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pennyellee · 2 days ago

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡?

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? | 𝐌𝐘𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 (𝐌) pairings: producer!min yoongi x popgirlie f!reader genre: romance, smut, slight porn with plot, friends to lovers au word count: 6K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

prompt: "There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out." summary: "You Big Enough?" - when an old flame resurfaced, rumours spiralled, and suddenly, every lingering glance and every touch between you seemed to carry weight. It had always been just music, just friendship—hadn’t it? No. You always had the vibe of 'will they, won't they.' This has become bigger than the music. Tension crackled, boundaries blurred, and there was this thing that Yoongi made sure you knew well besides that he was big enough. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, explicit language, themes of subtle (and not-so-subtle) possessiveness, teasing, sexual activity, rough sex, fingering (f receiving), miscommunication driving emotional conflict, dirty talk, raw fucking (stay safe!) choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes, creampie, fleeting nipple play, very subtle dominance/submission dynamics, implied size kink ... (as per usual, I'll add some if needed)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, sexual activity, sex without protection, choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes.

a/n: yall, I had this idea like a month ago and I wrote the initial part but lowkey forgot that it's in my drafts so I finished it yesterday (might come later to edit, pls excuse me im working overtime these days) and amazing and spectacular @chaoticpuff17 managed to read it so you can have it as a lil Valentine's day treat. So here is something simple, smutty, and cute for ya. Happy Valentine to all of you who celebrate, love you my little fairies! ♥

masterlist

Your hands hovered above the keys and your brain could not figure out what to press to make it sound as magical as you want. Your mind searched for the perfect melody for the bridge of her latest song—

"Try F-sharp minor," Yoongi suggested, his voice low and even. The studio is a second home for you. Always have been and dear Min Yoongi was as much a refuge as the soundproof walls and softly humming equipment.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"Perfect—" There was a warmth in his gaze, one that lingered a second too long.

"How do you always know, Yoongi-ah?"

"It's my job," he said simply, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Your heart fluttered with a familiar yet unwelcome sensation. But you quickly shook it off, focusing on the music in front of her.

"I'm lucky to have you, then," you murmured.

Yoongi didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.

"I'd say I'm the lucky one."

Before you could process what he meant, your phone buzzed, breaking the spell. You picked it up, seeing a message from your lifelong bestie, Jimin-ah.

Emergency. Coming over.

You frown but you are happy to not indulge in something you don't have the answers to. "Jimin-ah is on his way. Guess I'll have to call it a night."

Yoongi's expression was unreadable, but he nodded, knowing that it must be something important if you’re packing your stuff so quickly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"You need to fucking hear this," he says, her voice brimming with urgency when he bursts into the apartment like a whirlwind, his dark glossy hair bouncing as he flops onto the couch.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon?"

You hand him a glass of red wine and sit across from him.

"What now? Did he suddenly reappear after he ghosted me?"

Jimin winces.

"Actually, yeah. And I finally found out why he did so."

Your stomach drops. You liked that man when you went out, but the message you left a good amount of time ago went unanswered for an even longer period of time.

"Why?"

He hesitates, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he leans forward, lowering his voice. "Everyone thinks you and Yoongi are… you know."

You blink.

"What?" you say, playing dumb.

"You knooowww…—

"—that."

He said through gritted teeth, trying to make you understand, but your brain was not cooperating.

"No, I dooooon't know that" You mimicked him, and he only stared dead serious at your stupidity.

"They think you've been doing it," he says bluntly. "Apparently, it's some open secret in the industry. Like, 'Oh, Y/N and Yoongi? Of course, they're a thing.'"

Your jaw drops. No way. No fucking way.

"That's insane. We're not… we're not like that."

"You sure about that buttercup?" Jimin raises an eyebrow and you merely nod.

"Cuz', he's not exactly denying it. And honestly, can you blame people for assuming? You've written two albums together, spent countless hours locked in the studio, and the way he looks at you…" he trails off, shaking his head.

"There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out."

Your cheeks burn.

"That's ridiculous. Yoongi and I are friends. Just friends."

"Hmm, I don't know hun,—"

He was right. You weren't buying it. Not entirely.

But you weren't ready to admit that out loud—not yet, anyway. Your mind races. You replay every moment you've spent together, every lingering glance and fleeting touch.

Yoongi and you?

It was absurd, wasn't it?

Right?

Jimin watched you carefully, his perfectly shaped brows raised in amusement. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"No," you scoffed, but your voice lacked conviction.

Jimin smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Look, babe, I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it was something you should actually think about. People don't just make this kind of shit up for no reason."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just—why wouldn't he deny it?"

"That's what you need to figure out." Jimin gave you a pointed look. "You trust him, don't you?"

You hesitated. That was the problem, wasn't it? You trusted Yoongi more than anyone. He had been your anchor in the storm, your safe space when everything else felt uncertain.

But this—this was different.

The way he looked at you.

The way he always knew exactly what you needed.

You replayed every moment with Yoongi in your mind, combing through the memories with a fine-toothed scepticism, looking for anything—anything—that could have fed these rumours. The way he watched you while you worked in the dance studio, the quiet way he always made sure you had water before long sessions, the casual intimacy in the way he touched you—light, fleeting, like a habit neither of you had ever questioned.

Had you been blind this whole time?

Jimin's voice snapped you back to reality.

"Look, I think you need to talk to him. Like, actually talk to him."

You swallowed hard.

Talking to Min Yoongi had never been difficult before. But this? This felt dangerous.

The next evening, you stepped into the dimly lit studio, and the question sat on the tip of your tongue like a loaded gun.

Yoongi was already there, as always. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features, catching on the soft strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. His fingers rested idly on the soundboard, a picture of quiet focus—until he looked up at you.

His gaze, steady and unreadable, held you captive.

"You're late," he murmured, but there was no accusation in his tone—just that familiar, quiet warmth.

You swallowed. "Got caught up with Jimin last night, forgot to set a reminder."

At that, something flickered across his face—too quick to name, gone before you could hold onto it. "Ah."

Silence stretched between you, thick with something you weren't ready to name. But you hadn't come here to tiptoe around things anymore.

So you stepped forward, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mixing console, grounding yourself, only now taking his appearance in.

"I played with the structure a little last night after you went home and—" he broke the silence first, but you knew he sensed the sudden awkwardness in your posture, your whole being.

"Is something the matter, sleepyhead?"

"Nope, nothing at all."

You quickly retorted, trying to look anywhere else but his gorgeous face.

Yoongi's eyes, however, never wavered. They held a depth that made it impossible for you to escape his gaze. You had always known how intense he could be, but now, in the stillness of the studio, it felt almost intimate, the air thick with unspoken words that seemed to pulse around you like a melody begging to be heard.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting casually on the desk, but his posture was all focus—intent, almost as if he was waiting for you to unravel yourself.

"Are you sure about that?" His voice was lower now, a gentle challenge. He was pulling at the thread, testing the tension between you.

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment, wasn't it?

"I'm fine, Yoongi, just had a lot of wine last night," you said again, but your voice betrayed you. It cracked, ever so slightly, and you couldn't mask the uncertainty in it.

The silence between you thickened, and it felt like the space in the room had shrunk, until it was just you, him, and the suffocating pressure of the question you both knew was lingering.

He didn't look away, not even when you avoided his gaze, staring down at the soundboard like it could offer you some kind of escape. He moved to the electronic piano while lifting a brow at you.

"So as I said, I played with the structure—"

You watched him, leaning at the piano, his fingers poised just above the keys, waiting for him to break the silence again, to give you something more. But you didn't want more from him—not in the way you wanted it. Not yet.

Instead, you played a dangerous game, one of subtle manipulation, testing him, probing for the truth behind his unreadable expressions.

"You remember Seo Kang-joon, right?" You interrupt him, raising your voice just a little.

The name hung in the air between you, deliberately chosen, carefully placed like a baited hook.

Yoongi's fingers stilled for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Just enough for you to notice. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly.

You bit back a smile, inwardly satisfied at his subtle reaction.

"I bumped into him yesterday on my way home. He... he actually asked me out on a date again. Said he lost his phone and had to get a new phone number, didn't remember mine."

A lie.

The words left your mouth so easily, like a lie you had rehearsed in front of the mirror, and yet your heart pounded with anticipation. You weren't expecting much. Just a flicker of jealousy, a crack in the calm façade he always wore. So your interrogation of his, perhaps, hidden feelings isn't unprovoked.

Yoongi didn't immediately respond. His fingers finally touched the keys, the faintest chord ringing through the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the piano.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft melody playing between you, the rhythm of his fingers meeting the ivories almost too steady.

And then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, flat. "Is that so?"

Your breath caught. That was it?

You frowned, staring at him from across the room, searching for a reaction. Anything. But his expression was as controlled as ever. His calm demeanour was unshakable.

No way.

You leaned forward, the pressure of the lie beginning to claw at your insides. "Yeah, he asked me. He was actually pretty... persistent about it. He was sorry I thought he ghosted me." You let the words hang, trailing off deliberately, watching his reaction closely.

But Yoongi only nodded, his eyes focused on the keys.

"I see."

A small flame of frustration ignited in your chest. Was he really this indifferent? Was he truly going to let this lie slide without a hint of a reaction?

You stood up abruptly, unable to hold the pretense any longer. You could feel your temper rising, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You fucking see?!" Yoongi's fingers paused mid-chord as the tension in your voice snapped through the room. You busted out your feelings. Well, this was doomed from the start.

You stepped forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else—something raw that you hadn't been prepared to face. "You don't even care, do you? You don't care that everyone is saying we're fucking, that they think we're—" You cut yourself off, almost choking on the words. You couldn't bear to say them aloud, but you needed to know, needed to push him.

His gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew he hadn't been indifferent. He'd been waiting. Waiting for you to unravel yourself, for you to show your cards. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned you in place.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was cold now, controlled, with an edge that made your skin prickle. The air in the room thickened, turning heavy with the weight of his words.

"Well, perchance?!—" You gesture rapidly.

"You run around not denying it Yoongi,—?!"

The calm, controlled exterior he wore was unravelling, and you weren't sure if you liked the version of him that was emerging—or if it terrified you.

He stood up, slowly, deliberately. The sudden motion caused a cold shiver to run down your spine. He didn't step towards you, but the space between you both seemed to shrink in the way he carried himself—every step deliberate, every movement measured.

"Why do you care so much?" His voice was low, almost detached, but there was a certain sharpness to it now. It was the tone he used when he was dangerously close to losing control, but for now, he still kept it in check. "What's so important about what they think?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words tangled in your throat. You had been so sure of your reasoning—so certain of the way you wanted him to react—but now that he was giving you exactly what you wanted, you realized just how hollow that satisfaction felt.

"I dunno Yoongi—maybe because men ghosted me—maybe because you just might be the reason I had a dry season— or maybe you're that kind of motherfucker—"

Yoongi let out a sharp breath, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. You elevated this to a different level now. "A motherfucker?" He repeated his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "That's what we're doing now?"

You were too far gone to stop. The frustration, the pent-up emotions, the sheer nerve of him sitting there, all unbothered while you spiralled—it cracked something open inside you.

"Yes, Yoongi! A motherfucker! What else do you call a guy who lets rumours fly like this and doesn't even care?" Your hands gestured wildly as your voice grew more frantic.

"You don't deny it, you don't address it, you just exist in this limbo, letting people think we're screwing while I sit here looking like a desperate idiot who cannot get a hold of her man—"

His jaw clenched, his patience visibly wearing thin. "So what if I don't deny it?" He stepped closer, voice a fraction lower now, dangerously quiet. "What if I don't care what they think? What if I like the way it sounds?"

Your breath hitched.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your entire argument, the whole reason you'd brought this up, suddenly felt shaky, flimsy, like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of his words.

Yoongi watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for you to process what he had just admitted.

Finally, your voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and unsure.

"The fuck, Yoongi?"

"I don't deny it," he said again, slower this time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. "Because it's not entirely wrong."

A rush of heat flooded through you—anger, shock, confusion, something else, something deeper and more dangerous. "Not… entirely… wrong?" You echoed, blinking at him. "Are you—are you actually fucking insane?"

Yoongi exhaled sharply, like he was just as frustrated as you were, like you were the one being difficult. "Y/N—"

"No," you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. "No, you don't get to just drop that and act like it's nothing."

"I'm not acting like it's nothing," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You wanted to know why I never denied it? That's why."

"You can't be fucking serious right now, you fuck—" his body in your proximity startled you, but you let him pin you to the wall next to the mixing desk.

His hands caged you in, palms pressing against the wall on either side of your head. You felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the slow exhale, the tension buzzing between you like a live wire.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet but razor-edged, his eyes dark and unwavering. "You've been running in circles trying to make me jealous, trying to get a reaction—" his gaze flicked down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, "pushing me like you want me to snap."

You listened. For once.

"You sat in that fucking booth with only your panties under that big shirt—"

"My fucking shirt—"

"My fucking shirt," he repeated, voice rough. "And you think I wouldn't become possessive? Think I didn't see the way you stretched in it, how you leaned in close, pretending like you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"

Your breath hitched. You did not realize he saw you this way.

You swallowed, trying to find solid ground beneath the sudden energy shift, but Yoongi wasn't giving you the chance.

"You wanted me to react?" His eyes burned into yours. "You wanted this?"

The heat between you became unbearable.

"I—" You started, but you had no words.

Because now, finally, Yoongi wasn't holding back.

And neither were you.

Your pulse hammered in your throat as his words sank in, wrapping around your ribs, tightening like a snare. You had been waiting—aching—for a reaction, pushing buttons you hadn't even fully understood yourself. But now? Now, Yoongi was looking at you like he had already decided.

His breath was warm against your cheek, the space between you non-existent.

"Say it," he murmured.

You licked your lips, the movement not lost on him. "Say what?"

Yoongi let out a short, dark chuckle. "That you like it. That you like this—the way I look at you, the way I see you."

Your stomach flipped.

"You're so full of shit," you whispered, but there was no weight behind it but pure provocation.

His fingers twitched against the wall before he exhaled sharply and leaned in, just enough for your breaths to tangle.

"And you'll be full of me."

"You big enough?"

Oh, that did it.

A sharp, involuntary gasp left his lips and your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The air between you turned electric, charged with something too dangerous to name.

Yoongi's gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as if savouring the way your breath hitched when he looked at you that way. He bit down his lower lip before he spoke again, laying his palms on the flat surface of the table in front of the piano that lay on it–

"There are two possibilities happening between us—" He tilted his head slightly, gaze never wavering from yours, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

"One—we make this official,—" He said it like it was inevitable, like it was a fact written in stone. "No more rumours, no more bullshit. No one else but us. Just you and me."

Your breath stuttered, your heart slamming against your ribs.

"And the second?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.

Yoongi smirked, slow and sinful, his fingers twitching against the wall before he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from yours.

