie was so pissed she called her dad right then and there. Before Jake could even come up with an excuse, Mr. McKay’s truck was flying into the parking lot, and he had Jake by the collar with his tail between his legs. A crowd of probably thirty kids watched as Mr. McKay forced him to apologize to her in front of everyone, shaking like a leaf as he did it. A few days later, the school called the McKays’ place and politely told him he was never to step foot on school property until graduation day—a stipulation set by Jake’s parents in order for them not to press charges on him. Nobody dared to fuck with Karlie after that one.

You’re caught up in a story from Mel about her family’s trip to Montana earlier in the summer when someone comes up behind you and covers your eyes with their hands. Instinctively, you swing your elbow back and nail the person in the kidney, causing them to let go of your head and buckle over with a loud groan. You recognize who it is immediately and sigh, mentally preparing yourself for whatever shitshow interaction you’re about to have.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Miller?” you snarl, whipping your head behind you to glare up at him. “Are you trying to get your ass beat?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Birdy!” he scoffs back at you. He’s been like this since you met at 18. Tommy, was in his mid-30s then, smirking at a block party, tossing you a beer with a wink while Joel snapped, ‘She’s Kev’s kid, Tom and she ain’t old enough to drink.’ Tommy’s grin said he’d push Joel’s buttons anyway, and he hasn’t stopped.

A moment passes, and your adrenaline surge slows. You move over and slowly let him slide into the booth beside you. Karlie and Mel are looking at each other, snickering, shaking their heads at you both.

“You can’t just put your hands on people like that, Tommy. Feel my fucking heart right now! You scared the shit out of me!” You grab his hand and put it over your sternum, forcing him to feel the way your heart is basically pounding out of your chest.

“Sorry, kid, can’t say I’ve ever really been known to think before I act,” he moves his hand from your heart and slaps it down on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “How you been? Need another drink?”

“Yes, actually, you can go buy us a round for pulling that stunt,” you flick your wrist and gesture to the bar. “Go on, we can chat after.” You push him out of the booth with your hip and watch as he walks across the dancefloor and waves down a bartender.

Of course Tommy’s here—you don’t know why you’re so surprised to see him tonight. Tommy is Joel’s younger brother. Like Joel, he too is handsome, in a more boyish way despite only being five or so years younger than him. He has the same dark eyes and hair, less the grey that had started speckling at the temples of his brother. He’s shorter and smaller in build. The Millers were cut from the same cloth, but at the same time, they were so wildly different.

Joel is introverted, reserved, and quiet in comparison to Tommy, who is rowdy, in-your-face, and too loud for his own good. His mouth was always getting him into trouble—trouble that Joel had to constantly get him out of. In the few days that you’ve been home, you had already heard of two occasions when Joel had to pick him up from a bar after getting a bit too drunk and disorderly. The local police station probably has Joel’s number on speed dial and his credit card on file with how many times he’s bailed him out. Frustrating as he was, Tommy was a good man. He had always looked out for you, had your best interest in mind. Tommy was family, and even though he drove you crazy, you loved him dearly.

Tommy returns with a round of tequila shots. You all scrunch your noses as you choke down the drink and bite into limes. By 11:30, you lose count of how many drinks you’ve had, but dancing between Karlie and Tommy tells you it’s one too many.

Tommy hits on you all night—typical—and tonight, the alcohol nudges you to lean in. You ignore the rough denim and belt buckle scraping your cotton dress, now bunching closer to your thighs. His hands grip your hips, and his tequila-scented breath warms your neck when he whispers. Your phone pings. You stumble to the bar, buzzed, fumbling it out of your purse, ‘Mr. Miller’ glows (11:45 PM) Mr.Miller: being a good girl, Bird? Dad said ur at Sams Your gut flips, he’s texting after months of nothing, the last message was from New Years. You smirk, sloppy, texting back (11:48 PM) You: Ya, ud hate it here, toms gettin handsy.. Miss me? 😏 No reply comes, but that “good girl?” It sticks, hot, maddening, sending heat to settle between your legs. You’ll make him feel it. Back on the floor, Tommy’s closer, hands lower.

As the last band of the night sets up, Mel grabs your hand and leads you toward the exit for a cigarette. The air outside cools considerably—a welcome feeling—still damp, but nothing as bad as inside the bar. A group of boys who look like they just celebrated their 21st birthdays saunter up to you, both wearing blue jeans and cowboy hats, likely making a last stop at Sam’s from one of the country bars downtown.

They introduce themselves, and you chat for a while, dragging long and slow on your cigarette, catching the way the men watch your lips as you do it. Ben, who you’ve now learned is indeed 21 and studying engineering at UT Austin, asks you for a smoke, and you hand him your pack and a lighter. You hold in a giggle as you watch him light it up, then see his eyes start to well up, glistening in the moonlight, desperately holding in a cough. He takes a few more drags before his body betrays him and chokes the smoke out of his lungs.

You move in close to him, slowly reach your hand to his head, and turn it. You trail your hand down, grabbing the smoke from his lips as you whisper, “You don’t have to pretend to like it, baby, it’s okay.”

Ben’s face goes flush and then white all at once as Tommy sneaks up behind him and rips him away from you, holding him half an inch off the ground by the collar. Tommy pushes him backward before getting back in his face and yelling something you can’t quite understand. Your heart thumps loud in your ears, but behind it, you think you hear something along the lines of, “Get the fuck away from her, or I’ll beat your ass!”

You watch him spit in the boy’s direction as he runs back toward the bar, following his friend, tail between his legs, pale as a ghost.

You manage to convince Tommy that he did nothing wrong and it isn’t worth it to go back in there to fight the poor kid. You all have another smoke as Tommy cools down, glaring at you every once in a while, almost accusatory.

