#tidal flows

[wayti-blog]

Satellites detect ocean tides' magnetic signatures

A study using data from ESA's Swarm mission suggests that faint magnetic signatures created by Earth's tides can help us determine magma distribution under the seabed and could even give us insights into long-term trends in global ocean temperatures and salinity.

Swarm is a constellation of three satellites that study Earth's geomagnetic field. This magnetic field that extends from Earth's interior into space is thought to be produced largely by an ocean of liquid iron in the planet's outer core. Other sources of magnetism include magnetized rocks in the crust.

(The tidal flows of Earth’s salty seawater across Earth’s magnetic field lines generate electric currents within the ocean. These in turn induce secondary magnetic fields that form part of the planet’s complex magnetic field signal that can be detected from space. ESA’s Swarm satellites can measure these tiny oceanic magnetic fields and distinguish them from other magnetic fields such as those from the core, ionosphere, magnetosphere and magnetized crust. Credit: Lina Jakaitė)

"And although we might not normally think of oceans as generating magnetism, the salty sea water is a moderate electrical conductor. This means that as tides flow across Earth's magnetic field, they generate weak electric currents, which in turn induce small magnetic signals that can be detected from space."

"Swarm's ability to detect the faint ocean signals was also helped by the sun's less active period around 2017. "These are among the smallest signals detected by the Swarm mission so far," says lead author Alexander Grayver, of the University of Cologne.

"The data are particularly good because they were gathered during a period of solar minimum, when there was less noise due to space weather.""

study

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[xtruss]

28-Ton, 1.2-Megawatt Tidal Kite Is Now Exporting Power To The Grid

— By Loz Blain | February 11, 2024 | NewAtlas.Com

The 39-Foot Wingspan of the Dragon 12, Being Towed Out for Sub-Surface Deployment. Minesto

Minesto's fully operational Dragon 12 looks like some sort of futuristic military drone – but it behaves remarkably like a kite underwater. It uses lift generated by tidal flows to fly patterns faster than the currents, harvesting renewable energy.

Solar energy is the bedrock of most renewable energy grid plans – but lunar energy is even more predictable, and a number of different companies are working to commercialize energy generated from the regular inflows and outflows of the tides.

One we've completely missed is Minesto, which is taking a very different and remarkably dynamic approach compared to most. Where devices like Orbital's O2 tidal turbine more or less just sit there in the water harvesting energy from tidal currents, Minesto's Dragon series are anchored to the sea bed, and fly around like kites, treating the currents like wind.

Minesto's Deep Green Technology – Unlocking Renewable Baseload Power

Just as land-based wind energy kites fly in figure 8 patterns to accelerate themselves faster than the wind, so does the Dragon underwater. This, says Minesto, lets the Dragon pull more energy from a given tidal current than other designs – and it also changes the economic equations for relevant sites, making slower tidal flows worth exploiting.

These are by no means small kites – the Dragon 12 needs to be disassembled to fit in a shipping container. It rocks a monster 12-meter (39-ft) wingspan, and weighs no less than 28 tons. But compared to other offshore power options like wind turbines, it's an absolute minnow, and extremely easy to install using a single smallish boat and a sea bed tether.

As with any renewable energy project, the key figure here is LCoE (levelized cost of energy) – so what's it gonna cost? Well, back in 2017, Minesto projected about US$108/MWh once its first hundred megawatts of capacity are installed – with costs falling thereafter as low as $54/MWh.

The Minesto Team Poses with the 1.2 Megawatt Dragon 12. Minesto

For an unfair comparison, Orbital has claimed it's hoping for an LCoE less than $253/MWh for its very first O2 tidal turbine, a figure that'll drop with scale, and fixed-bottom offshore wind projects in 2022 had an estimated average LCoE around $89/MWh in 2022, according to the US DoE.

The Dragon 12, like other tidal devices, will be more effective in some places than others – and Denmark's Faroe Islands, an archipelago in the chilly North Atlantic between Scotland and Iceland, offer ideal conditions. Home to about 55,000 people and more than a million Puffins, the Faroe Islands funnel tidal currents through a number of slim channels. This accelerates the water significantly, and thus increases the energy that devices like the Dragon 12 can harvest.

The Narrow Channels Between the Faroe Islands Accelerate Tidal Flows, Creating an Ideal Location For Tidal Energy Projects. Minesto

That's where the first Dragon has been deployed, and on Friday, it was connected to the local power grid to begin delivering energy.

"This is a big day for Minesto," said Dr Martin Edlund, CEO of Minesto, in a press release. "We have reached the most significant milestone in the history of the company by producing electricity to the grid with our mega-watt scale powerplant. We are both proud and happy and more than ever look forward to the journey ahead ... The competitiveness of the Dragon 12 is straight to the point; it's powerful, cost-effective and feeds predictable electricity to the grid."

— Loz Blain has been one of our most versatile contributors since 2007, and has since proven himself as a photographer, videographer, presenter, producer and podcast engineer, as well as a senior features writer. Joining the team as a motorcycle specialist, he's covered just about everything for New Atlas, concentrating lately on Clean Energy, AI, Humanoid Robotics, Next-Gen Aircraft, and the odd bit of Music and Automotive.

[iydiamartinx]

PAN-DEMONIUM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.5k synopsis: When your boyfriend forgets to mention his dad is the Batman, things can escalate quickly.  a/n: Instead of working, I found another idea that I dug up from the depths of my crack fic drafts, hope y'all had a laugh.

The apartment was quiet—eerily so, save for the low, comforting sizzle of eggs on the stovetop. It was a familiar sound in the late hours, part of a routine that had etched itself into your life since you found out about your boyfriend’s double identity. Midnight cravings were a constant in this place. Jason would drag himself in from patrol, bruised, half-dead, and starving, usually too tired to eat anything but dry cereal or a protein bar. Somewhere along the way, you’d started preempting his return, slipping out of bed before he could crash onto the couch and coaxing something warm onto a plate.

Tonight was no different. You stood at the stove, barefoot and comfortably wrapped in one of his worn shirts—black, soft, smelling faintly of gunpowder and his cologne. You hummed absently, the tune unrecognizable and slightly off-key, as you nudged the eggs with a spatula. The warmth from the burner was a pleasant contrast to the cool of the tiled floor beneath your feet.

And then you heard it.

A sound—barely audible, but wrong. Not the front door. Not the creak of a windowpane. But something. A shift of weight. The subtle scrape of a boot across hardwood.

You froze.

The spatula paused mid-motion. Your head tilted slightly, listening—straining. Jason always made noise when he came in. A thud of boots. A sarcastic remark. A muttered curse. Sometimes he’d whistle. Always something. And he never forgot to let you know it was him.

“Jason?” you called, your voice a notch quieter than you’d intended. “Is that you?”

No answer.

Your stomach dropped. A cold ripple of dread slid down your spine.

You moved quickly but quietly, turning the burner off. The comforting sizzle of eggs faded into silence. The spatula was abandoned in favour of the frying pan—heavier, more solid in your grip. You adjusted your hold on it, stepping away from the stove and edging slowly toward the hallway.

The shadow at the end of the hall was thicker than it should’ve been—wrong somehow, dense and unnatural. You squinted into the dark, heart hammering against your ribs as your eyes struggled to adjust. The hallway had always been dim at night, but this… this was different. It almost looked like the darkness itself was shifting. You took a cautious step forward—and then froze.

He was just suddenly there.

A towering figure. The black cape flowed down his frame like oil, and his cowl obscured his face, two glowing white slits where his eyes should’ve been. He looked like something out of your nightmares. 

You didn’t think. There was no time for logic or reason, only instinct.

With a half-scream, you swung the pan with everything you had.

CLANG.

The sound rang out like a bell, followed by a low, guttural grunt. The man staggered, head jerking to the side as one gloved hand came up to clutch where you’d struck him.

You stared, breathless, pan still raised like a weapon, frozen with adrenaline. Your heart was thundering in your chest, your mind spiralling—

And then the front door crashed open.

“What the fuck?!” Jason’s voice rang out, sharp and alarmed.

You spun around, the frying pan still trembling in your grip. “Jason!” you gasped, relief breaking through in a sudden tidal wave. “There’s a man—he—he broke in—I thought—I didn’t know what else to do—oh my god.”

Jason’s eyes flew past you, quickly scanning the scene—the eggs now dripping in gloppy streaks down the wall, the now-empty skillet in your hands, the looming figure still bent slightly forward, one hand pressed to his temple.

Jason blinked. His mouth opened. Then dropped.

“You hit Batman?!”

You blinked. Slowly turned back.

The man—Batman, the actual Batman—was slowly straightening up, gloved fingers rubbing his cowl covered temple where your frying pan had made contact. The cowl hadn’t even cracked. Not a single tear or dent. He just gave you the smallest, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, as if he were trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

He looked less furious and more…inconvenienced. A little surprised, maybe. You hoped to God he wasn’t concussed.

You dropped the pan like it had burned you, it fell to the floor with such a loud sound both Jason and the Bat flinched. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed, stepping back as panic began to claw its way up your throat. “Oh my god.” You whirled on your boyfriend, wide-eyed and flushed with horror. “I just assaulted Batman. I attacked Batman. I’m going to jail. He’s going to disappear me. Jason, they’re going to find me in Arkham.”

“Jason!” you hissed, slapping his arm with a mixture of panic and outrage. “This is serious! I just committed a felony—with your damn midnight snack!”

Still snorting, Jason tried to compose himself but failed spectacularly. His shoulders were shaking, breath hitching with every suppressed laugh as he leaned against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

He still hadn’t told you. Not the part about who Batman really was. That his adopted father was the Dark Knight himself. That the rest of his so-called siblings also ran around Gotham in capes and masks, playing vigilante just like he did. As far as you knew, Jason was the only one with a flair for crime-fighting and danger. He’d conveniently left out the bat-shaped elephant in the room.

“He’s not gonna press charges, babe,” Jason wheezed, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “Jesus. You hit the Bat over the head with a pan. With a pan!” He bent double again, laughing so hard he nearly choked. “Oh man—this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You glared at him like you might hurl the pan at him next, and your mortification only deepened when you turned back to Batman—your face pale as chalk.