"I keep writing my songs, keep filling my verses with filth about how I would fuck you good and hard—until you finally beg me to bury my cock in your cunt."

“And people will hear you’re mine—”

Your entire body went hot. Yoongi's smirk widened, watching the way your breath stuttered, your pupils blown wide. He tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your parted lips, his voice dropping even lower. Your thighs clenched a traitorous reaction that made his smirk turn predatory.

"You—"

"That's the difference between them and me, baby." His fingers ghosted over your waist, light enough to make you shiver. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming so violently it was a wonder you were still standing.

"You're so—"

"What?" Yoongi pressed in closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Say it."

You had no idea what you were going to say.

But when his fingers finally curled around your hip, pulling you flush against him, the words you should say, the ones that would stop this before it went too far—before you gave in—died in your throat.

"Fucking thought so." He smirked again. That smirk. That fucking smirk.

It did something to you, something dangerous, something you weren't sure you could control. It made you want to wipe it off his face—maybe with a slap, maybe with your mouth.

Yoongi knew it, too.

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your cheek, his grip tightening on your hip as if daring you to push him away.

You didn't.

"See?" His voice was silk and smoke, smooth but lethal. "You love this. You love the way I get under your skin. The way I make you feel."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You don't know shit about what I feel."

Yoongi chuckled, low and rough. "Don't I?"

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your side, stopping just shy of indecency but still making you shudder.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will."

It was the worst thing he could've said. Because the truth—the one you refused to admit even to yourself—was that you didn't want him to stop. Ever. You were so fucking needy to be touched after you got to know that your dried spell had a sorcerer and it was him. So technically now, he should be the one breaking it. And he knew it.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against your neck.

His hands were suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, spreading you open like he had every right to.

"You think I'm going to let you run your mouth, push me to the edge, and not do something about it?" His voice was a rasp, thick with hunger. "You think I don't see how badly you want this?"

Your breath hitched as his thigh pressed between yours, the friction making your knees buckle. His mouth found your jaw, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before he kissed a path down your throat, sucking, biting, claiming.

You barely had time to think before he gripped your wrist, guiding your hand down—down—until your fingers brushed against him, hard and thick beneath his sweats. The sound that tore from his throat was pure sin.

"Feel that?" Yoongi growled, grinding against your palm. "That's what you do to me. That's what you fucking cause each time we're in this studio."

Your fingers flexed, a teasing squeeze that had his breath stuttering. He cursed under his breath, tilting your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Dark. Devouring. Desperate.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, a cruel echo of earlier. But this time, there was no space between you, no restraint.

And you didn't.

Instead, you yanked his mouth to yours. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, the sound reverberating through you as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Your nails raked down his back as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall.

His hips rolled, slow and devastating, and a moan ripped from your throat, shameless, wrecked.

"That's it, baby" he rasped, his forehead against yours, breath heavy. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."

His hand dipped lower, slipping past the band of your shorts, finding you soaked for him. Yoongi cursed, his fingers teasing, circling, before sliding through the wetness with devastating precision.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice hoarse. "You're already so fucking ready for me."

You didn't even get a chance to respond before he pushed a finger inside, then another, stretching you, filling you, working you open until you were trembling against him.

"Yoongi—"

"I know," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "I've got you, baby. Just take it."

And fuck, you did. You took everything he gave, your body writhing against his as pleasure built sharp and unbearable, spiralling higher, tightening—

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice dark, commanding. "Come on my fingers like the desperate little thing I know you are."

And when he curled his fingers just right, his thumb pressing where you needed it most—

You shattered.

Completely. Utterly.

Yoongi swallowed your cry with his mouth, dragging it out, his hand still moving, still milking every last bit of pleasure from you until you were shaking in his arms.

Then, as you barely caught your breath, his voice came again, low and teasing.

"Now," he murmured, undoing the string of his sweats, letting them fall.

"I'll fuck you hard that you'll forget about those smutty books you're reading—"

Your body barely had time to recover before Yoongi was pressing closer, his fingers sliding away, leaving you aching and empty. But then—then—his hands were on your hips, tugging your shorts down, peeling them away with agonizing slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

Your breath stuttered as he stepped back just enough to look at you, his dark gaze trailing over your bare, trembling form.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you, forcing your legs around his waist.

The weight of him, the sheer heat of him, pressed right against your core, had you gasping, fingers digging into his shoulders. Yoongi groaned low in his throat, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel all of him, hard and thick and ready.

"Ain’t big enough, huh?" he murmured, dragging his clothed crotch against your soaked heat. His voice was rough, strained. "I’ll show you how big I am."

Your nails bit into his skin, your body writhing against him as he kept teasing, kept torturing you with slow, precise movements. The friction had you panting, your forehead falling against his.

"Stop teasing," you managed, barely above a breath.

Yoongi chuckled, dark and knowing. "Look at you. So desperate for me already." His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Tell me how much you want it."

You let out a sound between a whimper and a growl, rolling your hips against him in a silent plea. But that wasn't enough for him. Your heart racing, you felt his warm palm connect with your skin, a stinging sensation spreading through your buttocks as he spanked you. You let out a small yelp, but Yoongi didn't relent, his hand rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Say it." His voice was like gravel, low and demanding. "Say you want me to fuck you, Y/N. Say you need me." He pulled down his sweats enough so his cock sprang free from the confinement.

Your pride clashed with your need, the battle waging for only a moment before he rolled his hips again, pressing the thick head of his cock right against your entrance—and your resolve snapped.

"Fuck—I need you," you gasped, your fingers twisting into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. "Please, Yoongi—just fuck me."

Something broke in him then.

With a guttural sound, he aligned himself and pushed inside, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate—just drove forward, sinking deep until he was fully sheathed inside you until there was no space between you, nothing left but the overwhelming, consuming feel of him.

"Fuck," Yoongi gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flexed against your thighs like he was trying to hold himself back, to give you a moment. "So fucking tight."

You could barely breathe, barely think, pleasure and pain and something deeper rolling through you in waves. But then he shifted, just slightly, and—

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall.

Yoongi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "Yeah?" He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, harder this time. Your moan was wrecked, broken—exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone. "Taking me so fucking well."

Then he moved. Snapping his hips as hard as he could to make your back rub against the wall, to make your head spin from the bouncing on his thick cock that made you see so many constellations. Up and down, up and down. He felt so good inside you, filling you completely as his hips slammed against yours.

The force of his thrust made you cry out, your fingers tangled in his dark raven hair, which you so openly adored when he kept longer. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing your moans as he drove into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke building on the last.

His hand cupped your breast and his thumb brushed over your nipple. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fierce way he was driving into you. Your back arched, pushing your breast further into his hand, and you felt his fingers close around it, squeezing softly. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you moaned loudly, the sound lost in the kiss that still claimed your mouth. Yoongi's hips kept moving, each thrust building on the last, and his hand on your breast seemed to be pulling you closer to some unseen edge. His fingers tightened around your nipple, rolling it between them, and you felt yourself teetering on the brink of something explosive.

Yoongi groaned, his grip almost bruising now, his thrusts turning erratic. "You gonna come for me again?" he rasped, his hips thrusting into you harder, each one was met with your breath hitching in your throat before you moaned. Loud.

"Gonna fall apart on my cock?"

It was too much—too good.

"I know what you want, love. What will make you cum around my cock."

Your body began to tense, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke. "You want it rough," he growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, more primal.

"You want me to take you apart, piece by piece." His grip on your breast tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and you felt yourself spiralling out of control.

His hand left your breast to envelope around your throat, his fingers wrapping tightly around your neck, his thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw. That was it. Your moans got even louder and he raised a brow. You felt a flutter in your chest as his grip tightened, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as he gazed into yours and he slowed down to observe your face that certainly did not hide any pleasure.

"Kinky," he rasped, his voice low and dirty. "So fucking kinky."

He held you in place, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, he began to move his hips again, his cock stirring back to life inside you. His eyes burned with an intense desire, and you could feel the tension building in his body as he drove into you with slow, deliberate strokes.

"I'm going to fill you up, babe" he growled, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you take every last drop of me." And with that, he began to thrust into you harder again, faster again, his hips pounding against yours as he chased your release. You felt him swelling inside you, his cock growing thicker and hotter as he approached the edge.

Your orgasm crashed into you, and you could not even stop it. You wanted this to last until your body shuts down from all that pleasure he has given you. Your body locking up as pleasure burns through every nerve ending. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled moan from his lips, his hips snapping forward one last time before he broke. His release spilt deep inside you as he let out a low, guttural groan, his semen erupting into you in a hot, pulsing flood that warmed your walls. You felt him shudder and convulse above you, his body trembling with pleasure as he emptied himself into your waiting flesh

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being filled and claimed by him almost too much to bear. His chest heaving with exertion and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"You're so fucking mine," he murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction. He lifted his head to meet your lips once more before he said.

"Don't you ever question my devotion for you—" he started, panting after the little stunt you just pulled.

“—Or the size of my cock, doll.”

You only smiled wickedly into his lips.

“You like us role-playing, tho—“ you started. Yoongi's grip on your waist tightened, his lips brushing over your collarbone as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your body possessively.

"He could not stop talking about it the whole fucking night, babe."

"Who, Jimin?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement, yet there was an underlying tension in it, like he was trying to keep himself in check to not turn you over and fuck you in the ass. Even though he had to thank Jimin for this fuck prompt he unknowingly gave you an idea of (such a mundane trope) and the final ride you two just had. The thanking will wait until whenever you decide you want Jimin to know about you two.

Of course, something similar happened at the start of your relationship and you could not help yourself to let him fuck you against that wall once again. This time with a similar scenario but slightly adjusted replicas.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, though it was edged with a hint of frustration. You shifted under his touch, your heart still racing from the intensity of the night.

"Yeah. Couldn't stop about how people talk about us fucking our brains out here—"

"But we are—" his voice thick with the weight of his meaning, but his tone now softer than before. His mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and his hands pulled you closer, if that was even possible, as if to remind you of just how much he could claim you again and again and again.

You gasped, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn't control, and you felt a rush of vulnerability, knowing how deeply he could read you. "Yoongi," you breathed, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn't making it easy.

"Yeah, you can say that again," Yoongi whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before his teeth grazed the lobe, making your entire body shudder.

You swallowed hard, your head spinning. "I'm serious," you managed to say, even though your voice came out shaky. "Jimin—he thinks I'm still under that dry spell cuz' everybody thinks we're doing it—"

"Let him yap, love."

"Yeah I would, but he went to a point where he talked about how I'm gonna need to buy that Tesla robot to fuck me cuz' no living man will, thanks to you and your not-so-subtle hints that we're doing it—"

"My not-so-subtle hints?" He chuckled.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. "I mean, he was kinda making some good points," you teased, pretending to think it over. "We do have that whole 'will they, won't they' vibe going on."

Yoongi's fingers paused against your skin for a moment, as if he were considering your words, but then a slow, mischievous smirk crept onto his lips.

"What do you think, babe?"

"I—I think," you stammered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in, "I think we could've been doing a better damn good job of hiding it. But maybe—" You hesitated, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"Maybe it's time we stop pretending."

"Well, next time Jimin mentions our 'vibe,' I'm making him listen to a few of our 'studio sessions.'"

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "Yoongi!" You gave him a dramatic shiver, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.

"Exactly," Yoongi said, smirking mischievously. "That'll shut him up real quick."

"Good luck," you teased, tapping his chest lightly. "Maybe he'll start talking about how lucky you are to have me in your corner."

"Lucky, huh?" he mused, pulling you in for a hug. "You're damn right I'm lucky."

You grinned, enjoying the easy banter, letting the tension slip away as you let him hold you. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone—it was just the two of you, sharing this moment, enjoying each other's company and, of course, having a little fun at Jimin's expense.

"Wait—" you just realised.

"You know about my smutty books?!"

He threw his head back and gave a loud throat laugh in response.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

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dumbgoondog · 15 hours ago

Note

Yuji nsfw alphabet please 🙏🥺 more Yuji content in general please!

Sure! Here’s the alphabet! Good to know ya wanna see more of him! Mahito, Sukuna, and Yuji fans who knew? These three would be my most requested and popular?

MDNI +18 NSFW

Cw/Tw - Blood, public, primal play

Yuji Itadori NSFW Alphabet

(A)ftercare - Oh he is the sweetest. He’s not a pampering type, he’s still a bit of an awkward guy. Don’t think he’s not caring tho. See for him sex puts him in a zone, a mental regression. He gets it somewhere, dunno where from tho! He’s holding you, massaging you, rubbing against you, please also give him some aftercare cuz regression to back to normal is a little vulnerable. I do NOT mean age regression, I’m talking primal.

(B)ody Part - Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass! Ass ass? Assssss! Ass ass ass?! Ass!! Ass ass… Ass? Ass.

(C)um - He wants to cum inside, but be careful, ever let him go at it raw? And he’ll NEVER want to wear a condom EVER again. oh but he’s so chill and will get a vasectomy if you require it.

(D)irty Secret - That he’s a freak. On a primal level, he’s like Mahito, he’s like Sukuna. The worst part? He didn’t realize he was until he met you. It was too late, he could never turn this side of him off now. He wants to have you worship him as the king of curses, which he HATES. And loves. He wants to hunt you like prey and pin you force you to submit and bite into you to mark you as HIS mate. Yeah… tip of the iceberg and he’s the titanic.

(E)xperience - None. His hand and that’s it. He’s not even kissed anyone. Why? He’ll shrug and jus be like “I dunno, wasn’t anything that I was looking for I guess.”

(F)avorite Position - lay flat, or standing, and he’s hitting it from behind. So he can watch your ass shake with every smack of his hips, he also likes when you try to look back at him in that position.

(G)oofy - he can be goofy, but in like… a pathetic way. Humping your leg, and whimpering. Pawing at your clothes cuz his brain has turned off. He’s still so sweet tho

(H)air - messy, pink, washed, a little musky, happy trail, trail down the balls. Oh but ya know what? He likes YOU unshaven. Rainforest pussy, dick bush, all of it. He prefers hair, he doesn’t mind the shaved look tho. He guesses… but maybe he can convince you to grow it out? A little bit? Even just a patch! Please?

(I)ntimacy - he is SO romantic. Picnics, buying you gifts constantly, taking you out on dates to movies and dinners. In bed he tries. Hard. He needs practice so bear with him okay? If something happens even while his brain is off his primal brain still responds to it because he LOVES you. It’s noises of concern like little rumbles and huffs. Animal wise I’d liken it to a tiger ape hybrid in noises. He’s giving kisses and licks, he responds to safe words like a trained dog too. He also can be trained in that state to new words since sentences might get lost on him.

(J)ack off - Often. More than you’d think. He was a stressed and angry teen boy, and without any too many outlets… well he developed some habits and seeking dopamine! Like jacking off! Stress relief! Anger? No problem! Bored? Easy! Besides you don’t think that poster was cuz he liked the swimsuit, do you? Why mention Jennifer Lawrence? He knew his answer quick for Todo too.