“Stop looking at me like I did something wrong, Tommy.”

“M’not,” he mumbles back to you, shaking his head at the ground and stomping out his cigarette.

The three of you walk back into the bar. You whisper to Mel to keep an eye on Tommy and head into the bathroom. You pull out your phone while in the stall and click through your contacts back to “Mr. Miller” You scroll up your text thread to a photo of you and Sarah last Christmas. You were both holding up your gingerbread houses, big smiles and smears of white frosting on your noses and cheeks. He had taken the photo and sent it to you. Your heart aches, you feel sick.

You change his name from “Mr. Miller” to “Joel 🤠” You text him impatiently while leaning on the bathroom counter. You want to get to your friends because you have a strong feeling that Tommy is already out there looking for a fight.

//

(12:14 AM) You: You should come get.ur brother before Sam comes here himself and does it.

(12:15 AM) You: Hellooooooooooooo

(12:16 AM) You: Are u allready asleep old man???

(12:17 AM) Joel🤠: Fuck sakes chill out. Gotta get dressed. I’ll be there in 10 (12:17 AM) Joel🤠: also, maybe You do a double take, just in case the booze is getting to your eyes. Nope. He said that, replying to the “you miss me?”

(12:17 AM) You: Thanx 4 the visual, see you soon,cowboy🤠 x (12:17 AM) You: also, lowk crazy to miss me when u saw me earlier 😜 (12:17 AM) You: i miss you You throw you phone into your bag and go back to the bar. Finding Tommy in the corner with Mel and Karlie, you invite him back onto the dance floor, knowing that’s the best way to get him to forget about Ben.

Before long, you find yourself back in the center of it. The band plays something jazzy, a sensual-sounding R&B track that makes you forget the person grinding up against your ass is Tommy Miller. At this moment, you’d rather keep him on you than anywhere else in the bar starting a fight, so you let it happen. //  

Joel reads your last message and, as he shifts the truck into drive and heads over to Sam’s, curses at himself when he feels his cock twitch. He pulls into the parking lot, littered with barely legal girls in daisy dukes and cowboy boots that look like they haven’t been broken in yet. The men standing with them all sport Stetsons they have no real right wearing, bought for show with mommy and daddy’s money, surely. He makes his way through the bar, holding his breath, not knowing what he’s about to walk into.

//

Gazing up toward the door, you catch a glimpse of Joel as he makes his way through the sea of people dancing.

You can tell he must have already been lying in bed before you texted him—by the state of his hair, he might have actually been asleep. The curls that usually lay coiled at the base of his neck are frizzy, sticking straight out from his head; the top is messy with a strand hanging over his eyebrow. His warm coffee eyes are framed with bags. He’s wearing black sweatpants and, you guessed it, a flannel.

He looks good, somehow even in his tousled state, better than normal. You move your eyes back down to Mel dancing in front of you before Joel can catch you staring at him.

You look back down and realize the fairly compromising position you’re in with the younger Miller brother and try to wiggle yourself out of Tommy’s embrace, but it’s too late. You look up again and immediately lock eyes with Joel. He looks pissed, and he’s headed right for you both.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, look at the two of you! Come on, let’s go,” he grunts as he grabs Tommy by the collar of his shirt and begins to drag him toward the exit.

You think maybe that’s it—you’ve somehow managed to avoid a scolding from him.

“Thanks, Joel!” you chirp, waving to him with a big smile.

“Yeah, not a chance. You too, kid, not leaving you here neither,” he yells over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m fine, I’ll cab home,” you slur back.

Joel leaves Tommy by the door and heads back toward you. There’s a serious look on his face that says he’s having none of your bullshit right now.

“I’m not offering you a ride, darlin’, I’m telling you I’m taking you back home. Now move it,” his voice is stern.

For some reason, the alcohol swimming in your stomach tells your head that antagonizing him further is a smart move; it isn’t, but you do it anyway just to rile him up.

“Nu-uh, you’re not my daddy, cowboy. I’m staying here.”

You immediately regret the words as they slip off your vodka-covered tongue.

Joel stops dead in his tracks for a moment, sharpening his gaze on you. You can see his jaw tick as he clenches it. He starts moving again, even quicker this time, reaching toward you, grabbing your left wrist with one of his big hands.

You yelp at the sudden contact and turn your head to your friends, mouthing “I’m sorry” to them before saying, “I’ll text you when I’m home, love you!”

You shake your wrist violently in an attempt to break free from Joel’s grip, but there’s no use—no point arguing with him anymore. Joel is lucky you don’t want to cause a scene tonight; you’re honestly ready to go home now anyway. Instead of fighting him anymore, you just huff and glare up at him, dragging your heels toward the door, following behind him.

He doesn’t say anything as he opens the passenger side of the truck. He just hoists you up and slides you into the middle of the bench, buckling you in before practically throwing Tommy next to you.

“You guys are a pain in my ass, you know that?” he hisses.

Tommy turns to face his brother, staring him down over your shoulder. You can feel the tension rise between them both, making the already humid air feel even thicker.

“Why are you even here? Who called you down?” Tommy asks.

“Every bartender in the city knows my phone number, Tommy, don’t pretend that ain’t a fact,” Joel glances over at you, and his big boba eyes narrow slightly, softer than before in the bar.

You silently thank him for not ratting you out to Tommy by telling him you were the one to contact him. Even in your drunken state, Joel seems to see your appreciation and gives a quick nod of his head, letting his expression relax.

“Whatever, just take me home,” Tommy hisses back at him before leaning his cheek against the window.

Tommy’s place is probably ten minutes outside of town, in the opposite direction of your house.

That means you’re going to have to drive with Joel for at least twenty-five minutes on the way home.

You feel a creep in your spine and shiver at the thought of being alone with him. The vodka-flavored truth elixir still swishes in your stomach, and you can already feel heat spreading between your thighs.