“I am so sorry,” you blurted, hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t know it was you. You were in the dark and you didn’t say anything and you’re—well—you’re literally terrifying.”

Batman’s silence stretched long enough that you were genuinely debating whether you should throw yourself out the window when he finally spoke.

Finally, he spoke, his voice gravelly and deep. “You hit me.” He almost sounded surprised, perhaps even confused.

You flinched. “I—I didn’t know it was you! You were just standing there in the dark! You didn’t even say anything! I thought you were a burglar! What was I supposed to do—offer you eggs?”

Behind you, Jason was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to smother his laughter. He wasn’t succeeding.

The Bat didn’t move.

You swallowed thickly, muttering now more to yourself than anyone else. “I can’t believe I assaulted Batman. I’m going to prison. Or Arkham. Or wherever he takes people when they attack him with a frying pan.”

Finally, Batman exhaled, the sound sharp and slow through his nose. “You should’ve been more aware of your surroundings.”

You gaped at him. “Excuse me? You brokeinto our apartment!”

Jason, ever helpful, mumbled under his breath, “Technically true.”

You shot him a glare but turned your frustration back to the source of your near heart attack. “You crept in like some B-rated horror movie villain!” you snapped, the lingering fear in your chest giving way to indignation. “And you have the audacity to lecture me about being aware of my surroundings? At least I listened to my instincts when I heard you move!”

“And your first instinct,” he said flatly, “was to attack me with cookware?”

You met his gaze without flinching this time. “It was cast iron.”

There was a beat of silence—and then Jason lost it all over again. He doubled over, wheezing, his laughter echoing off the hallway walls.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as if you could physically wipe away the humiliation. Your other arm remained wrapped around your ribs, like you were trying to hold together the shattered remains of your dignity. “Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palm. “This is so humiliating. I literally assaulted Batman.”

“I know!” Jason wheezed, nearly breathless with laughter. “It’s great. Literally the best day of my life.”

From behind you, the Dark Knight’s voice came again—low, grave, entirely too casual. “She’s got a strong swing.”

Jason turned toward him, still grinning like a lunatic. “You should see her when we play baseball.”

A long beat passed, silence settling again.

Then Batman looked directly at you, the white slits of his cowl narrowing slightly. “Next time,” he said evenly, “aim for the jaw. The cowl’s reinforced.”

You blinked. “Wait… what?”

But he was already gone, shadows swallowing the space where he’d stood.

You stared at the space he’d occupied, jaw slack. “I think I just made his criminal list.”

Jason came up behind you, arms wrapping snugly around your waist, still chuckling against the side of your neck. “Nah,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice. “If anything, I think you impressed him.”

You threw your arms out in exasperation—nearly clocking him in the face with your flailing limbs.

He ducked with a laugh.

“Why else would he tell me to aim for the jaw?” you demanded. “He thinks we’re gonna fight again. He’s preparing me for our next encounter!”

Jason didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Want me to get a new pan?”

“Jason!”

[215-luv]

“OH GOD, IT’S NOT FAIR OF HIM TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS MUCH!” (HQ BOYS)

ATSUMU: says things out of nowhere that it makes you feel butterflies. it’s so sudden that it hits you like a tidal wave that knocks the air out of you. the two of you could be laughing at some random thing and suddenly, he opens his mouth to mention something, “your smile.” he says, almost out of nowhere, eyes looking at you with so much fondness that you refuse to believe that someone could ever look at you that way. “my smile? what’s wrong with it, tsum?” you question, and he chuckles, “oh, there’s nothing wrong with it.” a goofy smile plants itself over his face, “it’s just.. it’s so pretty. i want to see it more.” he says, resting his forehead over yours. “wanna be the person who makes you do all that—smile and laugh. you’re so beautiful.”

AKAASHI: “you were saying?” he questions as he’s scribbling over his notebook, studying for a test he’ll take the next day. the question almost surprises you. “i was saying..?” you ask, eyes on him as he looks busy enough writing over his notebook rather than listening to your nonstop blabbering. “yeah? you were talking about the book you just finished reading.” he says, and you sat there surprised, silenced and unable to fully process what you just heard. “well?” he ushers you to speak, the tone of his voice coming out as if he wants to hear more from you. and you couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief. “you.. you were listening?” you respond with a timid voice. your boyfriend lets out a chuckle, dropping down his pen to look at you with interest in his eyes. “of course i do. i’m always listening to you, honey.”

KUROO: you weren’t sure what just happened, but all you could process was the fact that you’re suddenly lifted by the strong arms of your boyfriend as you walked through the hallway of the campus. it was supposed to be a normal day. you sighed, trying to ignore the stares of the students around you (and yaku, literally staring at the both of you in disgust). “tetsu, what are you doing? what’s all this? what’s happening?” you throw your boyfriend a wave of questions, unable to get a glimpse of the motive behind his actions. the deep chuckles from him reaches your ears, and you almost had to be grateful for being carried bridal style so as to not feel your knees weakening from the sound he just made. “am i not allowed to care for the love of my life?” he says, almost as if it’s an obvious fact. you roll your eyes, not convinced. you open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it—“you mentioned you walked home yesterday, right? you know, it’s pretty convenient to take the bus sometime. your house is pretty far from here. your feet must have been aching. let me take care of you, alright?”

OIKAWA: “delivery for the most beautiful person in the world!” he knocks on your classroom door, catching the attention of your classmates. you mildly panic, a rush of embarrassment flowing over you as you’re greeted with teasing smiles and chuckles. you see, tooru always had the tendency to do these things. and it honestly surprises you ‘till this day. he makes you feel so openly loved that it scares you it might disappear someday. your heart beats at a fast pace as your boyfriend nears you, eyes never leaving your figure as the corners of his lips are raised upwards. he places a bouquet of flowers on your desk, along with your favorite food on a plastic bag, and you almost choke a cry. “what’s all this?” you question, looking at him with suspicious eyes. he chuckles, “is there anything wrong with a boy simply wanting to show his love to his favorite person in the world?” his hand reaches to cup itself against your cheek, his warmth cascading over you. “let me show you what you deserve. i’m right here.”

USHIJIMA: you let out a sharp breath as you’re suddenly being pulled to collide against a strong chest which happens to be your boyfriend. you’re about to ask what just happened when he speaks first, “be careful. you were about to hit a lamp post.” your eyes widens, looking to the side to notice that you were, indeed, about to bump against one. guilt quickly begins to rush over you. “o-oh.. i’m sorry, i get really clumsy and bad at these things—“ you try to explain yourself apologetically, but your boyfriend cuts you off before you could finish your statement, “please don’t apologize. these are simply trivial matters.” he tells you. it’s only ‘till then you notice his arm wrapped around your waist in a protective manner while he keeps you steady. “matters like these are the reason why i’m here. let me be the one to keep you out of danger.”

KITA: “this one’s wrong. you messed up the formula halfway, that’s why the rest of the equation is wrong.” your boyfriend explains to you as he compares his math homework with yours. you couldn’t help but chuckle in embarrassment, inwardly beating yourself up for being dumb infront of him. you scratch the back of your head, “s-sorry, i could really get confused over these things.” you apologize, and your boyfriend could only nod in understanding. “in this number too, you got the formula wrong. you’re supposed to use this.” he then adds, pointing to a certain number on your paper. you couldn’t help but feel small under his gaze. “r-right.. i’m sorry, i promise i’ll do better.” you reply apologetically. but your discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed by shinsuke. his eyes worriedly looks at your figure as he quickly slides an arm around your waist, “hey, it’s okay. don’t worry about it.” you could feel his thumb rubbing against the fabric of your shirt as a way to assure you. “you’re doing amazing, believe me. just let me know if you’re confused anywhere. i can always help you. you’re okay.”

[reasonsforhope]

"Many people know about the Yellowstone wolf miracle. After wolves were reintroduced to the national park in the mid-1990s, streamside bushes that had been grazed to stubble by out-of-control elk populations started bouncing back. Streambank erosion decreased. Creatures such as songbirds that favor greenery along creeks returned. Nearby aspens flourished.

While there is debate about how much of this stemmed from the wolves shrinking the elk population and how much was a subtle shift in elk behavior, the overall change was dramatic. People were captivated by the idea that a single charismatic predator’s return could ripple through an entire ecosystem. The result was trumpeted in publications such as National Geographic.

But have you heard about the sea otters and the salt marshes? Probably not.

It turns out these sleek coastal mammals, hunted nearly to extinction for their plush pelts, can play a wolf-like role in rapidly disappearing salt marshes, according to new research. The findings highlight the transformative power of a top predator, and the potential ecosystem benefits from their return.

“It begs the question: In how many other ecosystems worldwide could the reintroduction of a former top predator yield similar benefits?” said Brian Silliman, a Duke University ecologist involved in the research.

The work focused on Elk Slough, a tidal estuary at the edge of California’s Monterey Bay. The salt marsh lining the slough’s banks has been shrinking for decades. Between 1956 and 2003, the area lost 50% of its salt marshes.

Such tidal marshes are critical to keeping shorelines from eroding into the sea, and they are in decline around the world. The damage is often blamed on a combination of human’s altering coastal water flows, rising seas and nutrient pollution that weakens the roots of marsh plants.

But in Elk Slough, a return of sea otters hinted that their earlier disappearance might have been a factor as well. As many as 300,000 sea otters once swam in the coastal waters of western North America, from Baja California north to the Aleutian Islands. But a fur trade begun by Europeans in the 1700s nearly wiped out the animals, reducing their numbers to just a few thousand by the early 1900s. Southern sea otters, which lived on the California coast, were thought to be extinct until a handful were found in the early 1900s.

In the late 1900s, conservation organizations and government agencies embarked on an effort to revive the southern sea otters, which remain protected under the Endangered Species Act. In Monterey Bay, the Monterey Bay Aquarium selected Elk Slough as a prime place to release orphaned young sea otters taken in by the aquarium.