(K)ink - please shackle him. As much as he will protest, he does like it. He likes being restrained, and letting his primal brain play into it too! Blindfolds, gags/muzzles even, and cuffs! He wants to let go and really get feral… a collar yeah? Get him one.

(L)ocation - outside. On the grass. In the forest. Please let him chase you. Or even! Chase you in the house! He’ll be a good boy and not go as fast as he can go… to start.

(M)otivation - honestly not much. He has to already be in the mood, otherwise he’s not thinking about it. However. Teasing him in public will get him riled up.

(N)o - No feet. Please. He can’t take it seriously! He’s so sorry he just can’t! It’s the funny haha kink meme! He won’t make fun of it to your face if you’re into, but if you aren’t he will make jokes about it with you! Like “oooo baby you just finished working out? Bet your feet are all hot and sweaty~! Bahahahah!”

(O)ral - Mlem mlem mlem mlem mlem mlem, in his mouth! In mouth! Please! Yum yum! Eatin fingers, Eatin other shit, Eatin everything! He’s a hungry boy!

(P)ace - BAP BAP BAP BAP BAP *grunts and growls like a sexy alpha* BAP BAP BAP BAP- fr tho he’s thumpin his hips into you like he’s punching Mahito’s face. Then he’ll take pauses where he pushes all the way in and grinds his hips into yours, grinding as deep in as he can.

(Q)uicky - Not really, just not his style… but if it’s giving you oral? Yes please!

(R)isk - oh. Oh. OH. He did not know he was into this! Please please please grind against him, push back onto him and tell him to keep it together cuz he can’t let go, not out here.

(S)tamina - yuh. He’s better than unc when it comes to cumming multiple times but in overall stamina unc still beats him. He’s going at it for a good while, as long as you’re good with it and want it!

(T)oys - okay. He’s kinda dumb about toys. Dunno why it’s just my read on him. But he likes how you react when used on you! He’s a big butt plug fan for you as well… he’s a bit shy about it tho

(U)nfair - he doesn’t really tease! Sometimes he will tho, and it’s public teasing of him fingering/groping you. He’s not grinding against you in public, but he’s got a hand on you while he’s smiling and talking to someone like nothings happening

(V)olume - he’s a bit loud, growls and grunts not too loud but when he opens and hangs his mouth open and starts pant huffing he can get loud and a bit wild with it!

(W)ild Card - he… he’s kinda thinking about the tattoos. They’re so cool he hates that they’re so cool! But he’d look so good, better than that asshole for sure! He thinks he’d look hot too!

(X)-ray - plaid boxers and boxer briefs… but also he’s got some really stupid ones. Human earthworm boxers for sure! White ones with hearts to match with his besto friendo, too.

(Y)es - Coming as a surprise, he’s open to threesomes and even foursomes! He’s not specifically thought of anyone, but it just sounds nice!

(Z)zz - yes yes! Put on a show! Cuddle! Eat snacks and drink pop! Get all lazy, let him rub your stomach, drift off together and sleep! Yessss!

#goon dog #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #smut #x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #headcanon #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #yuji x reader #jjk itadori #itadori x reader

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morgana-larkin · 3 days ago

Text

Alright, the highly anticipated part 7 of 'Just Tired'! I have to say that I received so many compliments and comments about this series and I'm so happy that everyone is enjoying it so much! Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Just Tired - Part 7

Warnings: Manipulative relationship (mentioned), swearing, sex references

Words: 4.3k

“Turn that damn thing off!” Melissa yells at the alarm that’s blasting.

“Melissa, that’s your own alarm.” You say with a yawn and she groans before she turns around and turns off her alarm. She then immediately snuggles back into you and you chuckle. “Melissa, we have to get ready for work.”

“Five more minutes please, being held is nice.” She says and you wrap your arm around her and she hums. 5 minutes go by and you rub her arm.

“It’s been five minutes Melissa.” You say gently while stroking her hair.

“No it hasn’t.” She says and you chuckle.

“I’m afraid it has.” You tell her. “It’s just before 6 and I need to get ready if I’m gonna bike to school.” You say before getting up.

“Why are you biking to school?” She asks and you look at her.

“Yesterday you told me to find my own way to school.” You say as you pick out an outfit.

“I forgot I said that. Can you drive us to work?” She asks as she gets up.

“You trust me with your car?”

“I trust you with it more than I trust myself with it right now.” She tells you as she picks out an outfit to wear from her suitcase.

“Alright, I can drive us then.” You say.

“Perfect, is it alright if I go have a shower?” She asks and you nod.

“Go for it.” You tell her and she goes to the bathroom.

You take a breath after she leaves the room. You just shared a bed with your crush as she just split up with her manipulated husband and you’ve known her for a week and a half. You really need to get laid if you keep thinking about her and already have a huge crush on her. You both get ready and then you leave before 7 so you can stop and get some donuts that’ll cheer Melissa up. After you pick up the donuts, you drive you both to work as Melissa happily eats the donuts.

“Here.” She says and feeds you a donut as you drive. You take a bite and you smile as you chew it.

“Chocolate.” You say and she looks at you. “My favourite.”

“I might have guessed that with the fact that you have hot chocolate at home.” She tells you with a smile before she continues feeding you the donut and eating a donut for herself.

You both reach the school and you get out and you see Melissa still sitting in the car so you walk to the passenger side and open the door.

“It’ll be alright.” You tell her and hold out a hand for her. She undoes her seatbelt and takes your hand and you help her up.

As soon as you both walk in you’re being dragged by Barb and brought to her classroom, as well as Melissa who has a donut in her mouth. Melissa takes the donut out of her mouth as Barb closes the door.

“What happened yesterday?” She asks Melissa.

“Barb, we had a whole conversation about this on the phone, remember?” Melissa tells her.

“I remember, but how are you doing and how were you last night?” Barb asks her.

“Been better but I have to put it out of my mind and teach some kiddos.” Melissa says.

“Melissa, you should have taken the day off.”

“I’m fine, and it’ll help me keep my mind off of things. So please, stop worrying about me” She says to both of you before leaving the room.

“How was she last night?” Barb asks you.

“Kept asking for physical touch.” You tell her.

“That’s what helps her mind.” Barb says and hums. “Can I ask you a favour?” She asks you and you nod. “She might want to be clingy today, would you mind if she was clingy with you? You just have to tell you’re ok with any kind of physical touch if she needs it.” Barb asks you.

“I don’t mind, I can’t believe what she must be going through but I want to help her.” You tell her and go to leave the room.

“Y/n.” Barb says and you turn around to face her. “Thank you for helping to take care of her, I know Melissa appreciates it and so do I.” She tells you and you nod before leaving the room. You enter the break room and you see Melissa at the coffee machine making a new batch and you walk up to her.

“Hey Melissa.” You say to her and she glances at you before she pours some coffee in her cup. “If you need anything today then I’m here if you need me.” You tell her.

“Y/n.” She says with a sigh and you keep looking at her.

“I’m just looking out for you.” You tell her and Barb walks in and Melissa steps away from the coffee machine.

“I already told you that I’m fine.” She says, loud enough that the whole room hears and turns to look at her. “In fact I’m better than fine, I mean I couldn’t be anymore fine, I mean I’m fine. Did I mention I’m fine?” She asks and you nod.

“Ya, you did a few times.” You tell her.

“That’s because I’m extra fine.” She says before she grabs her things and heads out the door.

“What was that about?” Jacob asks.

“Nothing, and you heard her, she’s fine.” You tell them before you follow her out and you pass by Mr. Johnson on the way out.

“Interesting.” He says as he watches you follow Melissa down the hallway.

“Melissa.” You call her name as you follow her into her classroom and close the door.

“Y/n, I’m not fine.” She tells you and you walk up to her.

“Do you want a hug?” You ask her and she nods as a few tears slip down her face. You wrap your arms around her and she immediately reciprocates and hugs you back.

“How am I supposed to get through today if I can’t even get through this morning? And morning only started 2 hours ago.” She asks as you pull away from the hug.

“Easy, by looking at your little Eagles, look at those bright little faces of theirs and it’ll put a smile on your face and you know that you don’t want to let them down. Because you’re their teacher and you’ll do anything for them.” You tell her and she looks at you. “Something another teacher taught me last year.”

“Well, she’s right.” Melissa says and sighs.

“Just have to get through until 3pm and then you can cry or be angry all you want, or even not feel anything, totally up to you.” You tell her and she nods.

“Thank you.” She says and you nod.

“Of course, anything for the ginger goddess.” You tell her and she giggles.

“Well can this ginger goddess ask one more thing from you?” She asks and you nod.

“Well physical touch helps me as you know, and I was wondering if, well if…”

“Of course.” You say and she looks at you.

“I didn’t finish the question.” She says and you shrug.

“You want to know if you can ask for touches if you need it.” You tell her and she tilts her head at you. “The first part of the question gave the rest away.” You tell her and she chuckles. She then grabs your hand and you look in her eyes.

“Thank you.” She tells you. “Really.” She adds and you nod.

“If I’m being completely honest, I’m enjoying the physical touches after not getting any for, well, about 5 years.” You tell her and she gives you a confused look.

“The last time I got anything was the first day I moved in with my friend and she gave me a welcome hug.” You tell her. “And that was the last time.”

“Well, I guess we’re both getting what we need out of it then.” She says and you nod.

“I guess so.” You tell her and then you hear students arriving and you look at Melissa before you let go of her hand and you see her looking a bit stressed and you get an idea. “You know, seeing as it’s still the first week and our students seem to be friends with each other, we could do a combined class and watch a movie or do a fun art project.” You suggest and she looks at you.

“I’d love that.” She tells you and you nod before you both walk out of the classroom. You then come back near her and you grab Gracie’s hand who was trying to sneak in Melissa’s class again, before looking at Melissa.

“Your classroom or mine?” You ask her.

“Mine.” She says and you nod.

“Be there after taking attendance then.” You tell her and she nods with a smile before you cross the hall with Gracie who’s complaining. “Let me tell you a secret, Gracie. You’ll actually see your friend again in a few minutes.” You tell her as you enter your classroom.

“Ms. Y/l/n” You hear and you turn around.

“Yes?” You ask and see someone from the front office there. “One of the parents is requesting that their child is transferred to Mrs. Schemmenti’s class.” She tells you and you look at her confused and you see Melissa coming up to you both.

“Which child?” Melissa asks them.

“The student is named Gracie.” She tells you both.

“Well we both know the reason why.” You tell Melissa and she hums.

“Thanks Maia.” Melissa tells the woman and she nods before leaving.

“I’ve been asking for her name since I started and she never gives it.” You tell her.

“They don’t give their names to newbies as they never stay.” She tells you.

“Well I’m staying and I will get my cheek kiss.” You tell her and she shakes her head at you with a smile.

“You’re such a dork.” She says and then walks to her classroom. “See you in a few minutes.” She tells you before entering her classroom.

You enter your classroom and after you take attendance, you get everyone to grab their chair and bring it across the hall to Melissa’s classroom.

“Ok, Ms. Y/l/n’s class, you can place your chair wherever you wish.” Melissa tells them all and you bring your chair right next to Melissa’s and she smiles at you. “Ok now I want you all to get into groups of 2.” Melissa says and you see all the students talking to each other. “Wanna be in my group?” Melissa asks you and you nod.

“I mean we already shared a bed so why not?” You tell her and she chuckles.

“Who isn’t in a group?” She asks and you just watch her interact with all the students as she talks them through the art project before she gets you to give 5 pieces of blank paper to each group

“So they have to draw 10 animals and write the name of them?” You ask her as everyone gets to work and she nods. “Well your students have a huge advantage as you just taught them animals the other day.” You tell her and she winks at you. “You’re playing dirty Schemmenti.” You tell her and then she starts drawing. “What are you drawing?” You ask her.

“A dog.” She says and you snort.

“I don’t know what kinds of weird ass dogs you’ve seen but that’s not a dog.” You tell her and she flicks your knee and you look at her in shock.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, and I’m not the best artist, just like you.” She tells you as she continues butchering the picture.

“Oh god, give me that, fottere.” You say as you take the drawing and she looks at you and tries not to laugh.

“Did you just swear in italian?” She asks as you fix the drawing and you nod.

“Yep.”

“And how many swear words do you know in italian?” She asks you and you shrug.

“Enough of them.” You tell her and then show her the improved drawing of the dog.

“And you said you weren’t any good at drawing.” She says. “Compared to mine this is actually good.”

“Melissa, I think any of their drawings of a dog will look better than yours.” You tease her and she looks at you wide eyes and mouth open while trying not to laugh.

“You’re sure bold to be teasing me.” She says as she begins drawing something else and you start drawing a monkey.

“It’s easy to tease you, dolcezza.” You say so naturally and she whips her head at you.

“Are you teasing me with that nickname?” She asks you and you shake your head.

“No, I think you’re sweet so I called you sweet, or at least something close to that as I think dolcezza means more dear or doll.” You tell her.

“Dolcezza is a word that can be used to describe sweet or sweetheart.” She says and you smile at her.

“It’s perfect then.” You tell her and show her the picture of your monkey.

“I like it, cara mia.” She says before showing you her picture of a bird.

“Oh, using nicknames as well?” You ask her and she nods with a smile.

“Ok, Tesoro.” You say and she leans back in her chair, crosses her arms, quirks her eyebrows and has a smirk.

“Are you challenging me to nicknames in italian? Cause if you are then need I remind you that I’m Sicialian?” She says

“You’re also American like me, so maybe I am.” You tell her and she smiles.

“How about un accordo?” She says and you look at her.

“What kind of agreement?” You ask her.

“Damn, you know italian more than I thought you would.” She says before looking back at you. “Let’s keep talking but every sentence has to have at least one italian word in it, first one that can’t, loses.” She says and you quirk an eyebrow at her before shaking her hand.

“You got yourself an accordo.” You say and she smiles.

10 minutes pass by and Melissa is looking at you with a smirk. You’re weighing your options out before you sigh.

“Alright I fold, you win.” You tell her and she giggles. “You’re the italian queen.” You add.

“Damn right.” She says and then winks at you. “If it makes you feel better, you lasted 10 minutes longer than I thought you would.” She tells you and you look at the time.

“It’s only been 10 minutes.”

“I know.” She tells you with a smirk and she sees you pouting but that makes her laugh. She then shows you the picture of the horse she drew.

“Not bad, so it’s just dogs that you have trouble drawing?” You ask her and she nods.

“You made it really good though. Why are you good at drawing them?”

“I used to draw my dog all the time when I was growing up.” You tell her as you continue you’re drawing.

“You had a dog growing up?” She asks and you nod.

“I did, a golden retriever. My parents got me her as I was a single child and saw that I did a lot of things by myself.”

“You’re lucky that you’re an only child.” She says. “Siblings are annoying.”