Keep it together. Jesus.

You pull out of the bar parking lot and drive in deafening silence to Tommy’s apartment complex. Joel looks at his brother and says, “I’m glad it wasn’t the sheriff calling this time.” Joel continues berating Tommy. “Next time, I’m letting them take you in, and I’m not fucking bailing you out,” he says, voice serious.

“Whatever, Joel, thanks for the ride,” Tommy says, facing you slowly instead of his brother. The younger Miller puts his hand over your thigh and gives it a squeeze before he pulls you in for a hug and kisses your cheek.

“Glad to have you back home, pretty bird,” he gives you one last wink before jumping out of the truck and heading toward the apartment lobby, leaving the two of you alone. 

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12

[clouisluvr]

i need a part 3 of sean diaz hc IM STARVEDDD‼️

ask and (11 months later) you shall receive!

- deep conversations always happen whilst laying on the floor. he’ll lay on his back with an arm propped under his head and listen intently to everything you have to say

- hangs on to your every word if youre talking about something important like .. his eyes will go kinda big because he’s so focused on you he kinda forgets to blink LOL

- grabs onto your hands when hes nervous, like just clutches onto them and squeezes. likes when you rub the back of his hand with ur thumb for extra reassurance

- sean sees the world so artistically and beautifully so a feature of yours you’ve never noticed before is accentuated in his art. a beauty spot you didnt notice, a dimple you never knew about. he loves every little detail about you

- faye webster enjoyer! indie pop lover in general tbh. loves listening to music with you (earbud user because he hates how headphones feel on his head) and will always think of you when he listens to certain songs

- i think if you told him you like his hair long he’d let it GROWWW. like so long he can tie it into a bun, but it would annoy him after a while and he’d cut it to like ep1 length. will let you and daniel put his hair in pigtails with bows (he’ll joke about being coquette)

- loves going on drives with you. sometimes daniel tags along but he prefers when its just the two of you. definitely likes listening to frank ocean whilst the sun sets (it reminds him of gta😭)

- has a bad habit of putting on this cynical teen front (like his journal entry about trump winning LOL) and you give him an outlet to be sincere and sensitive which leads to him opening up about his mom

- sean feels a weird sense of guilt when he criticises karen in front of daniel because he knows he’s too young to really remember and feel upset about it. but he feels even worse doing it in front of his dad because he feels like his emotions take up too much space. like it overshadows the betrayal his dad must feel.

- so instead he adopts a mostly indifferent, partially angry attitude towards his mom leaving to disguise the genuine sadness and resentment. the inability to understand how she could just up and leave. when you give sean the space to actually .. feel everything, he breaks down. it deepens the bond he has with you, he feels theres no judgement to be cruel, selfish, or upset around you.

- seans newfound sensitivity from dating you also lets him be unashamedly happy about the holiday season. he is done pretending to be over christmas, bring out the ugly jumpers and candy canes!!

- esteban is in SHOCK. sean is up early during his winter break to *checks notes* decorate?? convinced it must be crack.

- not sure what the american equivalent of winter wonderland is, but he saves up money from his part time job to take you, his dad and daniel to a winter festival! he kinda breaks the bank but has no regrets!! gets you hot chocolates and treats, also spends an embarrassing amount on game tickets trying to win you a prize�� you tell him its ok but he will keep trying until he gets you SOMETHING!

- at some point he’ll sneak off with you to give you the sweetest kiss ever. will hold your chin in his hand and tilt your head up to kiss you. he’s not huge on pda (especially with his dad in the vicinity) BUT he’s in such a good mood he cant pass up the chance. starts smiling through the kiss because he’s so happy

- that definitely inspires art of you looking flushed with slightly swollen lips but a look of warmth in your eyes. probably gives it to you as a christmas gift! tells you its one of the many many moments he felt himself falling even more in love with you

- he hates the cold but loves the excuse to cling to you constantly. “sean.. i need to pee.” “pretty sure if i let go of you i’ll instantly get frostbite soo..”

- nervous and geeky when you guys first start dating, but gets SUPERRR suave as time goes on it kinda makes you weak in the knees. will cup your cheek mid conversation and stroke your cheek with his thumb. will backhug you and kiss your neck. will kiss the back of your hand if hes feeling VERY romantic… whore activity tbh!

- hickey enthusiast omg its BAD hes an addict. but god forbid you give him one because he will freak about lyla seeing and giving him grief over it. has a thing for marking you and knowing you like how it feels

- loves when you wrap your arms around his neck!! gives him this super strong sense of security, he’ll always wraps his arms around your waist.

- HATES when people talk at the movies. you, sean and daniel all went to see fnaf and daniel would not stop turning to both of you to explain the lore incase you were confused😭 not even whispering mind you! infuriates sean but its him telling you and daniel to stop talking that gets the reaction of an angry parent asking him to “be quiet or leave!” his eye twitches when you and daniel start laughing at him LOLL

- ushanka hat bandit. will wear them even during SUMMER! always paired with a tank top and jeans or a striped hoodie. i think sean has slutty hips so u love the tank top x low rise jeans combo he wears in summer LMAOO :P

- likes to cuddle with your back facing him so he can kiss your shoulder.

- likes to post discreet pictures of you on his main ig but his spam account is like 90% you LMAO. posts photodumps filled with dumb text messages between you both and candid pictures of you

- gets overprotective of you in a similar way to how he is with daniel, sometimes you have to remind him you’re there to protect him too

- will lay his head on your shoulder when hes in need of comfort. also a subtle way of asking you to play with his hair (he will melt)

- likes if you put your hands in his jacket pocket when it’s cold so he can hold it in there!!