As the otter numbers grew, the dynamics within the salt marsh changed. Between 2008 and 2018, erosion of tidal creeks in the estuary fell by around 70% as otter numbers recovered from just 11 animals to nearly 120 following a population crash tied to an intense El Niño climate cycle.

While suggestive, those results are hardly bulletproof evidence of a link between otters and erosion. Nor does it explain how that might work.

To get a more detailed picture, the researchers visited 5 small tidal creeks feeding into the main slough. At each one, they enclosed some of the marsh with fencing to keep out otters, while other spots were left open. Over three years, they monitored the diverging fates of the different patches.

The results showed that otter presence made a dramatic difference in the condition of the marsh. They also helped illuminate why this was happening. It comes down to the otters’ appetite for small burrowing crabs that live in the marsh.

Adult otters need to eat around 25% of their body weight every day to endure the cold Pacific Ocean waters, the equivalent of 20 to 25 pounds. And crabs are one of their favorite meals. After three years, crab densities were 68% higher in fenced areas beyond the reach of otters. The number of crab burrows was also higher. At the same time, marsh grasses inside the fences fared worse, with 48% less mass of leaves and stems and 15% less root mass, a critical feature for capturing sediment that could otherwise wash away, the scientists reported in late January in Nature.

The results point to the crabs as a culprit in the decline of the marshes, as they excavate their holes and feed on the plant roots. It also shows the returning otters’ potential as a marsh savior, even in the face of rising sea levels and continued pollution. In tidal creeks with high numbers of otters, creek erosion was just 5 centimeters per year, 69% lower than in creeks with fewer otters and a far cry from earlier erosion of as much as 30 centimeters per year.  

“The return of the sea otters didn’t reverse the losses, but it did slow them to a point that these systems could restabilize despite all the other pressures they are subject to,” said Brent Hughes, a biology professor at Sonoma State University and former postdoctoral researcher in Silliman’s Duke lab.

The findings raise the question of whether other coastal ecosystems might benefit from a return of top predators. The scientists note that a number of these places were once filled with such toothy creatures as bears, crocodiles, sharks, wolves, lions and dolphins. Sea otters are still largely absent along much of the West Coast.

As people wrestle to hold back the seas and revive their ailing coasts, a predator revival could offer relatively cheap and effective assistance. “It would cost millions of dollars for humans to rebuild these creek banks and restore these marshes,” Silliman said of Elk Slough. “The sea otters are stabilizing them for free in exchange for an all-you-can-eat crab feast.”"

-via Anthropocene Magazine, February 7, 2024

[blackleatherjacketz]

Undertow

Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Female Reader

Intimacy with Robby is more than just skin deep...

Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Eye Contact with Robby, Kissing, Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Woman On Top, Female Orgasm, Shared Orgasm, Crying During Sex, Lots of Water Metaphors for Obvious Reasons, Confessions of Love

Word Count: 600

Read more Robby

His hands were like anchors, pulling you down further into the welcome warmth of his embrace as they wrapped themselves around your hips and thighs, refusing to let you go. Each desperate grasp at your flesh dragged you deeper beneath the undertow, his thrusts crashing up against your shore in a rhythmic pattern that nearly drowned you as it stole the very breath from your lungs.

His eyes were like the faint flicker of a lighthouse, guiding you home amidst the billowing storm of hormones and sensations that threatened to rip you apart and tear you asunder. His gaze grew more intense the closer you got, an inky black abyss replacing his usual molasses hue as you sank down onto him again and again. You let him fill you up with that deliciously euphoric stretch, your own eyes rolling into the back of your head as he hit that special spot tucked up inside as if he was born to find it. Your strangled moans echoed around the room as he glided in and out of you, the hypnotic ebb and flow of his hips deliberate, purposeful, tantric. He wanted to make sure that you felt every single inch of him, body and soul, inside and out as he buried himself within the slick walls of your moisture.

His mouth caught your lips as a low rumble brewed within his chest, an electric current humming through you both as it vibrated every cell in your body, prickling the tiny hairs on the back of your neck. That rumble rippled into a soft moan as he smeared the salt of his skin onto your lips and tongue, a messy display of his need to claim you in every way possible. Sight, sound, scent and touch simply weren’t enough for him… he had to taste you, as well. His beard tickled your chin as you rode out each and every wave of unbridled ecstasy that he carefully pushed up into you, your body a conduit to his rising desire as each one built upon the last.

His hips became more frantic as he felt your pleasure reach its tidal peak, cresting over the edge before it finally came crashing down over you both, devastating your nervous system. His hand slithered up your spine, holding you by the base of your neck to keep you from being swept away completely by the roaring tsunami of euphoria that rushed through every vein and artery within you. That bliss pulsed through your blood vessels and soaked into your muscles, forcing them to clench down around him and squeeze out every single drop he had to give you.

His breath went ragged as he gripped onto your neck even tighter, holding you down onto him, thighs flush against his pelvis as he eagerly spilled himself inside you. He cursed out loud as he merged both of your fluids together, eyes heavily glistening with tears as he weaved his fingers into your hair, gently massaging your scalp. A single tear managed to fall down his freckled cheek as he smoothed his other hand up and down your back, spreading those goosebumps between your shoulder blades before they migrated throughout your entire body. He twitched and spasmed in your brackish waters, grinning like an idiot as the primal mixture leaked out of you and onto the hair covering his thighs.

“I love you,” he whispered as you rested your forehead against his, kissing your lips again before you had a chance to respond. “I love you so fucking much.”

[no-144444]

dive- c.sainz

summary: f175 is a new experience, and a confession is shared.

pairing: carlos sainz x fem! singer! reader

(inspo from the song dive by olivia dean!)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“It isn’t workin’, I’m a tidal wave of question marks and you’re just surfin’.”

Carlos weaved through the expensive-looking crowd as he heard your angelic voice over the speakers. Charles sent him a knowing glance, a smug smile that said everything he needed it to; “you’re whipped.”

And he was right. Carlos had been waiting for this for a month. His busy schedule meant he’d never seen you perform live, and he was desperate. He felt cheated out of it when he found out that you’d be performing straight after the Williams showcase, so he rushed out. He couldn’t see you, not quite there, but he knew he would, and that was enough. 

“Leanin’ into me like it’s an art.”

“You look smart,” Lando smirked beside him. He noticed everything, it was weird. “Put on a bit of extra cologne?” he teased. 

He rolled his eyes, a playful smile. “Is it a crime to love a woman?” 

Lando pushed his shoulder, his jaw dropping. “It’s love now, is it?”  

“Yes, it is,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And I’d appreciate it if you would leave me, so I can go see her.”

“Does she know that?” he teased, pulling on Carlos’s tie. 

“She will,” he shook his head. “She does.”

“It’s so crazy lately. You just understand my feelings make me see I’m capable, I’m fine,”

“Have you told her?” he asked, stepping closer as the area they were in became increasingly crowded. 

“I plan on,” he offered with a half-smile/ half-grimace. “I just need-”

“The right moment?” Lando shouted over the music. “Trust me mate, there’s never a ‘right moment’ for that,” Why the fuck was he listening to relationship advice from Lando ‘man-whore’ Norris? “ Just talk to her. And soon. I heard she was Henry Cavill’s celebrity crush.” 

And on that note, Lando moved on, leaving Carlos with a few more insecurities than before. He again fought his way through a sea of people, all wearing expensive perfume and clothes, all complaining about something or other, all trying to get a peek in at the drivers. He didn’t care. He had to see you. 

“And I’m feelin’ beautified tonight, and I’m ready to dive-”

He finally got a look at you and, wow. Your flowing navy dress (a subtle ode to him, he hoped), your perfectly styled hair, your bright smile, your voice. All of you. To be honest, if he wasn’t totally transfixed by you, it would’ve knocked him on his ass, how beautiful you were. He smiled as you danced to your own song, your band joining you. Your voice was perfect, gentle and sweet, the voice he’d fallen in love with. The voice he woke up with, the voice he heard throughout his apartment when you’d come to stay, the voice he loved. 

“Maybe it’s the lovin’ in your eyes!” 

You met his eyes and offered him an enthusiastic wave, making his heart ache in this hopeless way, because he knew without a doubt, he was in love with you. He just wasn’t so sure you were in love with him. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You smiled as you sat beside him for the remainder of the night, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You easily spoke with everyone, meeting his teammates (past and present), and even dealing with what he called a ‘Lando situation’, aka Lando doing something stupid and you having to deal with it. This time it was nearly stabbing Zak Brown with a fork, and while Carlos wouldn’t much mind if he did, he didn’t condone public violence. 

“You were radiant tonight,” he murmured as he buried his head in the crook of your neck during a break in the show. 

“Thank you baby,” you smiled back, your hand going up to run through his hair. “You looked pretty good yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked. 

You nodded, a bright smile on your lips. “Oh yeah.” 

He chuckled against you. “Mi vida, you’re perfect.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much.”

You turned your head, your eyes wide and almost… confused? Were you confused? Had he read your relationship wrong? Oh fuck-

“I love you too,” you smiled, and surged forward, pressing your lips against his. 

He breathed out a little laugh as you kissed him, noticing how Lando was filming the two of you. He didn’t care.

"I thought you were going to say no," he admitted with a light laugh.

You stared at him, shocked for a moment. "Did you listen to the lyrics?"

He shrugged. "You're very pretty?"

You playfully hit his arm. "I'm ready to dive. Maybe it's the loving in your eyes? Maybe it's the magic in the wine? Maybe it's the fact that every time I fall I loose it all, but you've got me from my head to my feet, and I'm ready to dive," you chuckled at his stupidity.

He sighed as he placed his head in his hands. "I am stupid."

"That's my line!" Charles barked from the table behind the two of you, sending all three of you into a fit of laughter.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

williams & merc masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[ultravi0lence14]

Thoroughfare

DEAN WINCHESTER X DOE!READER

WARNINGS: sexual content (MDNI), fingering, hair pulling, finger sucking. first smut, pls i know it’s bad🫣

SUMMARY: with a light whisper of ‘do you wanna see the west with me?’ dean had you right where he wanted; by his side and sitting pretty in the front seat of his car.