“You have a sibling?”

“I have 8 of them.” She says and you widen your eyes.

“8 siblings?” You ask in disbelief and she nods. “Damn, I thought you were gonna say you have like 1 or 2 siblings, not 8.” You say.

“Well most of them might choose to stop talking to me when they hear I’m getting divorced. My Ma might as well, or at least take me out of the Christmas dinner rotation, which is a huge dishonour in my family.” She tells you.

“Your family just casts people out without a thought?” You ask and she nods.

“I already stopped talking to one of my sister’s after Nana died, she brought one of Nana’s dishes to the wake but did it wrong.” She tells you and you tilt your head and give her a weird look.

“Wait, you stopped talking to one of your sister’s because she brought a messed up meal?” You ask her.

“Well not completely, she left my whole family high and dry when Nana got sick. Then showed up to Nana’s wake with a bad dish, that was the nail in the coffin. Metaphorically as Nana was cremated.” She explains to you. “We didn’t have a pet when I was growing up, although my 8 younger siblings were crazy enough that we didn’t need something else causing chaos.”

“You’re more of an enigma than I am, actually you’re a whole level by yourself.” You tell her and she chuckles.

“And this is the panda, which is spelled p-a-n-d-a.” Gracie finishes explaining her and her friend’s animals.

“Good job Gracie and Nancy.” You tell them and they nod before going to sit down. Just then the bell rings and you and Melissa sit up to round up both the classes.

“I’ll be up front, you should be in the back to make sure there’s no troublemakers as there’s 40 kids.” Melissa tells you and you join the kids at the back of the line.

“Ms. Y/l/n?” One of the students say and you look at him.

“Yes?”

“Why did we have classes with Mrs. Schemmenti’s class?” He asks you.

“For fun. We wanted everyone to get to know other kids in the same grade as them, makes it more fun.” You explain to him.

“But there’s 3 second grade classes.” He says.

“Well we couldn’t fit like 60 students in one classroom.”

“So we’ll have a combined class with Ms. Teagues classroom as well?”

“We’ll have to see.” You tell him and reach the caf.

Melissa makes sure that all the students has a lunch and then she looks over to see you bending down to talk to one of your students before he hugs you and you hug him back. Then you stand back up and make your way over to Melissa before you both walk to the break room.

“What were you talking about with that student?” She asks with a smile.

“He was telling me that he’s glad I’m his teacher this year.” You tell her and she hums.

“The kids already love you and it’s been 2 and a half days? That’s impressive.” She tells you and you smile. “By the way, how old are you?”

“I’m 25.” You tell her and you see her eyes widen.

“Jesus christ, I can’t believe I’m friends with someone who’s 23 years younger than me.” She says and you stop her by walking in front of her.

“Wait, did you just say…friends?” You ask her and it seems like her brain caught up with what she said. “We’re friends?”

“Yes, the teacher who doesn’t make friends with newbies, made friends with one newbie. If you tell the other 2 then I’ll have no problem kicking you out of my life.” She threatens and you smile while nodding.

“Does this mean I can also sit next to you at lunch?”

“We’re not that close.” She says while pushing you out of the way to the door to the break room.

“Melissa, Y/n, did you really do a combined second grade class without me?” Janine asks and Melissa nods. “Why was I excluded?” She complains.

“It’s none of your business short stack.” Melissa tells her.

“But-”

“Janine, just drop it ok.” You tell her as you sit down across from her. She sits back in her seat with a pout and you roll your eyes. “Pouting won’t get you anywhere or puppy dog eyes. I had a dog growing up and I’m now immune to them if a human uses them on me.” You tell her before she sighs.

“It just feels like you’re excluding me even though we’re friends.” Janine tells you

“We are friends but none of this had anything to do with you.” You tell her.

“What does it have to do with then?” Jacob asks.

“It has to do with something that’s none of your business, like Melissa said.” You tell them both and you see Melissa smiling at you. “By the way, Melissa, how’s it going with that dyslexic kid?” You ask her and she looks at you.

“It’s good, I spoke with her and the parents at the end of the day on Monday and they’re happy how we’ll all be helping her.”

“Wait, you and Melissa both have dyslexic kid in your class?” Janine asks you and you shake your head.

“Just Melissa, she got transferred to Melissa’s class. Although that makes 2 kids that Melissa has taken from my class.”

“If you really want then I could have it where Nancy is transferred to your class instead so I can have 20 kids instead of 22.” Melissa tells you. “I mean that’s the only reason that Gracie wants to be in my class is because Nancy is there.” Melissa tells you and you hum.

“I thought you were getting the dyslexic student?” Janine asks you.

“You ask a lot of questions short stack.” Melissa tells Janine.

“It’s not a bad thing to be curious.” Jacob says and Melissa glares at him and he immediately shuts up.

30 minutes later Melissa gets up and she walks out while sending you a text. Once she’s gone you go to her contact and look at the text.

Melissa: Need you

You read and then you look at Barb who nods before you begin packing up your stuff.

“I just remembered I have to photocopy some papers for the next project. I have enough for my class but not enough for Melissa’s.” You tell them and then get up.

“Wait, you’re combining with Melissa’s class for the whole day?” Janine asks and you nod.

“It was only going to be half the day but half of my students are friends with her students. I think they were in grade 1 together. So we thought we’d just do the whole day, have a good afternoon.” You tell them and then leave.

You get to Melissa’s classroom and you see her swinging in her seat. You walk up to her and stop her seat and she looks at you.

“What’s up?” You ask her as you sit in your seat.

“I was thinking about something that Joe told me a few times, that I was lucky that he wants me because no one else will.” She tells you.

“That’s just a downright lie and you both know it. You are the WHOLE package while the only thing he’s got going on for him is his package, and it’s probably not even that good.” You tell her and she chuckles.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She asks and you nod. “At the beginning, sex was good. But for the past 15 years he never made sure I finished, I’ve been having to satisfy myself after.” She tells you.

“Wow, that’s such a let down for you.” You tell her and she hums. “When I have sex with a girl, I always make sure she finishes however many times she wants.” You say and you miss Melissa’s eyes get darker.

“Well all the girls you’re with are lucky.” She tells you and you look at her. You slip your shoes off and then you put your feet on her chair beside her legs and lightly swing her back and forth.

“Maybe you could be lucky too.” You tell her and she quirks an eyebrow at you. “Have you ever been with a woman?” You ask her and she shakes her head.

“Only men as it wasn’t an acceptable thing in the 90’s.” She tells you and you hum.

“Do you want to be with women? Because I know the perfect bar we could go to and many women would be dying to have sex with you.” You tell her and you see a blush reach her cheeks.

“Ok, but-but not this weekend as I haven’t even told Joe that we’re over yet. All I did was pack my things and elbow him in the face. Although I did tell him that I didn’t need him anymore.” She says.

“You could tell him right now, over text.” You tell her.

“Isn’t that a shitty thing to do though?”

“It is, if the person hasn’t been a manipulative asshole for 25 years.” You counter.

“I’ll send him a text after school is done. That way I don’t have to teach a class after whatever he sends back to me.” She says and you nod.

“You might have to go back to my place to get your things as you wanted to stay at Barb’s tonight.” You tell her.

“About that, can I stay at your place for one more night? Barb said she’ll set up the extra bedroom for me tonight but asked if I could stay with you again.”

“Of course, you’re always welcome at my place.” You tell her and she smiles at you.

At the end of the day you’re saying goodbye to all of your students and then Melissa comes up to you when they’re all gone.

“Ready to go?” She asks and you nod before you go and grab your things and head out with Melissa.

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#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #fanfic #x reader #lisa ann walter #law #abbott elementary

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shiningjustforreid · 2 days ago

Text

maraschino

valentine’s day special 2025 <3 fem!reader + Spencer Reid <3

word count: 1.5k

a/n: short and sweet valentine’s day fic! enjoy :)

warnings/tags: i mean, this is fluff with mild angst. if you don’t like two people sickeningly in love, i guess this ain’t for you! no use of y/n because no, sorry. reader is a lil anxious and perfectionist bc she just loves Spencer so much! pet names up the wazoo, gentle love because that’s what we all need.

- ✩ -

February 14th approaches, almost sneaks up on you, as it always does after a festive December and bleary January. Somehow though, magically, the planets and stars align, and Spencer doesn’t have a case in some city a hundred miles away. Having spent half the afternoon cleaning the apartment, and hemming and hawing over what to make for dinner - you and Spencer never do anything very fancy, just staying home, and it’s eating at you what you’re going to eat for dinner - the decision is made, and pasta it is. Garlic toast, veggies, and then when you spot the jar of maraschino cherries in the back of the fridge, cherry pie.

Hair refreshed, a fresh powder blue sweater on, you pour pasta into boiling water, season veggies as they cook, mind distant. It’s been a while since Spencer has been home for a nice night, and you’ve made sure he knows he is so loved tonight. Because he is. Every night.

Then, the accident. You’re tired, you worked an early shift today and your nerves are shot, piles of tension stacking up quickly and pressure to make tonight simple and sweet and easy for him. It’s ten to six, the noodles are cooking, toast baking, and your face is flushed as crimson as the fruit in the jar you’re trying to unscrew. Pie dough already pressed into the silver plan, you’re twisting the lid with all you’ve got, then—

Catastrophe.

Split seconds later, when Spencer enters the apartment, key in the door, he might as well be at a crime scene. Shattered glass shards lay across the linoleum, cherries and bright, nearly blood-red juice has stained your hands and the counter and your favorite sweater and the floor and oh God it’s everywhere and now you have to mop again—

“Angel. Hey. Breathe.”

Meeting his eyes makes hot tears well up in your eye - oh, he had flowers, this thoughtful, perfect man - the pressure in your chest grows to almost the same level as that damn jar lid. Swallowing hard, you stare down again at the pieces littering the kitchen floor, the whole room smelling unbearably saccharine.

“The lid wouldn’t come off.”

You breathe, as he hurriedly discards his coat and toes off muddy Converse, gingerly stepping across the room to you, bundle of deep red carnations and roses finding their way to the counter. Soft concern is painted across his features, as he steps into your space. Cool hands come up to hold your rosy cheeks, and you close your eyes, the shame of it all almost too great to handle.

“I see that. Did any glass get on you?”

For a moment, you pause at the worry in his voice, analyzing if there’s pain anywhere except in your throat and lungs. You shake your head, meeting his eyes with your own almost frantic ones.

“Spence- I was supposed to- I was going to make us dinner and it was going to be perfect and then—“

He doesn’t interrupt, but smooths a thumb over your cheekbone, and you pause anyways. When you don’t continue, he sighs, gently.

“Sweetest girl. Can I help?”

You nod, hazily, thoughts still consumed with it’s just such a mess and how badly did I manage to screw this up?

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go change your sweater, get that juice off your face because I know you hate the feeling. I’m going to sweep this glass, and once it’s all gone, I’ll take the bread out of the oven, as it’s only got three minutes left and it will probably only take me two minutes and 34 seconds to clean this glass based on the area it’s covering and how long it typically takes to sweep a floor this size.”

You laugh a little through your tears - calculating the time it will take to resolve this issue is just so Spencer. Nodding, you manage a watery grin.

“Then, I’ll mop, while I let you finish the pasta, because I’m pretty sure you want it a specific way, and who am I to get in such way?”

Now you’re actually grinning, as he smooths a frazzled lock of hair out of your eyes.

“It will be like it never even happened.”

Relief, then. There’s something enticing about the idea of smoothing it all over, redoing and fixing and editing the scene. He presses chapped lips to your brow, then your nose, and then one easy kiss to your lips before he pulls back, hands tracing down your arms.

“Go change, lovely.”

So you do, finding a plum-toned top instead, and a fresh pair of jeans, and then you’re back out as he’s setting the hot metal tray on the stove top and the glass is gone. You eye the tin and pie crust, unbaked and pale, and swallow hard. Spencer follows your gaze, as he dumps the juice splattered glass into the trash.

“Pie was a good thought, to use with those cherries.”

You nod, all choked up again. Mostly pleasant silence fills the kitchen as he mops and busies himself with something as you finish the veggies and pasta, but he’s thinking - probably profiling you, come on - and so are you, almost foggily so. Dishing up portions with shaking hands, you head to the table, and a wretched little sound leaves your lips as you see the lit candle, the silverware set, and the waters he’s already put ice in and poured full. The just purchased bunch of flowers is in liquid and in your favorite vase. He frowns at your apparent distress, taking both plates and setting them down before turning to you, hands grabbing yours.

“Is it too much? It is Valentine’s Day, and you seemed so in your head, I just wanted it to be nice for you because you deserve nice things, angel, and I—“

Leaning up, you press your lips to his cheek, hands smoothing over the cotton of his sweater.

“It’s perfect, baby. Absolutely. I just wanted to do the same for you, and I couldn’t.”

His frown remains in place, as you both sit, watching as you practically sink into your chair.

“Couldn’t? Did you not think I would notice the cleaned apartment, and the wonderful food, and how stunning you look right now?”

Shrugging tight shoulders, you look away, fiddling with your fork, trying not to think about how in awe he sounds of you, even when you feel so blech.

“Did you not also notice the disaster I made of our kitchen, and my feeble attempt at dessert? Because that’s what I remember.”

“Hey. Look at me?”

Fork goes down, and your eyes come up, meeting his. Seeing nothing but love and adoration and care, you hold his gaze.

“You know- you could do that every night, and it wouldn’t change a thing. Spill a million jars of cherries, make a billion messes. It doesn’t matter to me, because I love you. Okay? My- well, my heart is yours. It doesn’t know how to be angry at something so minute as this.”

New tears, these ones dawning from the light glowing in your chest, start to spill. Nodding, you look down at your pasta, hands calmed in your lap.

“Pretty girl. Hey. Those better be happy tears.”

You let out a breathless laugh, and look up again.

“Yeah. They are. My heart’s yours too, by the way. In case you wondered.”

Now it’s his turn to have pinkened cheeks, as you both enjoy your dinner. Domestics fall into place as he washes the dishes and you dry, comfortable silence now, no more tense muscles on your part.

Before long, a record finds the player - Time Out of Mind - and you’re sort of dancing, mostly just leaning on his shoulder with your hands clasped, swaying slowly in your dim living room. He waits to speak until it makes it all the way to the ninth track.

“Can I ask what was up with all the pressure you had on yourself today?”

You don’t answer at first, listening to his heart, lashes against your skin, body relaxing.

“I guess- I guess I just wanted you to know. Know how much I want you to feel loved by me.”

Lithe fingers come to stroke through your hair, lips right by your ear. You ease into the comfort that you’ve come to associate with his touch.

“You were so on edge when I came home, lovely. Nothing is worth the look in your eyes when I entered the door, and you didn’t have time to be perfect for me.”

There it is. Nail on the head.

“You deserve perfect.”

You protest, voice creaking a bit with more unshed water.