- goes through phases where he ALWAYS wants to be on the phone with you. like you could be on the way over and he’ll stay on call until you’re in his house

- has a bad habit of getting into petty arguments with you that start off playful, like debating over what the best chocolate bar is but he’ll end up taking it too far and getting legit mad LMAO. you both end up cackling about managing to argue over chocolate

- plans his future with you in it. knows he always wants to be in close proximity to you, daniel and his dad no matter what! he can’t imagine life without you and tbh he doesnt want to.

not sure what hits me at like midnight that makes me wanna write hcs but as always im too sleepy to proofread so ignore any mistakes! also sorry if you dont celebrate christmas, i was projecting a little LOL

hope u all enjoy!💗

[rootedinrevisions]

In the Wings: Part 7

SUMMARY: As the final day of filming wraps, Glen takes a chance and asks you to be his date to the cast and crew’s wrap party. Dressed to impress, you both arrive together, careful to keep things discreet—at least at first. But as the night progresses, it’s harder to hide the growing connection between you. A shared dance on the floor, lingering touches, and knowing glances from friends make it clear: something special is blossoming between you and Glen.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I

PART 6

WARNINGS: Implied alcohol consumption. Otherwise just fluff.

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The hair and makeup trailer is a quiet refuge as the last day on set winds down. You’re tidying up your station, placing brushes in their designated slots, and wiping down surfaces. There’s a bittersweet feeling in the air; it’s been an intense few weeks, and while you’re proud of the work you’ve done, a part of you is reluctant to see it end.

Just as you’re finishing up, you hear the door open, and your pulse quickens when you see Glen stepping inside. He’s still in his flight suit, hair tousled from the day’s scenes, with that familiar, easy grin that seems to brighten the room.

“Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him and leaning casually against the counter. “Got a minute?”

You nod, smiling as you tuck a few stray tools back into your kit. “What’s up?”

“Tom and the producers are throwing a wrap party tonight. Rented out a restaurant for the cast and crew.” He pauses, his gaze holding yours a little longer than usual. “I was wondering if you’d want to go with me.”

A soft smile forms on your lips. “Like… as your date?”

Glen’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint you’ve come to know so well. He nods. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

You don’t even need to think about your answer. “I’d love to.”

He steps closer, that playful look softening as he gazes down at you. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and before you know it, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The warmth of his touch and the light pressure of his lips make you forget everything else for a moment.

When he pulls back, he’s still smiling, his fingers lingering near yours. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

* * * *

The hotel room is quiet as you stand in front of the mirror, putting the final touches on your makeup. You smooth down the fabric of your dress—a simple but elegant piece you’d packed, just in case. The soft, flattering lines and deep color bring a touch of glamour that feels perfect for tonight.

As you swipe on a final layer of lipstick, a knock sounds at the door. Heart fluttering, you cap the lipstick and head over to answer. When you open the door, there stands Glen, leaning casually with a warm smile. His outfit—a pair of gray dress pants and a fitted black button-up shirt—compliments his relaxed confidence, and there’s an appreciative gleam in his eye as he looks you over.

“Wow,” he says, letting his gaze linger. “You look stunning. That dress suits you.”

You feel a blush creep up, smiling back as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “Shall we?” He motions towards the hallway with a little nod, stepping aside so you can lead the way. You gather your small clutch and step out, feeling a flutter of excitement as he falls into step beside you. 

* * * *

The restaurant buzzes with the sounds of laughter and conversation, as cast and crew mingle in small groups throughout the softly lit space. You and Glen step inside, the warmth and lively atmosphere instantly welcoming you in. Heads turn your way, and you’re aware of a few knowing glances exchanged between people as you both walk through the entrance together. Even though there’s no hand-holding or any outward display of affection, the energy between you and Glen seems to say it all.

Glen catches a few of those looks and smirks, clearly amused, but he doesn’t let on as he leans close and murmurs, “I’m going to grab a drink. You want anything?”

You tell him your order, a casual smile exchanged as he nods and makes his way to the bar, blending into the crowd with ease. 

As he goes, you take a breath, willing yourself to stay composed despite the subtle attention. It feels surreal to be here with him like this, even if things are still discreet.

Spotting a group of your colleagues from the hair and makeup team near the far side of the room, you make your way over to them. They greet you with warm smiles, already in the middle of discussing the wrap party and the relief of finally reaching the end of a long, demanding shoot.

One of them nudges you playfully. “You and Glen, huh?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.

You manage to keep your smile relaxed, laughing it off. “Oh, we just rode over together,” you reply casually. “Just figured we’d save on an extra ride, you know?”

They nod knowingly, exchanging glances with one another, but they don’t press the subject further. You’re grateful for that. You settle into the conversation, chatting and catching up, feeling yourself start to unwind. Across the room, you catch sight of Glen waiting at the bar, glancing back your way with a small smile that makes your heart skip.

It’s a small, private look just between the two of you—one that makes you feel like the only two people in the room, even if you’re playing it low-key for now.

Glen weaves through the crowd with two glasses in hand, his gaze focused on you. When he reaches your side, he hands you your drink with a warm smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. You murmur a thank you, taking a sip as he joins the small circle of your coworkers.

With that effortless charm, he thanks the hair and makeup team, nodding to each of them with genuine appreciation. “Really, we couldn’t have done any of this without you,” he says, glancing around at everyone. “The work you all do—the attention to detail, the early mornings—it’s all part of what makes everything come together.”

One of them, Linda, nudges you with a teasing smile, saying, “Well, we’ll miss you too, Glen. It’s a shame filming’s wrapped up. We won’t be able to keep you looking so good on set anymore.” Her eyes flick between you and Glen with a hint of suggestion, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Glen doesn’t miss a beat. He chuckles, glancing sideways at you. You feel a slight blush rise to your cheeks, unable to suppress a smile as Glen’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer. 