WC: 3.3k

the humid air of the western skies lingered on your skin, bringing a humid and sticky sheen to your arms and shoulders. dean had all the windows rolled down, a testament to the light breeze that broke through the stickiness of montana.

your cotton tank top stuck to your skin, slick sweat making you feel like it had melded with your body. the cutoff’s you wore weren’t any better, adhering to your thighs like glue. the stubborn weather of a mid july afternoon didn’t allow for any cold; no chill wracking you through the bone, only a sickly, immobilizing heat that crashed through your senses and made it’s way into your dna.

though some part of you didn’t seem to mind. the rolled down windows allowed you to stick your head out the open space, wind blowing in your hair as you took in the blurred and rolling sights of crooked leafless trees and dried up fields.

dean wasn’t any better. one of his hands rested on the steering wheel, long nimble fingers clutched tightly so he could steer you to wherever the road leads you two. his other hand — firm in it’s grip, rested on your thigh. his fingers travelled into the inside of your leg, fingers delicately dancing across the seem of your shorts as his eyes stared at you from his peripheral vision.

you were ethereal, an angel sent from God just for him. your hair, unruly in how the wind tossed it about, was flowing behind you like a fairy with her wings. the side profile of your face was directed towards dean, your back facing the passenger side door as you stuck your head out in the placid and dry air.

the fullness of your cheeks was properly on display to dean’s eager eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to run his lips across the skin, brushing delicate kisses onto your cheeks and face until you were covered in his love. he could faintly see the plump pout of your own lips, eyes shimmering with admiration and desire as he pictured running his tongue across them; your soft lips pressed timidly against his as he pulled you into his body, almost swallowing you whole.

he loved you, so incandescently. you were the face of beauty, a true goddess in the eyes of the eldest winchester. it wasn’t just your delicate features that pulled dean in, it was the way you carried yourself, a graceful mist following you wherever you went.

softness rolled off of you in tidal waves, and dean loved how your gentle nature contrasted and grounded his frequent pessimistic and grumpy behaviour. the human embodiment of a doe; a creature full of love and life, who walked through flower gardens erupted by spring like it was her calling.

it didn’t help that your eyes resembled one of the animal; big and round, always so soft and caring. he loved you so much, it physically made his soul ache.

you were always there for him, never wavering even when times got tough. you didn’t love his job, believing that hunting was dangerous and the stem of all of his childhood and lasting trauma. but dean always waved you off, saying that this was his life, and he would never do anything that would jeopardize a life and future with you.

but he could still see the emotional tole it was taking on you, weighing on your heart like a heavy burden that you shouldn’t be carrying. he ached for you to feel secure in this life that he was giving you, but dean also knew that everyone needed breaks. so, he decided to give you one.

a couple nights ago, the two of you found yourselves tangled in the sheets of a nebraskan motel, limbs intertwined as dean embraced you in his arms, your fingers drawing small hearts on his chest.

“let’s go to california.” the random outburst from dean had you pulling away from him slightly, lifting up on your elbows so you could get a better look at the man who’s eyes glimmered with hope and mischief. “what are you talking about, dean?”

“what i’m trying to say is,” dean sat up as he spoke, resting against the headboard and grabbing your hips so he could pull you into his lap. “let’s go to california. you are always begging me to go to malibu, and you deserve a vacation every now and then.”

the smile on your lips was beaming, a shine that could light up a thousand skies. dean wanted to bottle it up, put it in a jar, and never let it leave his side. he felt your hands move to his shoulders, those big, beautiful eyes staring at him with unbridled excitement. “you’re being serious right now? this isn’t just some sick joke?”

“no jokes baby,” he drawled, hand brushing your soft hair away from your face. pulling his face closer to yours so he could brush his lips against your ear, dean whispered so softly you believed you were imagining it. “do you wanna go see the west with me, pretty girl?”

you were elated the whole car ride, excitedly babbling about all the things you two would do in the golden state. as the nights rolled into days, the air started to get more and more humid, which led to the very moment that dean was in now. he shook his head from the memory of how he got here, watching your smile take up your whole face as you giggled at something unbeknownst to him. he didn’t really think about the why, he was too busy getting drunk on the sound of your laugh.

lightly patting your thigh, dean grinned over at your windswept and sticky frame as your giggles danced alongside the flow of the wind. “c’mon crazy girl, get back in here. can’t have you falling out.” his words held a joking lilt, yet you could see the concern in dean’s eyes. with a joking huff, you retreated back into the car, legs immediately sticking to the leather as the hot air melded your skin like sticky glue.

“oh c’mon dean, it’s so hot.” you groaned out, another giggle rippling through your lips as you saw dean playfully role his eyes in your peripheral. “i can basically feel my skin melting off.”

“you’re so dramatic,” his teasing was palpable, you could feel it in the way his smile reached his eyes and how his fingers clutched a little tighter onto your thigh. “what do you think cali’s going to be like, baby? think it’s going to be an ice box?”

letting out a grunt as you smacked his arm, dean watched with love struck eyes as your grin got impossibly even more wide. “you’re such a jerk, dean winchester!” dean swore he has never smiled harder in his life than when he was with you. that sweet, playful nature always brought out the best in him, and he didn’t even dare think about a life without your brightened presence.

crossing your arms over your chest, those pretty pink lips dean loved so much puffed out in a pretty pout. dean’s hand itched on your thigh, wanting to reach up and pull down your bottom lip. “i’m prepared for the weather in california, dean.” your voice broke him from his revere, making dean slightly cough as he intently listened to your ramble

“we won’t be spending all the time in the car. we’ll be at the beach, santa monica pier — oh i’m so excited for all the rides!” the vibrant glimmer of your excitement shined through the car, hitting dean straight in his heart, spreading until it was pumping through his veins.

“yeah, no rides, doe.” the previous excitement in your eyes dwindled, a shocked expression breaking through. “what? we have to go on the rides dean! it’s almost like a birthright.” he just loved how you expressed yourself, loving how when you defended the things you loved, your eyes got wild and your cheeks tinted. it was such a pretty sight, though dean was starting to believe everything about you was pretty.

dean’s words came through his lips in a chuckle, a grin etched onto his face as he looked at your pretty features. “i don’t do rides. never have, never will. sorry, sweets.”

shaking your head in disdain, a sad pout decorated your face, turning towards dean as he continued to drive down the desolate, montana road. “you’re such a buzz kill, do you even know what fun is?”

your question was a joke, your voice light and airy as it always was, but this time with a twinkle of comedy. but dean was already so wound up from the image of how pretty you looked with the wind blowing in your hair, illuminating you like a framed painting, that an idea slid into the depths of his mind.

a smirk adorned his lips as he shifted the wheel, pulling the impala off to the side of the road. your face twisted up in confusion as dean pulled the gear shift into park, cutting the ignition and turning his body to face you. your lips parted in question, about to voice your thoughts before dean’s hands grabbed at your calves.

with a squeak from your lips, dean hauled your legs onto the front seat, moving your body so your back was leaned against the door. he then tracked his fingers down the smooth expanse of your skin, grabbing at your ankles and pulling you down until you laid flat on your back.

the space was cramped, but dean somehow found a way to make it work; bending your legs at the knees and spreading them open so he could fit in between them. words were lodged in your throat, a sputter of air leaving your lips as dean situated himself. he had that shit eating grin on his face, and you could already tell that he had something wild up his sleeve.

“dean!” you exclaimed, hands going to rest against his chest as a laugh erupted from your lips. “what are you doing?”

he just smirked, trailing his hands from your ankles up your thighs, one hand gripping your waist as the other worked to pop the button of your shorts. “just showing my girl how fun i can really be.”

the words that fell from his lips were amplified with the sound of your zipper undoing, and your eyes widened suddenly at the realization of what dean had in mind.

“we can’t do this now, dean.” you exasperated, hands pushing at his chest as his fingers worked to take off your pants. “someone could drive by, they could see us for christ’s sake!”

dean just leaned down to leave a lingering kiss on your forehead, shimmying the waistband of your shorts a little ways down your waist before his hand on your hip shifted to go under your ass. “no one’s been on the road for miles, sweet thing. we’re alone, everything is going to be okay.” his words were followed by the softening of his eyes, the hand that had been undoing your zipper went up to stroke your cheek. “do you trust me?”

sliding your hands up from his chest to around his shoulders, a soft, serene smile graced your lips. you brought your face upward, brushing your mouth against his as the shallow breath’s leaving dean’s lips hit your own. “of course, i always do.”

you felt him smile against your lips, placing a delicate kiss on your nose before he pulled back slightly. “good,” he breathed, hands going back to your waistband. “now, lift your hips f’me, baby.”

a dusty blush adorned your cheeks as you obliged, hips lifting slightly as dean slid your jean shorts from your legs. when they got to your ankles, dean helped you kick them off, picking them up and throwing them somewhere in the backseat with a grin.

“that’s much better.” words wrapped around a grin as his fingers dipped into the waistband of your panties. the giggle that left your lips at his comment turned into a shallow whimper as one of his fingers dipped into your folds, his fingers slipping through your already wet cunt.

a breath left dean’s lips, eyes blowing wide as he watched your face twist in pleasure from the finger he had down your pants. “jesus, sweets, you’re already fucking soaked. did i do this to you? was it my words and my finger that got you this wet?”

a high pitched ‘mhm’ left your lips as you nodded your head, eye’s half lidded as you watched dean stare down at his finger teasing your folds. moving the finger that was teasing your entrance towards your clit, lightly pressing down and eliciting a sharp moan from deep in your gut. “there’s my girl,” dean cooed, his fingers moving in tight circles on your sensitive bud. “you’re doing so good for me baby, such a good fucking girl.”

the sensation was overwhelming, a shot of bliss the curled in your gut and wound into your soul. your half-lidded eyes caught sight of dean, his head down as he watched the way his finger played with your clit. the mid-day sun was washing over his figure, bathing him in such a light that made him look almost angelic.

as dean pulled his finger away, you felt a sense of emptiness unfurl in your stomach. a deep whine left your lips, hips lifting upwards to try and chase the high that dean was providing you. “more dean. please, give me more.”