“Mm, as much as it pains me, I’m going to have to disagree. I would like to deserve a quarter of your beauty, someday. If I’m lucky. I’m already incredibly lucky just to be allowed to stand in your presence.”

Absurd man. You shake your head, his gentle teasing intermixed with steady assurance enough to calm your pulse.

“Love you, Spence.”

His breath soothes over your skin as his lips rest against your hairline.

“Love you too, sweetest girl. Nothing is going to ever change that.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff

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bonnie-the-butcher · 3 days ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter VIII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.289 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

Silence weighs heavy in the kitchen as Rafe remains there, in the door, looking at you. His smirk widens, a flash of perfectly straight teeth between his swollen lips. – The new chef, huh? You already hired?

Kareem stands, frantically wiping his hands on his apron. – Mr. Cameron, this is—

– I was talking to her. – He takes his time scanning the room, gaze sweeping over the kitchen like he’s searching for something out of place, something to pick apart. When his eyes land on Kareem, there’s a flicker of amusement, barely there before it smooths into something more polished, more calculated. He gives you a slow, easy smile, practiced like the rest of him. – Didn’t know we were hiring new help.

Kareem only barely bites back whatever it was that flashed over his face so violently.

Rafe exhales a short laugh, like he’s humoring him. He moves closer, leaning against the counter like he’s settling in for a show, and pushes at your plate. – So? What's on the menu?

Kareem puts his fork down, fidgeting with his hands. – Lunch’s already in the making. The new hire was just showing off.

Rafe’s eyes flick back to you, trailing down to the plate before drifting back up. – Was she now? – The way he says it makes your skin prickle. Like he’s talking about a trick dog instead of a person. Like the whole thing is some private joke only he’s in on. – Damn, – He whistles, tilting his head. – Guess we’re getting fancy. You go to culinary school or something?

You hold his gaze, forcing your shoulders to stay squared. You don’t know what game he’s playing at, but you’re almost thankful he’s pretending not to know you. – No, sir. Just experience.

– Sir? You serious? – Rafe grins. – I like it. Real respectful. Could use more of that around here.

There’s an edge to it. A warning disguised as praise. You don’t miss the way Kareem stiffens slightly, the way his grip tightens around the fabric of his sleeve. Rafe doesn’t like him. That much is obvious. But more than that—he likes making sure Kareem knows it.

He reaches for the plate without asking, plucking a piece of cornbread from the edge. He takes a slow bite, exaggerating the motion like he’s savoring it, like he’s considering whether or not to spit it out. Then he hums, licking a crumb from his hand.

His eyes gleam as when he meets your gaze. – Not bad.

– Glad it meets your standards. – You say evenly.

His eyes flick back up, a flash of something sharper beneath the surface. – Careful, – he warns, low and amused. – Flattery’ll get you everywhere.

Kareem shifts beside you, his hand landing on your shoulder as if he's trying to tranquilize you. He's shaking. – Mr. Cameron, is there anything we can do for you?

Rafe doesn’t move. Just chews, watching you with the kind of patience that isn’t patience at all. – Yeah. Well, not you. But maybe she can do it. – He takes your fork, scooping up some of your mashed potatoes. – Lamb roast, like the one at the Wreck. Kareem over here always fumbles it, his lamb tastes like beef jerky.

– Mr. Cameron, the supper’s already planned.

– Well, then, un-plan it. – He says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, taking some more chicken and mash from your plate, and chewing slowly. – We have a very special dinner guest coming over and I want that lamb for dinner. So chop chop. Go ahead and buy the things. I wanna see if your new hire really is up to my standards. – He looks back at you, mischief glinting off his eyes. – Right, newbie?

You let your eyes drift back to Kareem, nodding quietly. – I think I can handle a second interview.

– Great! – Rafe’s smile is almost innocent, he chuckles lightly, his shoulder brushing yours. – Off you go, Kareem. She can handle a second interview.

The man’s eyes linger on you for a moment. His brows drawn together, eyes overtaken by worry. His lips fall open, but they close again as he reaches for a tote bag on the back door. – I won’t be long.

It's a reassurance, you realize, but as soon as the door closes Rafe starts laughing like a child, covering his mouth as he leans into your side.

– Are you always this charming?

– You know I am, baby. That's what you like about me. – You don’t know what to say. A twinge of discomfort still lingers in your chest after watching Rafe treat poor Kareem, who ranks much higher than you, as if he was nothing. – So… – He pokes at you, eyes wide and intent, and pulls the chair behind you closer with a grin. – You’re officially employed now, huh?

– You could say so.

– You know what that means? – He takes another bite of the chicken and hums, happily. Happier than you’ve ever seen him.

You sit down, and he pulls your chair even closer, his knee brushing yours. – That I don’t have to worry about starving anymore because you saved my ass?

Rafe chuckles, the sound light and careless. He seems so different like this. So different from the guy that was bullying one of his employees not a minute ago. – That too. But mostly, that you’ll have to fulfill all of my cravings, no matter how insane.

His eyes darken as he leans close. You don’t miss the suggestiveness, but you look around, at this giant, pristine kitchen, at the calm surrounding you, at this perfect new job you only have because of Rafe.

You don’t have it in you to be bothered for much longer.

Things never go your way.

You might as well enjoy the smooth sailing while it lasts. – Tell me about these cravings then. I know you like my lamb roast. – He nods, taking the other fork on the counter and handing it to you. – What else do you like?

– Tryna get to know me huh? That's cute.

– Go ahead, Rafe. I’ll make it easy for you: Favorite soup, favorite roast, favorite pastry.

He looks at you, challenge glinting off his eyes. – You’re the professional here, aren’t you? Let’s see if you can guess my taste. Give me your palm reading.

– Palm reading? – You laugh. – I’m a psychic now? Shit, I gotta put that on my resume.

– You’re not gonna put shit in your resume. This is your job now. You ain’t getting fired.

His words are even, level, almost casual. Like he hadn't thought before the words left his mouth. But he is still pressed against you, holding up the fork as an invitation, an attempt to make you feel part of his world.

You take the fork from his hand, twirling it between your fingers as you watch him. His expression changes then. He looks so smug, so sure you’ll get it wrong. But you’re good at this. You've never been good with yourself, but you've always been good at people.

– Alright. Let’s see… – You lean back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. His knee is still brushing yours. – Favorite soup? French Onion.

The smirk on his lips twitches, almost falters. You know you have him.

– Interesting. Why?

– You like rich food. Heavy, but classic. Something you’d get at a steakhouse or some bougie country club dinner with your dad. Here's the thing though, I think, for you it has to be indulgent. Something you could eat for days. It's gotta be tasty.

He nods. – That’s what I'm talking about.

– Cheese too. I bet you put a lot of cheese on your soup. What do you like?

He smiles, leaning so close he's almost glued to your side. – I like a good Gruyere.

– Okay, fancy!

– I'm a man of culture, okay?

– I see it. – You tilt your head, watching his reaction. – That’s my first guess. Am I wrong?

His tongue darts out, running along the edge of his teeth. As if he's thinking about it. – Not bad. Not bad at all, baby.

You grin, triumphant. – Roast is easy. Man like you? Only one option: Prime rib. You like it rare, still bleeding.

His brows lift, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and genuine curiosity.

– You sure about that?

– Oh, I am positive. Lamb is still your number one, but prime rib is a close second. You wouldn’t go for anything too gamey—no pork, no turkey, chicken only if it's fried. – He laughs, the bone of your fried chicken still in his hand. – You like the expensive stuff. The things other people think are only good because they cost a lot, but that are actually better than the rest.

Rafe lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. – You really think you know me, huh?

– Oh, I do.

He’s still grinning, but there’s something sharper in his gaze now, like he’s sizing you up in a way he hadn’t before.

– Alright, psychic. Last one.

You take a beat, tapping the fork against your lip.

– Pastry… You pretend you don’t have a sweet tooth, but you totally do. – His smile sharpens. Rafe licks his lips slowly, his gaze fixed on your mouth. – You’d never admit it, though. So it has to be something subtle. Not over-the-top, nothing too sugary. – You pause for effect, then snap your fingers. – Madame Routledge says... Chocolate croissant.

Rafe stares at you, and for a second, you think you’ve finally missed. But then he lets out a small tsk, shaking his head. – Close.

– Close?

– Chocolate éclair.

Your mouth opens, then closes. That’s—okay, that actually makes perfect sense. – Damn. That was my second guess.

Rafe grins, tilting his head as he leans in just a little closer. – Sure it was. – You narrow your eyes at him, but you’re smiling too. – You’re kind of freaky, you know that? – he mutters, taking another bite of your chicken.

– And you’re easy to read.

His smirk deepens, his knee pressing just a little firmer against yours.

– I’ll let you think that.

– Okay, Bella Swan. What else do I need to guess? – You smirk, teasing him back as your hand grips your cup. You’re not intimidated, but it’s hard to ignore how his presence seems to consume the space around you.

He leans back in his chair, watching you with a new kind of amusement. The food he's eaten entirely, almost licked the plate clean, and even as the plate lies between you two, there’s still an unspoken hunger in the air, only it’s not the kind that comes from a full stomach.

– My favorite drink. What do you think? – He takes your glass and runs his thumb along the rim, gaze never leaving yours. There’s a definite playfulness to his tone, but it’s mixed with a touch of challenge. He’s testing you now.

– It’s hard. – You tilt your head, putting your water down. – Scotch. Or something with vodka, maybe a Moscow Mule if you’re trying to play classy.

– Oh, I see, you think you’ve got me pegged now. – His lips curl up. There’s that cocky smirk again. – I do like a good scotch. But you missed one.

Your brow furrows. – What'd I miss?

Rafe’s eyes gleam with something almost conspiratorial as he leans in, lowering his voice. – Gin. The real gentleman's drink. Never would’ve guessed that, huh?

You blink, surprised yet somehow not. – I'll give you that one. You’re full of surprises.

– I like to keep people guessing. – His voice is low, and there’s something almost predatory about the way he’s watching you.

Before you can respond, he casually throws another challenge your way, his eyes alight with the thrill of the game.

– Alright, let’s go for the ultimate test. You ready?

You laugh lightly, rolling your eyes. – Born ready.

He leans even closer, his lips just barely brushing your ear. – Guilty pleasure.

You pause. He’s looking at you like he’s about to tell you something you’re not supposed to know. You lean in, matching his intensity. – What is it? It's something sweet isn't it?

– Peach pie. – He drops the bomb like it’s the most casual thing in the world, his grin only widening at your confused expression. – I eat the whole damn thing. Never fails. It’s the one thing that can put me in a good mood, no matter what’s going on.

You blink, trying to process it. – Rafe Cameron... peach pie? – You let out a small, incredulous laugh. – You? The ‘I’m so fancy’ guy? Eating peach pie like it's your last meal?

He doesn’t flinch, just smirks. – Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. It’s the filling, sweet, juicy—and the crust? It hits every spot.

You shake your head in disbelief, but you can’t hide your smile. – I guess I see it.

His hand moves, brushing against yours again as his eyes drop to your lips for a moment. – What else do you think you can guess? Maybe... – He trails off, leaning back slightly, a new challenge in his gaze. – ...a favorite movie?

You smirk knowingly. – That’s easy. The one you would say, is The Godfather. Definitely. Eldest son of a legendary man, making the world his own? That's all you, Rafe. – There’s a different glint to his eye now, his smile softens, his eyes round the slightest bit, like one of the walls he's put up just fell to his feet around the both of you. – But that's not your favorite is it? It's cool, but it can get a little boring. Not the sort of thing you re-watch. You like a little feel-good.

– You're getting colder…

– I think... Men in Black?

Rafe laughs. – Nope. – He leans in again, lowering his voice just for you. – Shrek.

You blink at him. – Shrek? – You can’t contain your laughter. It feels so fitting, just the right amount of darkness with a lot of humor. It's Rafe to a T.

He grins wickedly. – What? I like the layers. I’m a complicated guy.

You shake your head, laughing. – Of course you do. You’re a walking contradiction, Rafe.

Rafe leans back in his chair again, that infuriating smugness back on his face. – That’s what makes me interesting.

You narrow your eyes, but your smile says it all. – So, what’s your real secret then? You’ve been dropping little hints, but I think I got you figured out.

He grins, standing up to grab the bottle of scotch. – Not yet, that’s-so-Raven. You still have a lot to learn.

He pours himself a drink, you can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’s starting to enjoy the game as much as you are. – You want me to dig deeper? Think you can handle that?

– Oh, I can handle it. – He dawns the drink in one breath, flopping back on the seat right in front of you.

– Give me your hands, traveler. Let's see what’s written in your soul. – He’s laughing as he hands himself over, you can see the smallest of shivers blooming in his arms as you cart a finger through the lines of his right hand. – Favorite color, favorite season, favorite ice cream.

– You’re never gonna guess that. None of that.

– Wanna bet?

– What do I get when I win?

– Don’t jump the gun yet, mr. This-is-my-swamp-Corleone. I have not yet revealed all of my talents. – He raises a brow, licking his lips as his eyes trail down your body.

– I’m hoping you’ll show me the talent I’m thinking about when I win.

– Hilarious.

– I’ll guess you! – He grins. – Best of three, how bout that? Loser drinks with every wrong one.

You can feel the smirk tugging at your lips before you even speak. – Someone’s getting cocky.

– I don’t get cocky. I just know you’re not gonna get it.

– You better not bet a drink then. You’ll be owing me a bottle when I’m done with you.

– Fine then, baby. – His eyes flick to your lips. – A kiss then, loser kisses where the winner says.

– With this lipstick? You’re out of your mind.

– I don’t mind if you leave a mark. I like it. – You can see the gears turning in his head. – C’mon. Is someone gonna chicken out?

– Oh, you’re on, mister. Me first. Your favorite color: Judging by the fact that every shirt I’ve ever seen you wear is blue, and your shoes are blue, and your comforter is blue, and your eyes are blue, this is a really tough one. I’d say, blue.

– What kind of blue?

– So I’m right! – You can’t help the giggle. You’ve always been competitive, and this day has you in such a good mood, it falls from your lips before you can even think.

– No! You gotta guess the shade too!

– What am I, home depot? Nobody’s painting walls here, just accept that I won!

– Okay, okay. Where do I kiss? – You laugh, take back your right hand, and point to the floor. It takes Rafe a minute to follow the line. – You’re absolutely hilarious, y’know that?

– I don’t know why you think I’m joking.

– Where do I kiss you?

– Changing the rules, now, Mr. Cameron? – He doesn’t even answer, just leans closer, a smile bright on his face as he pulls back your shirt to kiss your collarbone. His lips remain there for a moment, brushing against your skin like he’s savoring every second. – Sore loser.

– We’ll see who’s losing next. – He squeezes your nose in his fingers as he pulls back, still smiling. – Go ahead. What’s my favorite season?

– Summer.

– You think I’m that much of a plebe?