Your colleagues exchange a few sly glances among themselves, clearly picking up on the connection between you and Glen. And while you’re careful to keep things discreet, there’s something thrilling in the unspoken understanding between the two of you.

Just as you and Glen exchange a glance, a voice over the restaurant’s speakers announces that dinner is about to be served. People begin shuffling toward their tables, glancing at place cards to find their seats. Glen leans toward you, just close enough so only you can hear him over the chatter.

“I’ll catch up with you later?” he says softly, his eyes holding yours with a quiet warmth.

You smile, giving him a small nod. “I’ll be here.”

With a grin, he heads off toward the cast table, joining Miles, Lewis, and a few others who are already joking and laughing, welcoming him over with waves and claps on the shoulder. You watch him for just a second, a faint flutter of excitement lingering, before making your way over to your own table with the hair, makeup, and costume team.

Sliding into your seat, you’re greeted with smiles and friendly chatter, everyone buzzing with excitement as the celebratory energy of the evening settles in. You settle into the familiar warmth of your friends and colleagues, sharing stories of the production and laughs over some of the more chaotic days on set, but there’s an undeniable thrill in knowing that, across the room, Glen is watching for his chance to find you again.

As the dinner plates are cleared away and laughter fills the room, the soft background music fades, replaced by something more upbeat. You’re in the middle of a lighthearted conversation at your table when someone clears their throat behind you. Turning, you see Glen standing there, hands in his pockets, his usual grin lighting up his face. He nods toward the makeshift dance floor where a few couples have already started to sway to the music.

“Care to dance?” he asks, his voice soft but playful.

You glance around the room, a mix of excitement and uncertainty washing over you. Your eyes dart to the people still lingering at their tables, wondering if this is a good idea, but Glen catches your hesitation and chuckles, leaning in closer.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice low. “Just one dance.”

You feel your heart skip, a smile tugging at your lips as you give a small nod. “Alright. Just one.”

He reaches out, and you slide your hand into his, feeling his fingers close gently around yours as he leads you over to the dance floor. The room fades slightly as he turns to face you, one hand slipping to your waist, the other still holding your hand. You’re close, but just enough to keep it innocent. As you move together, the song fills the air, each beat pulling you a little closer to him, and you can’t help but let out a small, contented laugh as he guides you in time with the music.

“See?” he murmurs, glancing down at you with a soft, teasing smile. “Not so bad, is it?”

You shake your head, the laughter still in your voice. “Not bad at all.”

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and the rest of the room falls away—nothing but Glen’s steady gaze, his hand at your waist, and the gentle sway of the music surrounding you.

As the upbeat song fades into a slower, softer melody, Glen’s arm around your waist tightens just a bit, gently pulling you closer. You feel his chest press against yours, the warmth between you deepening as he bridges the last small gap. Instinctively, your head falls to his shoulder, and for a second, you let yourself melt into the quiet, intimate moment.

But as you open your eyes, you catch sight of a few colleagues at the edge of the dance floor, glancing over with raised eyebrows and soft, knowing smiles. A wave of nervousness ripples through you, and you lift your head, glancing up at Glen, who’s still looking at you with a gentle, contented smile.

“People are watching,” you murmur, searching his eyes.

He lets out a quiet, almost mischievous chuckle, his gaze steady. “I know,” he replies, unfazed, his voice low and calm.

You hesitate, studying his expression. “Aren’t you worried?”

He shakes his head slowly, still holding you close, his thumb brushing gently over your back. “Not really,” he says, the warmth in his eyes sincere. “I’ve spent half of filming pretending like I don’t want to be this close to you. Now, I just want to enjoy spending time with you.”

The conviction in his words settles any lingering nerves you have, and a smile finds its way onto your face. With the music wrapping around you, you let yourself sink back into the dance, resting your head against his shoulder once more. This time, you don’t care about the glances or whispers; it’s just you and Glen, lost in the music, letting the rest of the room fade away.

As the night winds down, you find yourself caught up in a lively conversation with Miles Teller and his wife, Keleigh. Miles is recounting some of his favorite memories from the shoot, and Keleigh is laughing, chiming in with her own playful commentary. You’re fully immersed in the moment when you suddenly feel a warm hand on the small of your back. Before you can react, an arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into a familiar embrace. You glance up and see Glen beside you, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as he nods toward the door. “You ready to head out?”

You smile back, a warmth spreading through you as you nod. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

You both turn to say your goodbyes to Miles and Keleigh, who give you knowing smiles as they wave you off. Miles raises his glass in a silent toast, and Keleigh winks, her gaze flicking between you and Glen.

Glen reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he leads you out of the party. As you step out into the night, the hum of the party fades behind you, leaving just the quiet sounds of the city around you. Glen glances down, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand as he holds it tightly.

Walking side by side, there’s a feeling of contentment, a quiet excitement that lingers between you. With every step, you feel the weight of the evening’s shared glances, the unspoken promises, and the joy of finally being able to enjoy each other’s company openly. As you head back to the hotel together, it feels like the perfect end to the night—and the beginning of something even better.

[umathurwin]

my boy’s a winner, he loves the game

kiara carrera x rafe cameron; nsfw 18+

Summary: Kiara has a big favor to ask of Rafe. Who is he to not oblige?

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

The clinking of metal weights and Rafe’s music filled the crisp air. Every few seconds, another grunt would reverb around the gym and Kiara poked her head out further so she’d be in his line of sight.

“Kie?” he asked, dropping his 45s on the squishy floor mat, where they bounced and rolled away. “Y’scared me. Need something?”

She closed the door behind her, checking once more that no one was listening. Sarah had started another argument with John B, so it could be a while before Kiara had to return to her friend’s bedroom.

Kie swallowed thickly. “Yes, actually. It’s kind of weird, and a big thing to ask, so I need you to ignore how crazy it is for me to come to you about this.”