“patience, pretty girl.” his voice was soft, but there was an air of demand and dominance that hid behind the cracks of his voice. “i’m just getting started. didn’t know you were so needy for me.”

another whine tore from the depths of your throat, whimpering as dean slid the side of your underwear out of the way, exposing your cunt to his eyes and the cold air that was whirling through the car’s vents. a groan rumbled in his throat, your eyes half lidded as you watched him put the finger covered in your slick in his mouth.

“jesus christ, you taste like a fucking dream.” his words sound slurred, and they were heightened as two of his fingers went back to your leaking pussy, prodding at your entrance as tiny whimpers left your throat. “i can’t wait to see how you look stuffed with my fingers, gushing all over my hand like the good girl i know you are.”

the whine that would’ve left your lips at his words turned into a deep moan, dean’s middle and pointer finger entering your tight walls, his own ragged breaths mixing with yours as he felt you clenching around him.

he watched as your breathing grew ragged, chest heaving up and down as you gripped onto his shoulders for dear life. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so dean waited until you gave him the green light, his other hand smoothing down the hair the fell in your face.

after a couple of moments, he felt your hips rut into his hand, eyes screwing shut in pure pleasure. that was all he needed to thrust his fingers into your tight walls.

high pitched whimpers left your lips as dean’s fingers prodded at your cervix, a guttural moan leaving your lips as he brushed against your g-spot.

“there it is,” he breathed, hollow breaths leaving his own lips as he watched his fingers go in and out of you. “that’s the spot, isn’t it baby? you like it when my fingers make you feel good?”

all you could let out was a guttural moan, hands clawing at dean’s clothed chest for any sign of resolve. too caught up in your own pleasure, you didn’t realize that dean had forgotten to roll up the windows, your loud moans and whines flowing through the wind and alerting anyone who drove by about what was going on inside of the impala.

but in the moment, you didn’t seem to care. dean started to move his fingers faster, your hips rutting up to meet the frenzied pace of his hand. the coil in your stomach was starting to tighten more and more, and you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes closed and slightly turn your head as the euphoric feelings started to intensify.

though that didn’t last for long, because without a warning, the hand that dean had previously used to smooth down your hair tangled in it’s strands, gripping tightly as he pulled your head upwards so you were face to face with him.

“open those pretty eyes for me, sweetheart.” his voice held that same softness with a lilt of dominance, fingers quickening as he felt your orgasm approach. “i wanna see you when you cum. see how good i make you feel when i fuck you with my fingers.”

your eye’s shot open, lips parted and heavy pants and whines leaving your throat as dean kept going with the relenting pace. “i can’t- fuck, dean! i’m gonna cum!”

the pace at which dean’s fingers were moving inside of you was relentless. each thrust of his fingers hitting your g-spot as his piercing green eyes stared into yours. at your words, he moved a little faster, lips brushing yours as his voice travelled from his lips to yours. “c‘mon, my sweet girl, come for me.”

you could feel it, the bliss that started in your core and creeped it’s way into your entire body. the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening until, like a crashing wave, it gave way.

you came with a loud cry, back arched and head leaning into dean’s hand embedded into your hair. you watched as dean kept moving his fingers inside of you even as you gushed around his fingers. he was transfixed, completely enchanted by the bliss that took over your face.

“there you go,” he cooed, the hand in your hair lessening as his fingers started to slow down. “pretty girl, all messed up, coming on my fingers. you look fucking unreal.”

his words were mixed in with the small whimpers that left your lips, mouth parted and cheeks flushed with bliss. there was drool running down the corners of your mouth, and you felt as dean took his hand out of your hair and wiped it away with his thumb.

you whined as he pulled his fingers out, feeling empty without his fingers deep inside of you. looking down, you watched as your juices spilled out of your entrance, dean immediately dipping his two already wet fingers in the mess and putting them in front of your mouth.

“open up for me, doe. want you to taste yourself on my fingers.” with wide, wet eyes, you parted your lips for dean to place his two fingers on your tongue. when you closed your mouth, sucking on the two digits, you felt as the pads of middle and pointer finger prodded at the back of your throat.

“that’s my girl.” dean breathed out, watching in awe as he stared at your pretty face sucking your juices off of his fingers. he swore you weren’t real in that moment, too good to be true. yet as you swirled your tongue around his fingers, he realized that you were his, and he was yours, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

as you came down from your high, dean cleaned you up with a napkin that he found in his centre console. when he was done, he helped you sit up, moving your underwear back into place and allowing you to take a breather.

realizing your shorts were in the backseat, you leaned over the seat to try and find them, jumping as you felt dean land a smack on your ass.

“jesus dean,” you laughed, grabbing your shorts and sitting back down. “can’t get enough can you?”

“when it comes to you?” he grinned, turning the car back on and starting to pull back onto the street. “i can never have enough,”

TAGS: @haunteres @starzify @floralscented @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @foolinthera1n @vaiieydoii @bluemerakis

NAT BABBLES: i’ve been so wrapped up with my angel series, that i wanted to reset and write a little dean story. also, this is my first time writing smut, so i know it’s probably ass, but just bare with me😭

[miyuhpapayuh]

Let it out.

“Hold it for me, baby.”

Wet tongue swirling around her sensitive bud, making it incredibly hard to focus on her slipping sanity.

Large hands holding her open and at his mercy, that deep sugared tone of his vibrates through her being in groans of appreciation for the nectar that flows from her like a river.

“You hear me, baby?”

“I-I hear you, I hear you,” she mewls, jerking forward as his tongue speeds up, flicking her bud now.

He watches as her mouth drops open, those sweet sounds filling his ears like a song as he moves away to kiss her inner thighs.

Her head falls back as she melts into the mattress, her back bowing as he kisses her clit.

“Babyyy,” she whines, trying to block out the immense pleasure she's receiving.

“Mmmhmm,” he moans, dragging the tip of his tongue through her folds, making her leak all over the place.

“So wet, baby,” he coos.

“J-just for you,” she whispers back, squeezing her eyes shut.

She clenches around nothing as he continues drawing lazy patterns on her sopping wet lips, the urge to cum all in his mouth grows stronger.

“P-please baby, please,” she cries out, gripping the sheets.

“Not yet, baby… you're doing so good,” he praises, smirking at the gush of honey on his tongue.

“It f-feels so good, baby… so good!”

His licks turn rapid, honing in on a spot that's got her thighs shaking something crazy.

“Oh my god,” she gasps.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

“Yesss, please! Let me cum,” she begs, feeling her core tighten hard, trying to hold out for his approval.

“Say it, again,”

“Let me cum, please baby!! I can't take it, I can't take it!”

“Let it out” barely left his lips before her orgasm crashed over like a tidal wave, snatching her breath for a good couple seconds.

Her heady moans and the sounds of him slurping her up blends together, as she ascends into bliss over and over and over again.

“You did so good, baby,” he says, slapping her wet lips to watch her jerk once more.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . °

Enjoy!

@ghostfacekill-monger @blackerthings @thegifstories @megamindsecretlair @theereina @babybratzmaraj @starcrossedxwriter @soufcakmistress @abeautifulmindexposed @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @planetblaque

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Minho ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS When your period is close to arriving, it's very safe to say that you become an absolute nightmare. Even Minho thinks so. Your mood swings are seriously no joke, and so when you woke up crying only to yell at Minho for no reason, Minho knew that your period was close. Oh, joy.

The issue with this is that one itty bitty slip up from Minho would just send wave after wave of emotion, and Minho barely had time to recover before the next switch. If he accidentally brushes his hand against your chest, it's game over. He's getting chewed out about how he's always trying to have sex, and then the next minute your in tears because you feel bad about yelling at him.

So, how does Minho help you? He can't. There's no saving you. All he can do is just take blow after blow, apologize for something that really wasn't a big deal, listen, and comfort you. Carefully. He knew it wasn't you and it was just hormones. He could just pick at you after your period was done.

THE BLOOD God, you think your mood swings are bad? Your flow is worse. You only bleed for 3 days, but holy hell, you bled and you bled HARD. A lot of times, you were on the toilet for the majority of the day because your flow was so bad. And when you weren't, you had to wear a heavy duty pad and a heavy duty tampon. Fucking sucks.

Minho, understanding this, usually does his best to support you. Sometimes, if you're in the bathroom on the toilet just to let blood drain, he'll come in and play games with you. If you don't want him in the bathroom, you and him will do local play video games so you aren't completely alone. And if you're walking around, he'll set up small dates for you both to do at home since you'd rather die than go out in public when your uterus is ripping itself to shreds and making a tidal wave of blood.

THE PAIN Thankfully, you don't deal with too much pain. God decided to have some mercy. Key word? Some. While you didn't deal with pain, you did deal with constipation, bloating, and extreme nausea. It...it was bad.

So what does Minho do? First, he makes sure you're drinking enough. He'll also make sure you eat at least something. He knows that you genuinely don't feel good and are really queasy until your period eases it's choke hold on you, and so he doesn't force you to eat a bunch. But he'll still give you some rice and eggs or foods that'll stick in you instead of making you feel like throwing up.

And once your nausea and bloating is gone, he'll make you whatever you're craving, making sure that the food will also help your intestines loosen up so you aren't uncomfortable when you sit down or move around.

THE PRODUCT There's not a whole lot that Minho can do for you on your period. It kills him every single time, and so he'll always help wherever he can. And if that means running to the store to get you what you need? He's on it.

He knows exactly what you prefer and use, and so he will make sure to buy a lot of it since you go through it quickly. There's zero complaining, zero whining, zero teasing. He's doing whatever he can so you suffer less.

And of course, he's getting anything else that you ask for as well. You want a coffee from a place that's 30 minutes away? Bet, he'll happily go and get it for you. You want croissants? He'll make them from scratch. You want Felix's brownies? Well, Felix is coming over to bake them right here for you. Simple as that.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[wyllzel]

Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. - ELMINSTER, ACT II

[arget-star]

Umemiya’s favorite to wake you up is with kisses peppered all over face. Light, chaste little pecks placed with no true rhyme or reason, just wherever strikes his fancy, often interspersed with whispers of your name in the hopes his voice will filter into your dreams.