– Plebe, really?! – You’re laughing now, and he’s holding both our legs as he pulls his chair closer, until his is less than a foot away from yours. – You are a sociological experience, Rafe.

– Wrong. – You can see the pleasure it gives him to say that. – My knee.

You can’t even help the scoff. – You’re wearing pants.

– I can take them off, if you want. – He's squeezing you know, eyes glinting with something almost possessive.

– That's funny. It's just gonna stain.

– Maybe I want it to stain. – He hums, hooking his right hand under your knees and pulling you closer. – Now, you get down there and kiss me.

You shake your head, laughing, but stay put. He doesn’t wanna play your game, might as well play by your own rules.

So you lean in a little closer, just enough that you can feel his breath hitch against your skin, and pull at the collar of his polo. Your lips land just where his had, on the collarbone, and Rafe chuckles lowly, humming with his hand in your hair, keeping you there until you pull away.

You watch the shape of your lips peek from under the cotton of his shirt, deep red and perfectly contoured. It almost seemed like a tattoo. – Your favorite ice cream now. – His fingers are still tangled in the strands of your hair, warm as anything, but still as a stone. – You are a man of hedonisms. You like it sweet, rich, flavorful. But, you are also very layered.

– Thank you.

– That’s nothing. My guess is something indulgent, that’s sweet but not too sweet. Some different textures, some contrasting flavors. A rocky road, if you will. – He smiles, defeated. And you know you read him like a book. – I told you I was good. If I may go a little deeper?

– Go as deep as you want.

– Your perfect rocky road is the dutch chocolate one, with hazelnuts, and marshmallow bits.

– Marshmallow swirl. – He corrects.

– Damn. – You snap your fingers, earning a laugh out of Rafe. – I’ve gotta give it to you, there is not a single thing in your list that is even remotely dubious. Everything is undeniably great.

– That’s who I am. Perfect all-round

You laugh. – Conceited, much?

– Honest. – He corrects. – Now you.

You’re shaking your head before he even starts. – This is not about me.

– You think you’re that hard to guess?

– You’ll never know, Rafe. I will never tell you. My mama always said, remain a creature of mystery. Otherwise people get bored and fuck off. – Rafe raises a brow. – Yeah, that’s it. That’s her whole philosophy.

– Sounds like a bitch. – You laugh, and he does too. You feel a little lighter. – But lets get into it. I wanna know you too.

– That’s too damn bad.

– That's not fair now, baby. You had an advantage.

– Oh, boo-hoo. – You grin. – Told you I would win.

– I still have to kiss you somewhere else.

You hum, tapping your finger on your chin as you smile. Rafe doesn’t even seem angry, his eyes just glint darkly.

You extend your hand. – As Rodrigo Borgia said to Caterina of Forli: Kiss the ring, bitch.

Rafe’s laughter echoes in your ear, low and rich with something dangerous as he takes your hand, his fingers curling around yours. He leans in, lips inches from your hand, but instead of kissing your hand, he trails his mouth up to your neck.

– Careful, – You murmur, almost smiling as you press your palm to his chest, trying to push him away, but his lips keep moving against your skin.

– You said I had to kiss somewhere else. – He whispers, his voice muffled against your neck as he pulls you closer, his hand sliding to your back, pulling you into his body. His other hand is still entwined in your hair, gently tugging to hold you in place.

You roll your eyes, amused by his persistence. But just as you're about to push him off again, something startles you. His phone, tucked in his pocket, rings—a sharp, sudden sound that cuts through the tension between you two.

Rafe groans, pulling away from your neck, a growl of frustration slipping from his lips. His eyes narrow. – No way, – He mutters, already diving in again.

You stop him. – Could be important.

He glances at the screen, and his irritation becomes palpable, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he stares at the name flashing on the display. It’s his father. You can see it clearly from here.

– It’s him, – Rafe mutters under his breath, exhaling sharply through his nose. The smirk he had on his lips fades slightly, replaced by an edge of annoyance. – Of course it's him.

You can’t help but feel the shift in the energy between you two, but you lean back, giving him space to take the call if he has to. – Go ahead. I should get back to work, my boss is really strict.

He shoots you a glare, but there’s something almost resigned in the way he looks at the phone.

– I don’t have a choice, do I? – He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair before answering the call. His voice is low, almost cold as he speaks into the phone, and you can’t help but notice the way the playful, carefree Rafe fades with each word exchanged.

The call doesn't last long, just a bunch of monotone sounds from Rafe, who sits there, sulking, as you clean up and start chopping vegetables. When he eventually hangs up, there's an unsettling silence from him. Rafe sighs, his hand running over his face in frustration.

– Bastard. – he mutters, more defeated than you’ve ever heard him. He looks at you, his eyes softening, but the playfulness is gone. – Guess you got lucky this time, – He says, the words carrying a weight that wasn’t there before.

– No big deal, I can always beat your ass later.

Rafe leans back in his chair, and stands, coming closer. He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes distant for a moment as he comes up behind you, looking at your work as he leans his chin on your shoulder. – I have to go.

– It's okay. I'll catch up with you later.

He doesn’t seem to hear you. Instead his arms snake around your waist, face burying deeper into your neck.

You look over your shoulder, hoping Kareem is still far.

– Your father's gone, right?

The question stops you cold. The knife in your hand suddenly feeling heavy. – Yeah.

Rafe burrows in a little closer, breathing you in. – Did you ever wish he would drop dead? – A shiver tears through you as he remains there, holding you in that iron grip, as if he was physically grounding himself, as if his father might burst through the doors and try to drag him away.

You think about it, but you don't have to.

The answer is easy enough.

A thousand times.

Every time you walked into a room he was in, he'd sigh, heavy, as if your presence alone made the space uncomfortable. At some point, you stopped wishing you'd die, and transferred over that rage to him.

Whenever he scoffed at you, you prayed for a heart attack.

When he cursed at you, you wished he'd be mugged in the street.

When he grabbed you, when he'd pull you around, your thoughts got more violent. They worsened and worsened until the day he slapped you, and you found yourself laying on the floor, digging your nails into your hands as you thought about the knives you were always sharpening, sitting there in the drawer, completely unwatched.

You fed on that memory for a while. To the point that every time you saw him you were clenching your fists.

But had you meant it? – Yeah. A couple times.

Rafe doesn’t say anything else. He squeezes you one last time, almost as if plucking the feel of your body against his from that moment. You can feel him hanging onto it as he walks away.

His steps echo loud into the house, beyond the threshold you can step through, and you go through the motions almost robotically, cooking and prepping and cleaning as if it was gonna save you from the thought he’d left you with.

Work goes by smoothly, though your mind remains a wasteland. Kareem is quieter, too, after he returns, and he keeps looking back and forth between what he does and the doorway, a strange resentment burning in his eyes. You don’t meddle, your own spirits low after the talk with Rafe.

Lunch goes by in a blur, even without the chaos of lunch rush at a restaurant. You feel yourself drown out the noise around you, diving completely into the work. Your partner makes a couple comments here and there. He checks your roast, tweaks your reduction, analyses your vegetables. His smile is reassuring everytime he turns to you, tasting this dish and the other with the comically tiny spoon he keeps in a special pocket on his apron, and pats your back like a middle aged dad whenever the servants come in to take your trays away.

– You work quick. – He finally comments, finishing the plate you made for him, as Rose and Ward lunch alone in the dining room. – Every time I looked at you you were doing something else.

– You work quiet. – You smile back, and when he widens his eyes, you immediately clarify. – It’s nice! Like working with a zen master. I’ve never cooked for so long without someone screaming at me.

– Working at a restaurant kitchen makes you feel like the world’s gonna end. – He laughs, but his eyes fall back to the plate, suddenly darkening. – I actually used to have nightmares about burning entrees and being late on mains when I still worked at the bar.

You ponder what to say for a moment, clearly caught in a touchy subject. – I can tell you’re sleeping well, now. Your skin is glowing.

Flattery really does go a long way.

Kareem smiles, finishing his food in silence as you clean up, and the two of you don’t really speak much until the dinner prep starts looming closer.

Supper waits for no one, and Kareem snaps back into focus as the time approaches. — He’s methodical, you admire that in him. —So you follow his lead, letting routine take over, movements automatic as you prepare the kitchen. The momentary stillness gives way to the familiar rhythm of preparation—the clatter of knives, the hum of the oven preheating, the weight of expectation settling over you like a second skin.

You take charge of the entrees and the main dish while Kareem handles the sides. The lamb roast is yours to perfect, its success a quiet challenge, a second interview you refuse to fail. You roll up your sleeves, minding the ingredients you laid out, and get to work.

You begin with the prep, sliding the lamb onto the cutting board, fingers tracing the marbled surface, gauging its density, its fat distribution. A perfect cut. You reach for the boning knife, and trim the excess fat—just enough to allow the seasonings to penetrate deeper, not enough to sacrifice flavor. The rendered trimmings will be saved, melted down for later use. Nothing wasted.

Next, the seasoning. Garlic cloves are smashed under the flat of your knife, their oils bursting free, before you mince them into a fine paste. Rosemary leaves are stripped from their stems, crushed between your fingers, the scent sharp and green. You mix them with flaky sea salt and cracked pepper, the coarse grains binding to the moisture of the garlic. The mixture is worked into the lamb with steady hands, pressing into every groove, every fold of muscle, ensuring the flavors seep into the fibers of the meat.

The pan is already waiting, and you’re happy for the freedom of throwing a healthy dollop of butter on the iron without having to watch out for Anthony’s pretentious complaints. The sizzle is loud as you lay the lamb down. The heat grips the surface, searing it to a perfect crust, the scent of browning fat filling the kitchen. You tilt the pan, spooning the bubbling butter over the top, watching it soak into the herbs and garlic, turning the surface deep amber. When every side is sealed, you transfer it to the preheated oven, where the slow heat will coax out the tenderness, the juices locking in beneath the crisp exterior.

Beside you, Kareem dices vegetables with methodical efficiency, the rhythmic tap of his knife grounding like the hum of a monk deep in prayer. You glance over your shoulder, watching as he peels and slices carrots into thin ribbons, tossing them into a pan where melted butter and honey wait to coat them in a glossy sheen. He looks so peaceful, so in his element. It's almost cute. You catch the faintest scent of citrus as he zests an orange, preparing the glaze for the carrots, and there’s a moment where he looks up, meeting your eyes briefly before returning to his task.

Turning back to your own work, you begin assembling the entrees. You lay out fresh slices of crusty baguette, rubbing each piece with raw garlic before topping them with a blend of ricotta and herbs, the creamy spread flecked with chopped basil and thyme. Cherry tomatoes, roasted until blistered and sweet, are gently pressed atop each slice, their juices seeping into the bread. A final drizzle of balsamic reduction finishes the dish, the deep, tangy aroma curling into the already fragrant air of the kitchen.

By the time everything comes together, the kitchen smells like warmth, like the indulgence you and Rafe spoke of, and you find yourself praying this tops every memory of the lamb he had before, just to give you that reassurance. The roast rests, juices settling beneath its crisp, golden crust, while Kareem plates the sides—a creamy potato purée, the glossy, honey-glazed carrots, a crisp asparagus sauté with almonds. Dessert waits to be finished in the background, Kareem’s perfect pie crust resting easy beside the fresh-chopped peaches you left soaking in syrup, soaking up all the flavor until the moment is right.

You step back, wiping your brow, allowing yourself a moment—just one—to take it in. The meal is set, a quiet triumph, and for now, that’s enough.

Kareem slumps down on the chair as the echo of greeting and bickering in the room next door gives way to the hums and awes of enjoyment. – Who knew art could be so tiring, huh? – You say.

He looks up from his hands, an easy smile on his face, and nods. – “it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.” – The hum coaxes a brow raise from you as you wash your hands again.

– Okay, private school. – You laugh, and catch his shoulders shaking slightly as he watches you. – Care to enlighten the country bumpkin here before you?

– It’s a quote by Colin Murray Parkes.

– The actor?

He laughs even louder, delighted with your lack of poshness. – The psychiatrist. Didn’t you have psychology lessons in your school?

– Does the Outer Banks seem like the sort of place that would offer that curriculum?

– Well, no, of course. But you’re not from here, are you?

You gasp:

– Of course I am. – He doesn’t even pretend to hide his shock. – Born and bred in the OBX.

– Seriously, Routledge. Where did you learn to cook like this? Couldn’t have been here. – You let out an incredulous laugh, but the question is so ridiculous you can’t even find it insulting. – I didn't mean it like—

– I know. – You grin. – I learned how to cook because it’s the only luxury I could have, food can be elevated. It's the other things that are hard to come around. Sometimes I forget you tourons don’t read class cues like the islanders. I’m flattered you even considered the possibility of me being a kook.

– I feel like I’ve just been spoken to in tongues. – It's your turn to laugh again, the genuine bewilderment on his face a joke of its own. – Toro? Like bull?

– You’ve been living here for years and nobody taught you the hierarchy? – He shakes his head, earning more laughter from you. – I’m kinda glad. But here it is: OBX 101, brought to you by a Routledge. So the rich folk, inhabitants of the Figure Eight, this lovely little neighborhood we’re currently in, are the Kooks. Golf players, country club goers, the cream of the crop. Now they’re rich, but not rich like you’re rich.

– I’m not rich. – He pouts, and you have to bite back the brow raise.

– Says the man who had advanced psychology in his high school curriculum. You’re private school. Now, that’s not something to be embarrassed about. But, a pogue, the poor people of the island, the ones that live in the Cut, like me, we can tell.

– I think that’s just you. You get a good read on people. How’d you learn that by the way?

– My older brother who hated me kind of poisoned the well for me when it came to friends. I had to get my hands on whatever outsider I could reach.

Kareem’s brows furrow. – He sounds like a piece of shit.

– He used to be. We’re better now. – He seems unbelieving, but you don’t go any further. – Now you never told me where you’re from, but maybe I can guess you.

– I doubt that. – He says, the hum of his voice low and steady.

You tilt your head, and he smiles at you, signing for you to go on. – You’re a Texan, that much is obvious. By the accent, I’d say Dallas. And you’re a farm boy, clearly old money. Blue blood, boarding school bred.

– I’m from Highland Park. Which is, to your credit, in Dallas. – It feels good to be right. – But I’m not posh.

– Never said you were. – He’s the one raising a brow now, but before he can say anything else, the door opens again.

Daniel, one of the servants, stands there, his face almost worried. – Mr. Cameron asked to see the chef. – Kareem swallows thickly, face suddenly void of all the playfulness he’d had just a moment earlier. But Daniel stops him again. – He asked for her.

You stop cold, heart hammering against your ribs. Daniel’s words echo in your head, but you don’t let yourself hesitate. Kareem steps forward, a steadying head wrapping around your arm. – Hey, don’t worry. Look, they probably just wanna compliment you. That lamb, it was great. Don’t worry about it.

– You don’t know that.