“You’re looking to try snow,” he nodded solemnly, reaching down for his water bottle and twisting the cap open.

“What?! No!”

He froze. He leaned in and dropped his voice. “You want to try k?”

“I don’t want any drugs, Rafe.”

His posture corrected and he brought the bottle to his mouth. “Oh. Then what?”

As he drank, several cold droplets slipped out of his mouth and down his chin, dripping onto his chest and dry fit shirt. Even in the chill at which the Camerons held their home gym, he was sweating. His smell washed over her. His eyes followed hers as she ogled him, nearly forgetting why she was there.

“Wanna hook up?” she blurted, unsure of how else to word it. Can we have sex felt too formal. Will you fuck me probably would’ve sufficed, but she lacked the bite. Especially with this lupine in front of her, reducing her to a doe-eyed stutterer.

He pulled the lip away from his mouth and used the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe off the mess from his face. This time, her eyes remained fixed north of his shoulders.

“Hmm. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Well?” she snapped, growing more edgy (and humiliated) by the second. She probably should’ve expected that he wouldn’t make this easy on her.

“Can I think about it? Oh my God…” he hollowly chastised. “If you’re gonna be this impatient when I’m inside you…”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Rafe!”

“I’m just messing with you. What’s got you so desperate? Haven’t been laid in a while?” Her eyes widened, and he connected the dots instantly. “Oh, no way. Never? How is that even possible? You’re…” Rafe waved a hand at her, but trailed off when he gained the wisdom to not comment on her appearance or how it related to her virginity.

“I just… didn’t want it to be bad. Figured I’d go to someone with at least some knowledge on the topic.”

“Really? And none of your little boys were valid candidates?”

She huffed through her nose. “That’s hilarious. Let’s go down the list together: we have the self-obsessed conspiracy theorist, the loose cannon who speaks more than he thinks, and the nerd who’s a bigger goddamn virgin than I am.”

Rafe hesitated. “Okay, I know the last one is Pope—”

“Point is,” Kiara interrupted, cutting eyes at him. “You probably can’t fathom vulnerability, and I’m really just looking for a yes or a no so I can decide if I’m gonna kill myself tonight—”

“Wow, the drama. Twist my arm a little more, why don’t you?” he said flatly. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real Saint Nick. Give me your phone,” Rafe demanded, palm open and extended to her.

She recoiled. “You’re not… gonna film it, are you?”

He processed this and a grin spread across his face. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna fuck you right now. I’m giving you my number so you don’t have to sneak around my little sister to see me.”

The confidence she’d built up with him crumbled instantly and the fever of mortification bloomed in her chest and face again. Kiara fumbled for her back pocket and handed him the device. “I— of course not! That’d be—”

“Hot,” he cut her off, offering a bit of peace for her. “I know.” His eyes flicked to the door and back down to her, then he texted himself an angel emoji. “But it just wouldn’t be right.”

With her phone returned one contact heavier, she tried not to trip on any benches on her way out.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kiara spat, quickly climbing into the passenger seat of Rafe’s Land Rover anyways. He peeled out of the driveway, surely attracting the attention of any partygoers that had wandered outside. She slunk down into the seat. “When Sarah said she’d get me a ride home, I didn’t think it’d be you.”

Rafe shrugged, rolling through a stop sign and changing the song. “I owed her one. And no, she doesn’t suspect anything, so maybe relax a little?”

Not too difficult. One of Barry’s drivers had made it to the party, and she’d definitely brought a cloud of earthy aroma into his vehicle.

“Speaking of relaxing… you’re not drunk, right?”

“No, why do you— where are we going?” she asked as they flew past the turn to her street.

“We’re gonna use this time to get in some practice,” he said simply, and the smirk on his face did all but abate her worries.

“Wait, wait, I can’t— I mean, I’m not ready—”

“Little Miss Anxious, huh? Second time you’ve done that,” he said, shaking his head amusedly. “That’s not what this is. Do I need to promise to give you a heads up?”

“Uh, yeah, it’d be nice!”

“Nah.” He pulled the vehicle over to a nature preserve, one of the many dim and poorly-patrolled parks the island had to offer.

Rafe threw the car in park and grabbed his nic from the cup holder. He offered it to her, she declined. As he took a draw, his free hand absentmindedly patted his crotch, adjusting himself to be taken out.

She never would admit this, not to him or a locked diary or God, but she’s looked before. It’s not her fault he gets out of the pool like a slut, with his swim shorts hung low on his hips and clinging to his bulge. She’s had an idea of what he’s working with. But to watch him rub his semi through his jeans? Kiara’s head spun.

He dropped the nic again and unbuttoned his pants without warning. Her eyes widened as he tugged them down, just enough to free his cock from his boxers. She took in what she could make out in the dimness— a heavy shaft, the reddening tip, a little glisten where the pre was leaking out.

Instincts took over— ones she was entirely unaware she had— and she leaned forward to touch him, but he grabbed her wrist first and stopped her. Kie looked up, fearing she’d done something wrong.

Rafe’s eyes softened, resting a hand on her cheek and nodding gently. “Hey, listen. Just relax. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded. It was the last glimpse of mercy she’d get for the night.

Once his warning was over, his big hand slipped from her face around to the back of her skull. He guided (pushed) her down until the head tapped against her lips. The salty taste hit her tongue but she had no time to process or cringe before the rest of his cock slid into her mouth.

It wasn’t long before Kie realized this wasn’t just a blowjob, but more of a face fucking. The agency wasn’t in her hands— or rather, mouth— when he was actively lifting his hips from the seat to stuff more of himself between her lips. She couldn’t even get her bearings enough to suck.