Slowly, you rouse, aware of the fleeting pressure gracing your cheeks, your nose. Soft strands of his hair tickle your forehead as he continues his ritual. He pauses on the apple of your right cheek; something must have shifted in your expression—or your breathing, perhaps—alerting him you’ve joined the land of the waking.

His bangs move off your forehead as he angles his head up just enough to plant a tender kiss on the space between your eyebrows. Cool air rushes in once he lifts away from you completely, your nose scrunching at the sensation.

“Good morning,” he greets, normally chipper voice roughened with sleep.

There is nothing quite like fluttering your eyes open and seeing a grinning, pillow mussed Ume hovering over you. He’s ridiculous, all puppy love eyes and frizzy hair, and you adore him for it. “Morning,” you smile back, shuffling your legs, the sheets rustling in time with your movements.

Panic flickers across his face; you can’t help the tired laugh that escapes you. “Not goin’ anywhere. Just stretching.”

He visibly relaxes, overdramatic sigh of relief brushing across your skin in a warm puff of air. Another laugh escapes you, undeniably fond. Ume lowers back down, pecking your lips once, twice, three times in quick succession, then buries his face in your neck with a contended hum.

“Sleep well?” You ask, freeing your arm from beneath the sheets, hand coming to rest atop his bicep. You trail your fingers up, pausing to toy with the hem of his t-shirt sleeve.

A press of lips against your shoulder. “Mhmmm. Did you?”

Your fingers round the slope of his own shoulder, featherlight against his neck. He shivers faintly, nuzzling further into you. Your questing fingers finally reach their destination, threading through his hair, nails gently scratching along his scalp. “I did.”

He makes a muffled sound of acknowledgement, followed by another kiss, body settling contentedly atop yours. “Oof”, you mutter, even as you relish the comforting weight. Ume shakes with a silent chuckle and you resist the urge to shove at his unfairly muscled chest in retaliation.

Instead, you shuffle around enough to turn your head, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He’s typically so energetic in the mornings, ready to take on the day the second you’re lucid. Days like this are rare—minutes stretching out like honey, spent quietly basking in the simple pleasure of a comfortable bed and his beloved in arms.

You haven’t outright asked him what spurs the change of pace. Not that you’re afraid he won’t answer; rather, you don’t want him to feel like he owes you an explanation for seeking extra comfort. He’s so quick to offer you whatever you need without expecting anything in return. Becoming his safe place in the same way is the lease you can do for him.

You know he dreams about his childhood. You know the grief will never truly fade, only ebb and flow, leaving him drained when the tidal wave crests too high. These precious mornings of soft sunlight and extra kisses help him break the surface and remember he’s not alone.

That’s your theory, anyway.

Planting another kiss on his temple, you hope it conveys even a fraction of the love you feel for him. “Haji,” you whisper, just to call him back to himself, fingers still rhythmically combing through his hair, “don’t think I’m quite awake yet.”

No reply, save for a kiss to your neck. Your hand stills as he moves to face you, scarred eyebrow raised, a ghost of a disbelieving smile twisting his mouth. “You sure?”

You exaggerate a yawn.

Something almost dangerous glints in his eyes. It’s the only warning you get before he’s kissing you all over again, complete with loud, obnoxious smooching noises. Your laughter rings out as you try to squirm away from the onslaught.

Warmth glows in his chest at the sound; the shadows at the edge of his thoughts may threaten to overwhelm him, but you’re always there to banish them with your never ending light.

[luckybunny001]

“It only took a moment…”

(Mouthwashing Daisuke x Mechanic! Reader)

The crew had been stranded in space for what felt like an eternity—food supplies dwindling, hope fading.

Curly, their captain, lay immobile in the medical bay, a constant reminder of their dire circumstances.

Jimmy, the co-captain, ruled with an iron fist, belittling everyone and taking advantage of Curly’s condition.

Anya, the ship’s nurse, fluttered nervously around them, her eyes darting whenever Jimmy came near.

Swansea, the tough-as-nails mechanic, had taken Daisuke under his wing but seemed to grow increasingly frustrated with him.

“Just pull yourself together, Daisuke,” he would say, his gruff voice echoing in Daisuke’s mind.

But now, sitting on the floor, Daisuke felt anything but together. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the swirling thoughts that accompanied his tipsy state.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching.

Panic gripped him, and he quickly wiped at his eyes, hoping to hide the evidence of his inebriation. But as he opened his eyes,

Reader appeared in the dim light, her silhouette framed by the flickering overhead. She looked down at him, concern etching her features.

“Daisuke?” she said softly, kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong? You look… off.”

He forced a smile, trying to mask his feelings. “I’m fine! Just… taking a little break, you know?” His voice was unsteady, betraying the bravado he was trying to project.

Reader frowned, her brow creasing with worry. “You don’t look fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He felt the walls closing in around him, the weight of the ship’s uncertainty pressing down on his chest. “Really, I’m—” But before he could finish, the dam broke. Tears, pooling at the corner of his eyes as he quickly squeezed them shut to prevent them to fall but to no avail as he felt the sting grow more as the tears escaped his eyes.

Reader’s expression shifted from concern to immediate empathy. She quickly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Daisuke buried his face in her shoulder, the warmth of her body grounding him as he let the tears flow freely. He felt embarrassed and vulnerable, but there was something about Reader’s presence that made it feel safe to let it all out.

The warmth of her concern was like a beacon in the darkness that surrounded him, and suddenly, the weight of everything crashed down. “I… I’m sorry, Reader,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “I just… I feel like such a loser. I can’t do anything right.”

“Daisuke, you’re not a loser,” Reader said firmly, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “You’re one of the most optimistic people I know. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. We’re all struggling right now.”

“I thought I could handle it,” he continued, his voice shaking. “I thought I could be helpful, but all I’ve done is mess things up. I can’t even—” He choked on his words, the shame washing over him like a tidal wave. “I drank mouthwash! I can’t even do that right.”

Reader pulled back slightly to look him in the eye, her gaze steady and unyielding. “Listen to me. You’re not defined by this moment. None of us are. We’re in a tough spot, and it’s okay to not be okay. You’re trying, and that counts for something. You bring light to this ship, Daisuke. You really do.”

He sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “But Curly… and Jimmy… and Swansea… they all think I’m just a burden.”

“Curly is in a bad place, and Jimmy… well, he’s just Jimmy,” she said, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and sympathy. “And Swansea? He’s tough because he cares. He sees potential in you, but it’s hard for him to show it right now. You’re not a burden. You’re part of this crew, just like the rest of us.”

The mention of Curly brought a fresh wave of pain to Daisuke’s heart. The captain had been a beacon of kindness, now reduced to a shadow of his former self. “I just wish things were different,” he murmured as Daisuke took a shaky breath, absorbing her words. “But what if we don’t make it? What if we run out of food and… and…”

Reader’s eyes softened, and she cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “We will make it.” Reader said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “But crying won’t help. We need to be strong for each other, especially now.”

Daisuke leaned against her, the warmth of her body grounding him in a way he desperately needed. “How do you stay so strong?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“It’s not easy,” she admitted. “But I remember why I’m here. I think about the people I care about — like you, Daisuke. You make it worth it. And I know you can be strong too.”

He swallowed hard, her words wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. “I want to be strong. For you. For the crew.”

“Then let’s do it together,” she said, her eyes shining with determination. “We’ll figure this out. One day at a time.”

As the tension began to ease, Daisuke felt the crushing weight of despair lift, if only slightly. “Thanks, Reader. You always know what to say.”

“Just don’t bottle it up next time, okay?” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “You can always talk to me. I’m here for you.”

Daisuke nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. “I will. I promise.”

Before he could think twice, he leaned in and hugged her tightly, grateful for her support. She hesitated, then wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

In that moment, surrounded by the uncertainty of space and the weight of their situation, Daisuke felt a sense of belonging that had eluded him for so long.

Maybe it was with her… he didn’t know.

They were lost, yes, but together, they could navigate the abyss.

As the ship drifted silently through the cosmos, two hearts found solace in each other. And for the first time in a long while, Daisuke believed that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way forward.

Unfortunately… that wasn’t possible for one of them at least….

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Bright Lights (Chapter 2)

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, post-divorce healing, Pitt Fest is a warning of its own, medical inaccuracies.

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Word count:  2.0k

Universe: The Pitt

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @questionably-intelligent69 , @dizzybee03 , @virgomillie , @mrsjosephmazzello , @sus-styles , @moonshooter , @hagarsays @that-sarcastic-writer , @ddrawers96 , @pear-1206 , @nerdgirljen & @penbridgertonn

Part 2 of 4

Previous | Next

6:30pm

Frankie gave no thought to the blood coating her clothes and hands; she needed to focus on keeping pressure on the wound. Her patient’s life depended on it; as the van was driven at a near breakneck speed. Her keen eyes kept checking the young man’s vitals as much as she could without her necessary medical devices. It was hard not to think back to Pitt Fest, to not think of what they had just escaped from by the skin of their teeth.

Despite not being shot, the experience would leave no visible scar, just as long lasting. Frankie would have to live with the knowledge and memory of the utter panic and devastation wrought by whoever pulled the trigger.

No amount of preparation or emergency medical training could measure up to facing an active shooting. She had felt helpless, as if she had been wading through waist deep water before another tidal wave had struck. Forcing her under, struggling to resurface as terrified people rushed past her.

Frankie, in her scramble for supplies, had mistakenly taken her partner’s jacket from the cab of the ambulance, only to use it as a blanket, carefully draping it over the shivering form of an injured festival goer who had delicately placed in the back of a van. One that would leave her, the one transporting her directly to the nearest trauma center.

She knew that her friend would have done the same; it was a replaceable article of clothing. She had done it to preserve body heat. To give the patient a fighting chance for making it to the hospital alive. Yet, she could not see the events that she had put in motion.

ROBINAVITCH, each letter was dripping in the blood of another.

It was far from a pleasant sight; she didn’t have time to linger on such thoughts as the blood of her patient soaked through the bandages that she carefully wrapped around the gushing wound. She pulled each layer tighter than the previous one to hold the dressing underneath in place. Her hands applied further pressure, but still the blood continued to flow. This wasn’t good. 