– Routledge, – It's almost pleading, the way he says it. A soft lull of a voice brushing against your ears as he tried to tranquilize you. But it doesn’t help. How often did things go well for you? You should’ve known better than to hope.

– I’ll be right back. – You murmur. Kareem tries to argue, but you’ve brushed past him before he can think to say anything else.

The walk to the dining room feels longer than it should, each step pulling tighter at the knot in your stomach. The hall seems to stretch around you as you reach the warm light bleeding in from the cracked door. You push through it, and immediately, the air thickens.

They’re all there.

It’s Rafe who holds your attention first. He’s leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face, self-satisfied. Like he’s been expecting you. Like he’s enjoying this.

Ward sits at the head of the table, relaxed, a glass of wine in hand. Rose is poised beside him, her smile the perfect shade of contempt. Wheezie barely looks up from her phone, and Sarah… Sarah’s expression falls as she sees you, and she looks up from her plate with something can’t quite place.

Then your eyes shift, and you freeze.

At the opposite end of the table, just beside Sarah, sits your brother.

The sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. His expression is cold, unreadable, but the anger simmering beneath the surface is unmistakable. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches.

Your fingers tighten around the towel in your hands.

– Ah, there she is, – Ward's voice cuts through the silence, warm, approving. – When my son told me he had to fire the last cook, I didn’t think he’d go out and find us a new one. I doubted him, but I have to say, I was… pleasantly surprised. That was the best lamb I’ve had in years. Truly remarkable.

The words come out immediately, but no relief fills you as you speak. – Thank you sir. I’m glad you liked it.

– Liked it? Young lady, I loved this dish. I have to give it to Rafe, he’s ordered nothing but this for years, and I never saw the appeal, but, really, it’s fantastic.

Rose cuts in, a sharp drawl that shatters whatever sliver of gladness was building up. – Honey, you don’t need to be pedantic.

– But, I’m not, Rose. Really. Good help is so hard to find these days, especially on short notice. Very few people put their back into their work. And this, this is exactly that. Passion. I can tell you’re good at what you do.

– Thank you sir, really.

He smiles, gesturing toward his plate, then at Rafe, who’s still watching you like he knows something you don’t. – My son’s gonna sleep like a baby tonight. – He chuckles. – Lamb’s his favorite. But I’m sure you know that.

You swallow hard, forcing a nod. – Yes, he did tell me that.

– She used to work at the Wreck. – Rafe hums, his eyes fixed on you, smiling from ear to ear as he swings a glass around. Scotch, by the looks of it. – She was a chef there. Some moron fucked up her order, and I… Well, I couldn’t think of never eating that lamb again.

You feign laughter, as demure as you can make it. – Yes, thank you for that. I really appreciate it.

– You already thanked me, – His grin is sharp, and he averts his eyes for a fraction of a second, gesturing for you to cut him another piece of lamb. You do, thankful for your steady hands and the heavy knife. – in the interview.

His father makes a sound of surprise. – You interviewed her? – He looks at you as you set the plate before Rafe.

– Yes he did. He was very thorough.

Ward seems pleased. – I’ve never seen this side of you, son. I’m glad to see you take an interest in what goes on in this house.

– What can I say? – Rafe looks back at you, signing to the bottle across the table. You don’t know what game he’s playing, but you’re sure it's not meant to be fun for you. – I’m a proactive kind of guy.

Ward hums, taking a long sip of his wine as he watches you pour Rafe another drink. – I’m glad, son. I’m really glad. – You put the bottle back in its place, trying to ignore the gazes burning holes into your skin as you move to your original spot. – And what’s for dessert?

You hesitate only for a moment, wishing you could disappear. – Peach pie. It should be ready in ten minutes.

The reaction is immediate.

Ward smiles, slow and knowing, but before he can say anything, Sarah speaks.

– That’s Rafe’s favorite. – Her tone is cold, almost suspicious.

Your heart stutters, but you keep your face smooth, your voice even. – Really? That’s a coincidence.

John’s voice echoes then, chilling your blood to ice. – Funny, right? It’s my dad’s favorite too. But she knows that. That why she makes it so well.

Ward doesn't miss a beat, even as Rafe turns to glare at your brother. – You two know each other?

John answers for you. – You could say that. – The earth could just split open, and swallow you whole. – Y/n is my baby sister.

– Really? – Ward’s laughter is deep, but somehow not incredulous. – And she’s Rafe’s friend. God, what a small world.

– Looks like it's getting smaller. – John adds. His stare burns into you, hard and unrelenting, like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t let yourself look away first.

Instead, you square your shoulders, holding onto the only thing you can control—the steady rhythm of your breath, the knowledge that you belong here, no matter how much it feels like you don’t.

– Yes. Well, I’ll go check on that pie, and I’ll bring it out soon enough. – You say, voice steady.

Ward nods, pleased. – Good. We’re looking forward to it.

As you turn to leave, Rafe’s voice follows you, low and amused.

– Good job, newbie.

You don’t stop. You don’t react.

But your pulse thunders in your ears all the way back to the kitchen.

Kareem is already there, watching you closely as you step inside. – You okay? – His voice is low, cautious, but the concern is obvious. He nears you as if he’s cornering a wounded animal, warm hands landing on your arms like he’s afraid you’d bolt.

You try to nod, but the motion feels stiff, forced. Your hands are cold, even in the warmth of the kitchen. Kareem notices. He steps forward, brows furrowing as he reaches for your wrist. – You’re pale. Come— C’mere. Sit down for a sec.

Before you can respond, the kitchen door swings open again.

John walks in.

The air turns sharp. Kareem’s hand drops as your brother steps inside, his expression unreadable but heavy with something darker. He doesn’t look at Kareem. Just you.

– You have anything to say? – His voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it. – You already lied to me this morning, wanna get it out already?

Your pulse stumbles.

– John, please. I’m working right now.

Kareem straightens beside you, eyes flicking between the two of you. – Sir, you’re not supposed to be here—

– No. – John cuts in, still staring at you. – This doesn’t concern you, okay man? This is family business.

– Don’t talk to my boss like—

– I’ll talk if I fucking want to!

Kareem doesn’t hesitate, his hand resting on your shoulder for a split second before he steps in front of you. – This is not a therapist’s office, sir. She’s working, and you’re not supposed to be back here. So please, leave.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez

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squiddyfics · 2 days ago

Text

get gone

namgyu x f!reader

description: namgyu’s long hours spent at the club, wasting his life away, have gotten to you. you finally decide to leave him, but it doesn’t hurt to say goodbye first.

18+ minors dni

warnings: nsfw, angst, drugs mentioned, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation

a/n: happy valentine's day hehe

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

He broke his promise.

Namgyu's shift at the club always ends at two in the morning, but he's never home when he's supposed to be. Whenever he does finally return, his eyes are bloodshot and his mood is sour.

You couldn't stand by and watch him ruin his life, destroying his physical and mental health each weekend as he delves into a world of illicit substances and people who don't give a fuck about whether he lives or dies.

That's why you made him swear to stop staying at the club past his shift. You respect that he has a job to do, but beyond that, there's no reason for him to stay out and slowly kill himself.

Last week, he actually stuck to his word, which was a pleasant surprise. It made you hopeful that he was finally turning things around, for once prioritizing his life with you over cheap thrills.

But now it's three a.m., and he's nowhere to be seen. You run your hands over your face, attempting to stay awake. You won't be set at ease until you see him walk through the door. Each night he doesn't come home on time is a night you spend worrying that he's finally succumbed to the consequences of his actions, leaving you alone in the world.

He never texts you back on these nights, either. You open your phone and click on your text thread with him, fruitlessly hoping that things might be different tonight. Of course not; your messages remain unanswered.

You can't keep doing this anymore, can't keep caring about a man who doesn't care about himself. Up until now, you've stuck by his side, scared that if you left him he'd spiral even further. Enough is enough, though. You have a life to live, and without spending so much of your time stressing about Namgyu's well-being, you'd be much freer.

These are your last thoughts before you pass out on the couch, unable to force yourself to stay awake any longer.

The sound of keys in the door wakes you back up. When you open your eyes, it's lighter in the apartment; the sun is beginning to rise. You check the time on your phone.

6:09.

Namgyu opens the door and looks surprised to see you in the living room. You meet his eyes with a glare.

"Thanks for finally gracing me with your presence," you snap.

"Chill," he says, and the word sends a surge of anger coursing through you. "I just spent a few extra hours networking."

"Networking?" you scoff. "Is that what you call getting fucked up and partying with junkies?"

"I made hella tips," he says. "This group of super-rich dudes said they'd keep giving me money as long as I could convince the bottle-service girl to sit with them."

"Oh, okay, so now you're pimping out your coworkers. That makes me feel so much better."

He throws his keys down on the table much harder than necessary. "Are you seriously mad that I'm making money? Would you rather we get fucking evicted?"

"I'm mad that you broke my trust!" you shout back. "You were supposed to leave at two, Namgyu. You promised."

He kicks off his shoes and storms toward you. "You think I want to be out for twelve hours straight? I'm doing this for us. I would've thought you'd be grateful, but I guess that's expecting too much of you."

"Oh, fuck you." You laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "Don't try to spin this as if doing lines in the club bathroom is somehow for my sake."

"I'm playing the game," he says. "This is the world I work in; this is what you signed up for when you started dating me."

"Well, I'm done now. I'm done."

He pulls the sleeves of his slightly oversized dress shirt over his hands. Normally you'd find this cute, but right now it's just pissing you off.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you I can't do this anymore," you say. "This isn't how I want to live."

"You don't mean that." He shakes his head. "You haven't slept. Let's go to bed and talk about this in the morning."

"Motherfucker, it is the morning," you spit, gesturing to the sunrise outside your window. "And I mean every word of what I'm saying to you right now. I can't stay with you; not when this is the path you're choosing for yourself."

Suddenly Namgyu's apathetic expression morphs into one of concern, and he's on his knees in front of you, grabbing your hands. "No, baby. You don't need to leave. This was the last time, I swear."

"You swore the same thing the other week, but that didn't seem to mean much to you."

"It's different this time," he says, rubbing his thumbs over your hands as if that will fix anything. "I understand now. I know you don't really want to go, so let's just talk this through, yeah?"

"You didn't even have the decency to send me a text." Your voice is smaller now. "I can't spend my nights wondering if you'll make it home in one piece. It's killing me."

"I'll change."

"It's too late," you say. "I've made up my mind."

Still kneeling in front of you, Namgyu hugs your waist, pressing his cheek against your stomach. "You can't leave me. You can't."

God, he's so fucking pathetic.

“Get off of me,” you say, but he only squeezes you tighter.

“You’re not leaving. You’re not leaving.” He says it like a prayer.

“Get the fuck up,” you tell him. “This is just sad.”

He does get up, but instead of walking away, he leans over you, pressing a desperate kiss to your lips. Despite how angry you are, you kiss him back.

He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you up so you're standing too. Your own hands find his face, fingers tracing over the features you've come to know so well, the features you'll be saying goodbye to.

As he guides you to the bedroom, still kissing you, you break apart just enough to say, "This doesn't change anything."

Namgyu throws you down on the bed and climbs on top of you, his lips and hands laying claim to every part of your body. He’s always been physically affectionate, but he’s touching you even more now, with the ravenous passion of someone who knows this could be the last time.

He kisses your neck in just the right spot, and grips your breasts with just the right amount of pressure, perfectly riding the line between pain and pleasure. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good he makes you feel, but you can't help the moan that escapes your lips.

"How could you give this up?" he mutters against your skin. "No one knows your body like I do. It'll never be this good with anyone else."

You know it's true, but you don't want to think about that right now. Instead, you decide to show him what he'll be missing out on, everything he lost due to the consequences of his own reckless actions. You reach down and wrap your hand around the bulge in his pants, squeezing lightly.

He reacts to your touch instantly, rocking into you as curses fall from his lips. He grasps at the hem of your shirt, urging it off of you. "I need you."

One by one, each piece of clothing separating you and Namgyu from one another is tossed aside, until there's no barrier between you. He grinds against you, sliding his shaft along your wet slit. His cock twitches at the moan he elicits from you.

Given his obvious desperation, you expect him to fuck you without hesitation. You're surprised when he lowers his face between your legs, kissing your inner thighs.

You tangle your fingers in his hair as he licks up your slit, taunting you. You attempt to push his head to the right spot, but he's taking his sweet time. By the time his lips encircle your clit, you're already bucking and moaning like a madwoman.

"Fuck, Namgyu," you breathe.

Your reaction spurs him on, and he pushes two fingers inside you, fucking you with his hand while he continues to suck on your clit. There's no warning; you're climaxing in record time, falling apart beneath him as your high racks your body in violent waves.

Namgyu doesn't give you even a second to recover. You're still panting, your walls still clenching as he pulls his fingers out of you, licking them clean before raising himself back up and slamming into you.

You cry out, but he silences you with a kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, all your senses in overdrive as he fucks you mercilessly.

"Oh god, Namgyu, hold on, I'm—" but you're cut short as another orgasm rips through your body.

You grip his hips, attempting to still him, to ease the pressure on your sensitive core, but he's relentless. He pounds into you at a shocking pace, and the overstimulation causes tears to well up in your eyes.

"Who else is gonna do this for you?" he asks through gritted teeth. "Who else is gonna fuck you until you can't think straight?"

You shake your head, unable to respond; the pleasure is overwhelming.

"Fucking answer me."

Between moans, you manage to gasp out, "No one."

Your words send him over the edge, and he finishes deep inside you with a guttural growl.

A moment later, he’s collapsing on the bed beside you. He drapes an arm and leg over you in one final weary effort to keep you by his side.

After taking a minute to catch your breath, you slip out from under his grasp and stand up. You clean yourself up quickly, then start getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” Namgyu asks, pulling on his boxers.

“I told you, I’m leaving.”

You grab a suitcase and open up the drawers of your wardrobe, stuffing clothes inside. Namgyu shoots up and rushes to your side frantically. Each time you move to grab a handful of clothes, he takes a pile of them back out of your suitcase, shoving them haphazardly back into the drawer.

“Stop it!” you shout, but he continues to unpack your suitcase, trapping you in an endless cycle. “You’re acting like a child. Let me leave or I’m calling the fucking police.”

He ceases for a moment to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

He steps back then, finally seeming to understand the gravity of the situation. He sits down on the bed, watching as you gather up your belongings.

You grab a smaller bag and take it to the bathroom, throwing your toiletries inside. Once you’ve gotten all the necessities together, you take what’s left of your life and head down the hallway.

You hear his quick footsteps on the floor behind you, but you don’t turn around.

“Wait,” he says, his voice cracking. “Wait, please. Don’t leave me. I love you.”

You swallow hard, but you still don’t look at him. Seeing his face will only make it harder to go, and you know this is what you need to do. Without another word, you open the door and shut it behind you.