Kiara mustered enough momentum to overpower the headpushing and pulled her mouth off his cock. “You’re, God, being a little rough, don’t you think?” she asked weakly around a cough.

“You bet,” he affirmed, fixing his fist back into her hair and guiding her down again. “Need to prepare you for what you might come across in the future. Wouldn’t—fuck—be doing you any favors by being gentle, would I?”

Sure, whatever twisted logic he wanted to use to get a rough blowjob from a virgin. Rafe’s hips thrusted up again to meet where his hands locked her head in place, and she had to accept his cock down her throat. The zipper of his pants scraped the bridge of her nose and her back ached from the awkward position he’d twisted her into, but she figured complaining would only get her so far. Plus, her mouth was full.

He canted his hips forward so the tip of his cock brushed against her cheek, and his hand reached down her face to feel it from the outside. Rafe massaged the skin there, feeling the ridges of his head through it. The angle was hard for her to maintain, so he went back to pushing down her throat.

She couldn’t swallow with him in her mouth, so drool began to seep out and sullied his pants. Her hands pushed against his thighs and he let up, tugging her off his crotch and watching the string of spit that connected them.

“I’m, fuck, I’m sorry I’m making such a mess,” she apologized through wet coughs. Rafe laughed and said nothing, but he grabbed his cock and smeared her own spit onto her face. Kiara squealed and tried to back away but he wasn’t done with her.

Eventually, he had enough trust to let her do her own work. Her jaw burned from the stretch, but the hand on her head was only resting there as she forwent keeping it all clean.

He came, hard, if the noises he made were any indicator. The sensation of his twitching cock against her tongue was fascinating, but he must not have wanted to give her the chance to spit. With her nose pressed against his pelvis, his cock for perfectly down her throat and spilled his seed there.

Kiara coughed and sputtered when he finally released her and she could breathe again. “Fucking hell, Rafe, what’s the plan for real sex? You gonna bring out a chainsaw?”

“That was real sex.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ll just have to wait and find out then, huh?”

Kiara narrowed her eyes, looking to the small backseat. “What do you mean, wait? You’re not gonna reciprocate or anything? How is that f—?”

“Look, I know you’re new to this and all, so consider this a lesson: I’m gonna need a fuckin’ minute to get the feeling back in my extremities. And since we don’t have all night—”

He tugged her arm towards him and she awkwardly fumbled over to sit on his lap. The door pressed against her back and the steering wheel dug into her leg uncomfortably, but he continued anyways.

Kiara liked loose, linen shorts; Rafe liked them even better. He needn’t even pull them down— they were flowy and accessible enough that he could pull them and her underwear to the side and have her fully exposed for him.

Her face burned. No one had ever seen her like this before, but Rafe was more action-oriented. He cupped a hand over her bare sex, swollen and ready for him after her mouth had been fully used. His dexterous fingers played with her slit and collected the slick there, getting to know her clit and folds in the dark.

He wouldn’t have been able to see, but her eyes opened when he first pressed a finger inside. She was fully aware of how it worked, and Kie had boredly tried to fuck herself in the past, but it was never enough.

Rafe didn’t have that problem. His hands were bigger, fingers stronger, and knew how to stretch her walls around him. She mewled, and he kissed her cheek.

His fingers tucked in further and, with a palm grinding against her clit, pressed against a spot inside her that made her gasp. “Oh my God! What was that?”

He laughed a little in her ear and pulled his fingers out to slap her cunt. She whined. “Our new favorite body part of yours.”

Kiara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Our?”

Rafe took the free hand around her arm and reached over to grab at her breast. “Used to be these.”

Her body sparked and warmed at the idea of Rafe looking at her like a lecher. Deciding parts of her body were for his for ogling, grabbing, fucking. He’s always been an option for her, she just hadn’t known to ask.

The sounds her cunt made around his fingers were vile. He’d lean down to kiss her neck (but only kiss— can’t leave a mark) and she curled into his chest. She’d have more shame about the situation if she had any thoughts at all that weren’t her barreling orgasm.

When she did cum, she had to hold onto his forearm for stability. He purred into her ear about how good she was doing for him, holding her chin in place so he always had a good look at her scrunched eyes and parted lips.

He pulled his hand out from her shorts when she caught her breath, and made her watch the way strings of her cum lingered for too long. Rafe pushed those digits between her lips without warning, and swirled them around her tongue until he was adequately clean. Her legs still tingled when she slumped back into the passenger seat.

“No notes, baby, you did perfectly. Let’s get you home, hmm?”

***

Kiara’s phone automatically set to Do Not Disturb at 11 pm sharp every evening.

She wasn’t even that caught up in perfecting her sleep schedule. There were just too many nights in a row that one of her friends would drunkenly call and wake her up. Never for a good reason, like needing a ride—no, they’ll rip her from sleep to ask if a Wonka chocolate bar is red, or purple like they swore they remembered.

And they wonder why she preferred darties.

So, any messages she may receive in the witching hour would go unnoticed until the next morning. Unless, of course, the person reaching out to her is a bit more persistent.

The window creaked, and she just rolled over in bed. Her home was nearly a century old and the sandy ground below the foundation made for all kinds of bumps in the night.

What it didn’t often do, was lift the pane entirely. Kie sat up, eyes quickly adjusting to the tall body squeezing through into her bedroom.

“Jesus— Rafe?!” she asked, grabbing her chest where her heart fluttered.

“A little help?” he hissed, unable to fit the rest of the way. She sprang to his side, lifting the window a little more and guiding him inside. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to whisper. My parents are in Myrtle Beach for a wedding.”

“Well, fuck me. Would’ve been nice to know before I scaled the damn trellis. Why didn’t you respond?” he asked, pointing to the sleeping phone on her nightstand.

Kiara crossed her arms. “Didn’t get the message. Do I… need to get a first aid kit?” she asked, looking over his figure and trying not to back away like a frightened deer.