“What’s our ETA?” She shouted out to the van’s driver. As she tried to calculate how long she had before her patient slipped deeper in the danger zone. Frankie felt every shift, every turn that the van took as they inched closer and closer to its final designation.

“Five minutes out” Keeping his gaze fixed on the road, the driver answered, carefully negotiating the many bends and turns. She still did not know the name of the Samaritan who had stepped up, swiftly offering his work vehicle to transport the wounded. It had a moment of showcasing the best of humanity as others followed by example.

With the passenger in the back on the other side of the patient, Frankie took a second to glance at them. “We’ve almost here” A tired smile graced their lips but their eyes remained fixed downwards upon the more severely injured party, the husband. From the little information that Frankie had gleamed from the wife, he had been shielding a mother and her young child, trying to get them out of harm’s way, only to take the full force of shot to the chest.

The wound was deep, but she couldn’t truly assess how serious it truly was. Frankie was certain of one fact, it hadn’t been instantly fatal as her patient was still fighting for his life. The very fine threads that held him still hovering between this world and the next. The minutes were ticking by; his life was ebbing in tandem.

“As soon as those doors open, let the staff do their job,” she confidently spoke to the wife, knowing that genuine sense of panic would rapidly descend as soon as they rolled into the ambulance bay. The EMT mask clicked back into place.

“I need you to take over, keep pressure on the wound whilst I checked him over” Frankie watched as she actively listened, replacing her hands upon dressing. “Sam, my husband’s name is Sam,” the wife said, smiling lovingly down at him, concern slide in beside it. Today would remain forever etched in their collective memories, regardless of the outcome.

“I’m Lara” Frankie nodded; at least she had their names; she could refer to them by instead of just wife or patient. “Frankie,” she replied as the van came to a screeching halt. The metal van’s chassis muffled the voices, but she could hear and distinguish a few words.

Red, Pink, Yellow 

The emergency protocols were already underway; they were categorising all incoming traffic, trying to ensure that nothing was missed. As the back doors were pulled open, Frankie seized this opportunity to speak. 

“Male, in his 40s with a single GSW to the chest” The words flowed naturally as if she was rolling a gurney through those ambulance bay doors with a doctor and nurse ready to receive her report from the field, just like any normal day. This was far from normal as she watched the doctor deliver his own assessment, taking her words to heart as someone slapped a red band on his wrist.

Frankie could finally relax as she silently watched the handover continue on as they carefully helped Sam out of the van and onto a gurney. Before his wife Lara followed, with a green slap band on her wrist. She smiled as exhaustion settled in as Lara briefly turned to mouth ‘thank you’ before disappearing out of sight.  ----------------------------------------- 7pm

The chaos that erupted in an instant dwarfed the ordinary sounds of whistles and alarms. This was exactly where she thrived. Santos was born this for, as she rushed from patient to patient, noting the variety of injuries and wounds that came from a massive casualty. This experience would allow her to climb the ranks in medicine and discover her place in the field.

Whether that it was down here in the Pitt, facing the unpredictability of emergency medicine, or with a ten blade in her hand cutting away with the best in surgery. 

It was intoxicating as she danced between the yellow and pink zones, focused on being present in the most pressing cases. Knowing that the chance to prove herself would come, then she could help alongside the attendings in the red zone.

Show off the mad skills that she knew she possessed. Some might see as arrogance; to her, it ran deeper, to the bone. This was a defence mechanism, a drive to survive against the odds stacked against her.

Trinity Santos had to be the best, at the top of every class. This was her way out, to provide to all her doubters that she could, no would make it as a Doctor. Her past did not define her, yet it shaped her through all she had endured.

None of that mattered here and now; she needed to remain focused, no matter how much her feet throbbed, no matter how much she wished she could find a quick space and take a quick five-minute nap. 

Heading to the yellow zone

Pink, unconscious, with no visible wounds

Moving to up to red

The calls came from all around the department as gurneys whizzed past, new patients at the beginning of line and ones who had been there since the very start. Treatment changing by the second as their conditions either stabilised enough to bump the ever-growing surgery list or deteriorated in a blink of an eye. Thinking on the fly, improvising treatment, this was a rush but fall out would come, eventually.

Yet, it was something ordinary that caught her eye, a jacket that she had seen a fair few times through the shift. The standard issue jacket that all incoming paramedics wore. It was part of their identity, making them easy to see amongst the throngs of darting bodies that navigated the corridors of the department.

They had folded the jacket and set it aside, but as Santos approached, more details became visible. Dried out blood stains littered the fabric, yet it didn’t match the wounds on the patient laying in the bay. It was far too big; it would swallow them whole if they had been the one wearing it.

This was not its original owner. Without a second thought, Trinity slipped her gloved hands beneath the folds, lifting it up to get a closer look, only to find a name staring right back at her as the fabric unfurled. One that she had come to know in the last twelve and a half hours.

Robinavitch, Dr Robby. Countlessly questions arose as the sound of her name brought back to reality.

“Kid, are you alright? You were staring off into space…” Dana, the brisk but maternal voice at the very heart of the Department, trailed off as her gaze found their way on the jacket, to the embossed name. An awkward silent crept in without warning; Santos still with a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue.

The ever present charge nurse knew something; she held the key to her rapidly growing desire for answers to this most delicious of riddles. Yet, nothing came in the seconds that followed. Instead, a wall had risen suddenly between the two of them.

“I’ll take that, focus on the patients” Trinity had wanted nothing more than to bite back defiantly and prod deeper. Before she had the change to inquire any further down the rabbit hole, Dana had carefully plucked her prize and turned on her heel, making her escape. Trinity knew her place on the totem pole, one of the lowest rungs, but this encounter had been the strangest of the shift thus far. ---------------------------------------------------

6:20pm Pitt Fest

You had lost track of time; silence between gun shots and the piercing fearful screams had only gotten shorter. This was how you had been judging time by, as you wandered through the haze. A crippling sense of utter confusion, pain, and blind fear had overruled your innate desire to flee. That very human nature to escape from a perceived threat, one that was too real.

Jake

Leah

Frankie

Each face flashed before your eyes as you continued on stumbling past the turned over tents, tables and countless decorations and bunting spread across what once had been a pathway. You had to find someone, anyone, to make sure that they were safe. Your gaze shifted left, then right, searching for the smallest sign of life. You lost your radio in the first stampede, tramped under the many pairs of fleeing.

Your phone hadn’t been faring any better; the signal had long since jammed up as the number of people attempting to reach out steadily climbed by the second.

You had tried calling, texting Jake’s number a fair few times but it no longer connected, the messages remained unsent. Communication over the airwaves had broken down quicker than you had thought it might; all you could rely on was your senses. No matter how hard each step felt, you had to continue forward.

It was eerie to think about how less than an hour ago, music had flooded from every direction. New meeting oldies, merging into an interesting middle ground. It had been fascinating to watch as people danced along, stumbled over misremembered lyrics, and laughed like there was no tomorrow.

It had been a wonderful to witness as you had wandered through the thoroughfare as you had tried to retrace your steps back to the delicious notes of mouth-watering flavours that had caught your attention when you first had arrived. You had never found the vendor, you couldn’t remember even sampling any of the wide range of foods available.

So much of it wasted away, mixing with the mud and ground beneath your feet. Your stomach answered the question that hadn’t even been asked. The world started to spin as you took a few more steps, but your next thought never came, as a shoulder barged forcibly into you, knocking you clean off your feet.

Darkness consumed your vision, as muted voices mixed as you fell into the sweet embrace of the depths of the unconscious mind. ------------------------------------- If anyone wishes to tagged in any of the Pitt x Reader content, please reply or message me                                

[kittenan]

Yoongi Marry Me!

Pairing: Yoongi x Bold!Reader Genre: Idol AU, Smut, Exhibitionism, Brat x Dom Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content (mirror sex, fingering, rough sex, choking, dirty talk, hair pulling, spanking, public teasing, unprotected sex [wrap it up, folks!], slight degradation, praise kink, aftercare), language, alcohol mention. Word Count: ~5k

The air buzzed with electricity, a pulsing, living thing that thrummed through the arena. Thousands of fans screamed, their voices a tidal wave crashing over the stage where BTS performed with a precision that felt almost otherworldly. You stood in the front row, heart pounding, body vibrating with the bass that shook the floor beneath your boots. Your glittery sign was hoisted high above your head, the words sparkling under the stage lights: “Yoongi, Marry Me or I’ll Strip.”

The crowd around you lost it. Fans nearby were snapping photos, shrieking, some chanting “Do it! Do it!” as if you’d actually follow through. You smirked, tossing your hair over your shoulder, your confidence a blazing fire in your chest. You weren’t just any fan. You’d been to enough fan meets to know Yoongi noticed you—the way you’d flirt shamelessly, push boundaries with cheeky comments, and wink when you caught his eye. He’d always played it cool, but you saw the way his lips twitched, fighting a smile. Tonight, though, you’d gone nuclear.

The sign was bold, unapologetic, just like you. You’d spent hours bedazzling it, making sure every letter shimmered like a beacon. And it worked. Halfway through “Mic Drop,” Yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours. His flow faltered for a split second—a blink-and-you’d-miss-it stumble over a lyric. The camera caught it, panning to your sign as the jumbotron broadcasted your audacity to the entire arena. The crowd roared louder, and Twitter was probably imploding with the #YoongiMarryMeChallenge by now.

You didn’t flinch. You held his gaze, lips curling into a wicked grin as you slowly reached for the zipper of your leather jacket. Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he rapped his next line with a venomous edge, like he was spitting it directly at you. During a slow ballad later, you made good on your threat, tugging the zipper down an inch, exposing a sliver of collarbone. You winked, and his reaction was instant—his tongue flicked across his lips, and he muttered something into his mic, low and dangerous.

“Who the hell let her in front row…”

The crowd ate it up, thinking it was part of the performance, but you knew better. That was for you. Yoongi was pissed, and you were thriving.

The rest of the concert was a game of cat and mouse. Yoongi was a professional, but you were a menace, and he couldn’t ignore you. During “Ddaeng,” he stalked to your side of the stage, his gaze burning through you as he delivered his lines with a predatory edge. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you swore he smirked when you blew him a kiss. The fans around you screamed, oblivious to the silent war you were waging.

When “So What” blasted through the speakers, you danced, hips swaying, knowing his eyes were on you. You unzipped your jacket another inch, revealing the low-cut top beneath, and his expression darkened. He bit his lip, hard, and you felt a thrill shoot through you. You were getting to him, unraveling the untouchable Min Yoongi in front of thousands.

The final encore was “Anpanman,” and Yoongi was relentless. He prowled to your corner of the stage, crouching low, his mic pressed to his lips as he rapped. His eyes never left yours, and when the song ended, he stood, chest heaving, and mouthed one word: “Trouble.”

Your smirk widened. Game on.

The concert ended in a blaze of confetti and screams, but your night was far from over. As fans filed out, you lingered, still buzzing with adrenaline. Two security guards approached, and you braced for a scolding, but instead, they said, “Miss, you’ve been requested backstage.”

Your heart skipped. Requested? Oh, this was too good. You followed them through a maze of corridors, your boots clicking against the concrete, your sign tucked under your arm like a trophy. The guards stopped at a door labeled “Dressing Room A” and knocked. It swung open, and there he was.

Min Yoongi. Hair damp with sweat, black hoodie slung over his shoulder, a towel around his neck. His eyes were dark, almost feral, as they raked over you. The door clicked shut behind you, and the air thickened.

“You think you’re cute, huh?” His voice was low, gravelly, each word dripping with barely restrained irritation. He stepped closer, and you caught the scent of his cologne—woodsy, sharp, intoxicating. “Think you can tease me like that in front of thousands and get away with it?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “I don’t know, Yoongi. Did I tease you? Or did I just… get your attention?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes were dangerous. “You’ve been getting my attention for months, brat. Flirting at fan meets, batting your lashes, running that smart mouth. And now this?” He gestured to the sign, which you’d propped against the wall. “Marry you or you’ll strip? Really?”

You shrugged, unzipping your jacket fully and letting it slide off your shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, leaving you in a tight black crop top that hugged your curves. “I mean, I’m a woman of my word. You didn’t propose, so…” You reached for the hem of your top, tugging it up an inch, just to see how far you could push him.

Yoongi’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. His grip was firm, not painful, but enough to stop you cold. “Don’t,” he growled. “You don’t get to play games with me anymore.”

Your pulse raced, but you didn’t back down. “Who’s playing, Yoongi? I’ve been crystal clear about what I want.” You leaned closer, your lips inches from his. “You.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his breath hot against your skin. Then, with a low curse, he released your wrist and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “You’re fucking trouble, you know that?”

“And you love it,” you shot back, stepping into his space again. “Why else am I here?”

His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you. “You wanna know why you’re here?” He closed the distance, backing you against the dressing room door. The wood was cool against your spine, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him. “Because you’ve been begging for this, and I’m done letting you run wild.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Strip, then. Since you’re so eager.”

You froze, your bravado faltering for a split second. Yoongi noticed, his smirk sharp and predatory. “What’s wrong, baby? All that confidence in public, and now you’re shy?”

The challenge in his voice reignited your fire. You pushed off the door, brushing past him to stand in the center of the room. The dressing room was small but plush—mirrored vanity, a leather couch, a desk cluttered with water bottles and makeup. You faced him, hands on your hips. “Shy? Me? You’re dreaming.”

“Then do it,” he said, crossing his arms. His rings glinted under the fluorescent lights, and you couldn’t help but imagine those fingers on you. “Strip. Like you promised.”

You held his gaze, your heart pounding as you kicked off your boots. The sound of them hitting the floor was loud in the quiet room. You reached for the button of your skirt, popping it open with deliberate slowness. Yoongi’s eyes darkened, tracking every movement as you slid the zipper down and let the fabric pool at your feet. Your panties were black lace, barely there, and you saw his jaw clench.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice rougher now.

You pulled your crop top over your head, tossing it onto the couch. Your bra matched your panties, and you felt a rush of power at the way Yoongi’s breath caught. He stepped closer, but you held up a hand. “Nuh-uh. You said strip. I’m not done.”

His laugh was low, dangerous. “Brat.”

You unhooked your bra, letting it fall, then slid your panties down your thighs, stepping out of them with a flourish. You stood there, naked, unashamed, your skin prickling under his intense gaze. “Your move, Yoongi.”

He didn’t hesitate. In two strides, he was on you, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip. He spun you around, pressing you against the mirrored vanity. The glass was cold against your chest, and you gasped as he tugged your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes in the reflection.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips brushing your neck. “All that attitude, and now you’re shaking.”

“I’m not shaking,” you lied, even as your thighs trembled.

He smirked, his hand sliding down your side, fingers grazing the curve of your ass before delivering a sharp smack. You yelped, and he soothed the sting with a gentle caress. “You embarrassed me out there,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Made me lose focus. You’re gonna pay for that.”

“Make me,” you challenged, and his eyes flashed.

His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you already wet. You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as he teased your entrance, his rings cold against your heated skin. “Soaked already,” he taunted, slipping one finger inside, then two. “This what you wanted, huh? Me ruining you after the show?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, gripping the edge of the vanity as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle.

“Say it,” he demanded, his other hand wrapping loosely around your throat. Not tight, just enough to make you feel him. “Say you’re sorry for being a brat.”

You smirked into the mirror, defiant. “Make me.”

His growl was feral. He pulled his fingers out, and before you could protest, he spun you around and lifted you onto the vanity. Bottles and brushes clattered to the floor, but he didn’t care. He shoved his sweatpants down, freeing himself, and your mouth watered at the sight. He was hard, thick, and you wanted him so badly it hurt.

He grabbed your thighs, spreading you open, and lined himself up. “Last chance,” he said, his tip brushing your entrance. “Apologize.”

“Fuck you,” you grinned, and he thrust into you in one brutal motion.

The stretch was intense, borderline painful, but you loved it. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a punishing pace. The vanity shook, the mirror reflecting every filthy detail—your flushed face, his dark eyes, the way your bodies moved together.

“Such a fucking brat,” he panted, one hand gripping your hip, the other tugging your hair. “Teasing me in front of everyone. You think you’re in control?”

“You love it,” you managed, wrapping your legs around him to pull him deeper. He groaned, his control slipping, and you knew you had him.

He retaliated with a sharp thrust that made you see stars. “Keep talking,” he warned, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. “I’ll fuck that attitude right out of you.”

“Try,” you gasped, and he did.

He pulled out, flipping you over so your stomach pressed against the vanity. He entered you again from behind, the angle deeper, rougher. His hand came down on your ass again, the sting mixing with pleasure as he whispered in your ear. “Look at yourself. Look at how you fall apart for me.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, your lips parted, cheeks flushed. You were a mess, and you loved it. “Harder,” you demanded, and he obliged, his thrusts relentless, his fingers finding your clit and circling it until you were trembling.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice hoarse. “Say you’re sorry, or I’ll stop.”

You were close, so close, and the threat made you whimper.

“F-Fine,” you gasped. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

The word slipped out, and his reaction was instant. He groaned, his pace faltering as he drove into you harder. “Good girl,” he rasped, his hand tightening on your throat. “Now come for me.”

You did, spectacularly, your vision blurring as pleasure ripped through you. Yoongi followed, his thrusts erratic as he spilled inside you, his low moan vibrating against your neck. You collapsed against the vanity, both of you panting, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat.

Yoongi was gentle now, his demeanor shifting as he pulled out and helped you stand. He grabbed a towel from the couch, wiping you down with careful strokes. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tender.

“More than okay,” you said, grinning despite the ache in your thighs. “That was… wow.”

He chuckled, kissing your neck where he’d bitten earlier. The marks were faint but there, a secret you’d carry under your clothes. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Says the guy who just fucked me on a vanity,” you teased, and he laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

He grabbed his hoodie from the couch, slipping it over your head. It was huge on you, the sleeves dangling past your hands, and it smelled like him. “Wear this,” he said, his tone firm. “Don’t want anyone seeing those marks.”

“Possessive much?” you teased, but your heart fluttered.

“You started it,” he shot back, pulling you close. His lips brushed yours, soft but intentional. “You want to be mine? Fine. But next time, don’t ask. Just kneel.”

You smirked, already plotting your next move. “Deal.”

He handed you his backstage pass lanyard, the plastic still warm from his neck. “Keep this. Next time, you’re not sneaking in with a damn sign.”

You slipped it around your neck, feeling like you’d won something bigger than a concert ticket. “So, what’s your contact name in my phone?” you asked, fishing your phone out of your discarded jacket.

He took it, typing quickly before handing it back. You glanced at the screen, laughing when you saw “Husband 😈” with his number saved. “Smooth, Min.”

“Get used to it,” he said, his eyes glinting with promise as he walked you to the door. “Now get out before security thinks I kidnapped you.”

You blew him a kiss, stepping into the hallway with a sway in your hips. The lanyard bounced against your chest, the hoodie hiding the evidence of your chaos. As the door clicked shut behind you, you heard his low chuckle, and you knew this was only the beginning.

A/n: Okay, so I woke up at 2 a.m. with this ridiculous plot screaming in my brain, and I just had to write it because Yoongi deserves all the chaotic love.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni

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[n-ehpamoi]

If we messaged one another

every time the other crossed our mind, I wonder,

what that would look like?

Would it be a nice and even ebb and flow?

Or would your thoughts come only in a slow trickle, egging on the raging currents of mine?

Would my thoughts be a tidal wave of all the little things and all the big things and all the good and the worry and the affection?

Would I be

reading about my eyes and my lips and my touch and my embrace, as often as you'd be reading about yours?

How well would our oceans of thought, mix, I wonder?

Would you only text when you chanced to see me?

Or like me, would it be with, or without you, near?

Would the currents combine to carve out land, anew?

Or would I drown you out?

"Questions I shouldn't ask" V. Rue, 2025.