He looked down at himself. “I’m fine?”

“I meant for me! You forget the chainsaw?”

His eyebrows tightened until he remembered the night they‘d already shared, and smirked. “Oh! No, it’s not like that.”

She didn’t get to ask what he meant before he kicked off his boots and flopped onto her bed like he owned it. He wagged his fingers, beckoning her to join him, and she obeyed with a scowl. It’s her room, after all.

He pulled her down to his side, turning to face her and sliding a hand between her cheek and pillow. Rafe kissed her softly, thumbing at her skin and trailing the other hand down to her waist where it rested comfortably. Their thighs entangled and one of her fists nervously balled into his shirt.

The pair made out, much longer than she would expect he had patience for. It was delicate, verging on pure, and it sent a fire to her core in anticipation. His leg pushing between her thighs certainly didn’t hurt.

There was no hurry to undress. A shirt here, his pants there. It was like they waited until one of them lost their breath to pause and remove another article. By the time they were down to their underwear, her apprehensions reappeared.

”Slow,” she blurted, and his big blue eyes locked to hers. “We’re gonna go slow, right?” she clarified, feeling the ridges of his abs, now bare and warm under her fingers.

He smiled, kissed the tip of her nose. “M’in no rush.”

Their cores were close, she could feel the heat of his cock pressed against her hip. He pushed against her once and groaned into her mouth, then pulled away entirely and slotted himself above her.

Rafe sat back on his heels, looking at her near-naked body below her. It was hardly more skin than he was used to seeing when she swam at his house, but he hungered over her nonetheless. His fingers slipped under the hem of her panties and his eyes found hers.

“May I?”

She giggled. Perhaps because she didn’t expect that from Rafe, or maybe it was nerves. But she eked out a yes, please regardless.

With permission granted, he slid her underwear down her legs and tossed them aside, settling between her thighs and giving each a kiss.

He started gently— he spread her folds with his thumbs and licked a hard stripe up the center. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and slammed shut, and he was gracious enough to not give her hell for this. Rafe allowed her in her own world because, well, he was in one of his own.

Had she spared a glance between her thighs, she’d see him lost in himself, nose buried into her cunt and tongue exploring every part of her. It was all slow, curious, an attempt to commit her pussy to his memory. Maybe he feared this was his only chance.

His patience built a powerful orgasm for her— the kind she could never do herself. Touching herself before was just getting a job done, but Rafe wanted it to wash over her with shaking legs and starry vision.

And Rafe always got what he wanted.

When he came up to kiss her, she tasted herself on him, but it was less intense than she expected. Maybe he was drooling too much.

She’d forgotten he still had his boxers on— too lost in cumming on his tongue. The fabric was sticking to him where precum leaked out of his tip, and he paused for only enough time to pull the elastic down under his balls. Deja vu.

Now free, his member hung menacingly between them. He took himself in hand and teased her, gliding the tip against her pulsing clit and threatening to part her folds. He lay the shaft against her and thrusted, simulating the real thing.

On one insignificant stroke, the head slipped down and notched itself against her hole. Rafe was careful, so careful pressing inside. She was wet enough that he could’ve bullied his cock into her cunt easily, but he stopped instead.

Rafe lowered himself until their noses brushed together. One hand reached up to stroke her cheek, to whisk away the tear that had pooled in the corner of her eye. He shushed, his lips brushing against her chin, her ear, her lips, anywhere he could access her skin.

“Sweetheart, please, you’ve gotta relax for me,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “You’re doing so fuckin’ good so far. Just keep letting me in.”

It was a side of the man she’d never seen before. Rafe used to twist the arms of boys who mocked her and Sarah until they screamed for mercy. He wasn’t allowed to play any contact sports in high school with his violent record. More than once, Kiara had to step around shattered glass in their home from when he’d broken tumblers in fits of rage. The blowjob from last week alone—

Tonight, his free hand found hers and threaded their fingers together. He kissed along her neck and sucked at the flesh gently. Endless praises spilled from him as his cock fully nestled inside her pulsing heat. She could feel their bodies entangling further with each breath they shared in the close space.

“Fuck it’s— so deep,” she breathed, back arching to press her bare chest against his. The angle shift forced her clit to grind against his pelvis and a whine escaped her.

“I know, baby,” he reassured and played with her tits as she readjusted. “Takin’ me so well. Can’t believe I get to be the first one to feel you like this, mm?”

She nodded, even though he wasn’t really asking her anything. Rafe’s hand, still entwined with hers, pulled down to make her feel her lower stomach.

“Feel me there?” he continued. “M’so glad you chose me. Let me split this pretty pussy open on my cock. Gonna let me fill it too? Wanna really make sure I do the job correctly?”

“Fuck, please, yes!”

He withdrew his cock entirely, letting it kiss her slick cunt and smear the wetness between them. Rafe sunk back in without warning and her back arched up.

Kiara’s fingers scratched down his back and he mentioned nothing of it. Her eyes closed again. “Rafe, I… I think I’m gonna—”

“Another?” he cut off, unable to conceal his pride. “Such a good baby. Eager to fall apart on my cock. Wanna feel it, please, sweet girl.”

She came again, pussy twitching around him. He followed shortly after and stuffed her full of cum as they milked each other dry. If the sensation of him finishing down her throat was intriguing, this was… addictive.

Rafe was an exceptional gentleman in terms of cleaning up; Kiara lay weak and tender as he gathered a wet cloth to undo the last hour. Well… as much as could be undone.

“Thank you,” she said finally, voice low above the radiator, spoken across his chest she rested on.

“Don’t even mention it,” he laughed softly and pulled her in closer. They already approached slumber. “Though, if you really wanted to thank me, I have a few ideas in mind…”