Maybe one day Namgyu will pull himself together, and maybe then a life with him will be possible. Until then, you can’t keep putting yourself through the torture of loving him.

#squid game #mine #nam gyu #namgyu #player 124 #squid game oneshot #squid game smut #squid game x reader #namgyu x reader #namgyu smut

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harmonysanreads · 14 hours ago

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i feel like yan!phainon wouldn't want to restrain you physically like tie you up or keep you locked up in a room and etc i think he'd have some form of self-conscience that he's a hero and that doing the above will make himself seem otherwise so he like protects darling at all costs and ends up being overprotective (like the last post you made) because he doesn't want to resort to physically restricting behavior? unless you make things difficult for him but that's just how i think of him for now whjebdjwhebewf praying hoyo cooks with him

I was quite certain about this as well but after recent news of Flame Reaver, a different thought is bugging me if I am to be honest.

Frankly speaking, for an unknown duration of time, Phainon was a man who had nothing left ; his home, the people he once held dear, even his true name had to be left behind. Only vengeance, hatred, a desire for revenge or, perhaps a promise he'd made kept him living an excuse of an existence. You could say that is still the case now, on a deeper level at least. But Phainon would like to not dwell on the negatives all the time. He has a valiant objective, a name that instigates respect among the people, friends that he can fight alongside with, status and wealth.

However, is he sure that those are things he... wants? In a temperate mood, he might say yes. But in all honesty, he isn't sure. In a particularly low-point in his life, he might outright say no, as well. But there is something else, someone else that makes his heart ache at the thought of letting go and leaving behind — you. You're not someone that was pushed to him to carry like all his duties, even if you are, he'd rather take a meteor to his face than give you such label.

Saving Amphoreus through the Flame-Chase? Getting vengeance in Aedes Elysiae's name? Nothing comes close to what he feels when the possibilities are replaced with your name. This is the one mission he'd put all his certainty to. If he is destined to be a hero, he'd much rather be your hero — or, try to. In the beginning it was relatively easy and it was rather difficult to complain about his ‘antics’ when they could be rationalized with some thinking. Not that many people would be bothered to think either, whatever keeps their prophesized Deliverer happy they guess.

Things truly start to become complicated when a shadow from a distant time gets involved in the picture — for you, that is. You see, despite how suffocating Phainon would get in the past, it was well-known to everyone that you held the reigns in the end. It was always ridiculously easy to get Phainon to bend to your will as well, as despite everything, he is a simple man deep down. So, when one day you find your usual tactics completely fail against him, faced with a determination to keep you hidden like he'd die the most gruesome death without making it a reality — no one knew what to do.

Phainon apologizes to you without sparing a breath throughout the ordeal, groveling for a sin he knows he won't receive mercy for. But that is okay, he's always said that he'd take it with a smile even if you sneered at him with a death-sentence. As long as you're safe from that other him, he's willing to go to whatever low is necessary.

#if hyv does not give me phainon vs flame reaver beef i will.. uhm... create my own :p #phainon #phainon brainrot #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #phainon x reader #hsr spoilers

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renku · 2 days ago

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Red (Part I)

BINI Mikha Lim x Male Reader

A/N: Sorry it took long for this fic. There are no actions here yet but I plan to put it all in the next one. Apologies again, work is just taking too much of my time.

「 Si besarte fuera pecado, caminaría feliz por el infierno. 」

「 If kissing you were a sin, I would happily walk through hell. 」

∼ ∼ ∼

Wandering around for a considerable amount of minutes made some people look. Few attempted to ask what's wrong, ‘cause painted all over your face was straight up discomfort. Not a single soul—maybe, too intimidated.

“What's taking her so long?” you murmured. It's already past nine and having to explain what took both of you long isn’t what you signed up for. Ticks from the clock makes it even more frustrating. Game night plans? Uninterrupted long sleep ‘til morning? All gone.

Patience continues to drop exponentially; pulling out your phone in a haste to call her. First ring. Second ring. Third ring. Finally, she picked up.

“Hotshot! What’s up?”

Unbelievable. “Uhm... hate to break your enthusiasm, are you intentionally keeping me wait?” trying to sound calm as much as possible. “You still have an event to attend, miss. If I might add.”

“Relax! We’re not going to be late,” she remarked with same attitude.

“Mik- miss, you know me. It’s not that I care, I just hate waiting,” a composed response coming from you. Trying not to sound mad.

“Give me five more minutes! I promise I’ll come down right away.”

“My goodness, Mikhs. Still the same,” a comment you could’ve said but chose not to.

Five minutes. Intrusive thoughts urging you to go up continues to rise. Just a bit more.

“Hotshot!”

Guess it won’t be necessary. After of what it felt like forever. You turned around to see if all the wait was worth it. Long, black dress, fine makeup—not too strong yet not too light to highlight her facial features, and her signature red hair put you in a trance for a few seconds. This is not something new in your part, but yes, her beauty is more captivating than what people can see in their screens.

Mikha did her best to come down quickly. “I'm sorry if I made you wait,” she said with a pouty face. You hate it when Mikha does it. She knew she's at fault but always get away.

“All set?” you asked.

“Yes, yes, can hit the road now. By the way, how do I look?”

“Is that really necessary? You’re Mikha Lim,” you replied in a sarcastic note, as if you're shaking off the question.

Mikha rolled her eyes. “Tss... Fine...”

She walked towards the main door where the car is waiting outside. You followed right away and took the back seat with her. Giving a nod to the driver and he started to drive.

Silence filled the vehicle for a few minutes before the driver turned on the radio, adjusting the volume. Their song—the latest—Cherry on Top came right in. It was a success considering the hype they got from the fans. Who would’ve thought she’d reach this kind of milestone. It made you proud—just not being vocal about it.

“How are your parents?” a question from her out of nowhere, breaking the silence that was filled only by the song.

“They’re doing fine. Always have.”

“Glad to hear that. I kind of miss them.”

You chuckled. “I guess they feel the same. They always ask if we’re still in touch.”

“What did you say?” she asked, looking at you with curiosity and anticipation. “Well,” you paused, “I told them it’s not frequent like it was before. You’re a celebrity now.”

Mikha fell silent for a moment, before giving a faint smile and subtle nod. “Can’t say you’re wrong, it did change some things.”

“Like what?”

“You know... the old times,” she replied in an almost inaudible voice. You're not sure what she meant but it did hit you. No words were coming out of your lips. What should you say? Is it even necessary? A series of questions piled up but nothing was asked. It would be also completely useless since both of you arrived at the destination. The drive did not take much time, it was a surprise.

“Wait,” you said before getting off the car and going to the other side to open the door. You offered your hand and Mikha obliged before giving her thanks. The media knew that the members will come here so it’s no surprise cameras are flashing around.

As soon as she stepped out, you quickly wrapped her shoulders with your coat. Weather during December is quite a killer. No doubt that the dress can barely keep her warm. Mikha gracefully headed towards the entrance, maintaining the image most idols practice—perfection. It irks the hell out of you. She’s pretty much close to what you see in social media and all but can’t still ignore that uneasiness inside you. A thing that people can easily judge.

~~~

“Finally!” you exclaimed. “Finally, what?” Mikha asked out of surprise. “We finally escaped the them.”

“Oh, is that it?” Mikha giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing! I just find it cute how you maintained a straight face despite hating being exposed to public.”

“As you said, exposure. Might as well do my best shot not to look funny when I'm about to be broadcasted all over the country,” you noted in quite a sarcastic note. “I know I'll be all over the headlines the next day.”

She flashed a wide smile to the statement. “We should go to the girls, they're probably expecting us by now,” Mikha expressed as she took your hand. Her hand holding yours stirred up some memories—nothing special—but all of it was pure, honest, and innocent. It was a treasured recollection buried deep within.

There were not as many tables as you expected; finding the girls was a piece of cake. They already know you so there's no need for those scripted and awkward introductions. You suck at any social setting and this is no exception. Good thing Mikha is here to cover up for that. Seeing her somehow gives you comfort, despite your mind already making an escape plan to flee the scene.

Drinks were served during all the hours of chit-chats and laughter. For the sake of being a good sport, of course, you did take shots as much as you hate drinking. Same goes for Mikha. From what you know, she can’t hold much but that was years ago. She probably improved, right?

But no, you approached her to check. “Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

She can't keep a straight face and form coherent words. Evidently, she's drunk. “You should probably take her home. The party’s good as finished anyway. We’ll take it from here,” Aiah said from behind.

“Yeah, seems like it. Thanks,” you replied, giving her a smile.

“And hey, you care for her, right?” Aiah interjected. Question took you by surprise. “She looked forward meeting you today. It wasn’t by chance that you’re the one she brought tonight. I knew she insisted you to join her. I know it. But, anyway, take care.”

Her last words were puzzling. Wasn’t even close to your story, but enough of it. You need to bring her back to the hotel first. The car was just right at the main door and the driver immediately assisted in getting Mikha inside the car. Luckily, no cameras were around.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, please. Thanks.”

“Right away, sir.”

Mikha’s completely passed out on the way back. It’s not clear when was the last time you saw her like this. Hate to admit it, this is the only time when you see her up close. Like real close. The light outside shines upon her face and in that moment, she looked beautiful—more than her visuals, in every way—weirdness, childish attitude (sometimes), kindness, and aspirations. A look beyond that admired face that many can see.

The ride only took twenty minutes. “Do you need anything, sir?” the driver inquired.

“No, I can take it from here. You can take the rest of the night. Thank you very much. We'll contact you if anything will come up. Thanks again for today.”

“Very well, sir. Thank you. Have a good night.”

“Good night as well.”

You hurried to get the other door to help Mikha. She’s lightweight but given her current state it became quite difficult to bring her to her room. Asking her room number beforehand really paid off. The place also has little to no people; fewer eyes, the better.

After successfully entering her room, putting her to bed was the first thing to do, then took off the shoes immediately. Changing her into sleeping clothes would be the final boss. But you know you already lost before it even started. It’s just not on your watch.

“What should I do? Damn it...”

~~~

Mikha woke up. She checked the clock and it’s already past seven in the morning. A familiar face surprised her—Aiah. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning, too. Dumbass.”

“Did you follow me here?”

“You should drink first,” Aiah replied, taking a glass of water and handed it over. “Here.”

Mikha took it all in one sip. “Hey, explain yourself,” she followed.

“Let me finish first cooking our breakfast. Take a shower and change, then I’ll tell everything while eating.”

Curiosity fueled Mikha up. What Aiah told her was done in a matter of minutes. She’s already at the table when Aiah just finished setting up the table. Mikha took her sit and her friend followed suit with a suggestive smirk. “Okay, spill it. All of it.”

Aiah gave out a laugh and Mikha is not having it. “Hey, enough already!”

“Fine, fine... you really don’t have any idea, do you?”

“We’re not having this conversation if I have any.”

“He called. Last night. He said he needed help.”

“Help with what?” Mikha asked, almost demanding for an answer right away. “Helping my light drinker friend,” she answered pushing her forehead.

“He didn’t want to undress you to change your clothes. Gosh, so cute! If I was in your place I wouldn’t mind if he’ll see me naked!”

“HEY!” Mikha exclaimed, still making Aiah a bit surprised despite expecting her reaction. “Chill, sis! I’m just kidding. It’s not my fault if your plan failed.”

“I know,” Mikha said in a gloomy voice. “It’s just that I don’t want to look desperate in front of him and, I have this feeling that he doesn’t see me the way I see him...”

“I’m pretty sure he feels the same way. Or kind of. He’d not accept your invitation as your date yesterday if he’s not interested,” Aiah stated, sipping the fresh cup of coffee.

The thought started spread out inside Mikha’s mind. She doesn’t know how to take it; should she follow Aiah’s word or wait for you to confess yourself? Having a breakfast like this isn’t helping at all.

“It’s up to you. I just gave the option.”

“Yeah... I know.”

“Then, I better get going. My bed is calling me. Ciao!”

Aiah left. Mikha tried to relax for a bit to collect her thoughts and make a reasonable decision. Hopefully one she won’t regret. She walked around the room to calm down some nerves, but then she noticed the black dress on the couch.

“Oh, right. I need to return this.”

Mikha stopped by at the company to return the dress to their wardrobe. As she went inside the room, she saw you, having a small chat—a good one, it seems—with Stacey. Mikha was almost unnoticeable by how she entered, but what gave her away was where Stacey was standing.

“Mikhs!”

“Uhm, he- hey... Sorry to interrupt...”

“No, we’re just done talking, are you staying here until afternoon?” Stacey asked. “I’m afraid I’m not,” Mikha replied. “Oh, I see. Just need something?”

“Need to return the dress I wore yesterday, that's all.”

The two of you just exchanged glances; words don't need to heard and letting the eyes do the talking. You can see in her eyes; something bothering her and that need to let it out, just holding it due to Stacey’s presence. Luckily, she excused herself out of the room and just told Mikha to see her before leaving the building. A moment of silence filled the room, quite chilly too.

“What is it? Let it out.” Mikha didn’t expect that you know what’s going on in her mind. “I know you have something to say, spill it out.”

Your tone made her even nervous, pressured, even. Heart beats faster, can’t look straight to your eyes. Mikha is lost for words. She hates it.

You're still waiting for a response, never leaving her eyes. “So?”

“Can we- can we talk about it outside? Just not here. I'm- I'm not comfortable.”

To tell the truth, you’re quite intrigued. She’s not being herself. The girl you knew all along doesn’t hesitate to speak to anyone in front of her. But, if it’s something serious, you’re more than welcome to give her a favor.

“Where do you want to talk?” you asked.

“Your place would be most suitable,” Mikha responded quickly. You’re puzzled by her choice but of all the places she could pick, why yours? It doesn't matter anyway. Curiosity is killing you now.

“Okay, my place then. Shall we go now right away, or do you still have some matters to attend here?”

“Let me just say goodbye to Stacey. Then, we can go.”

“Sure thing. Take your time.”

“All right. Thanks.”

She went on her way to go to her friend. You picked your things up before going down the lobby to wait for her. Walking down the hallway, questions continue to fill your mind while trying not to get caught up about it. But, you can’t stop asking yourself one question: “Is it because, she’s hiding something but it’s too serious she’s cautious with it?”

You can only wait for her before finding out the answer yourself.

#bini smut #mikha lim #bini mikha #ppop smut #ppop fanfic #fanfic

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chooseyourfatedotcom · 3 days ago

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LETTER THREE - can you guess who it’s from?

{ Main Event Post }

HINTS ; The handwriting is messy and uneven, while some letters are larger than others. You can tell they were just trying to get the words out quickly, excitedly, but didn’t really focus on making it look neat. The paper has a couple of creases, like it’s been folded in a rush.

Hey!!

Uhh, so like… I don’t reAlly know how to do this, but I feel like I really need to say it because It’s really starting to overstimulate me…aha I think I like you??? Well I’ve said it now there’s no going back. But I really, rally really mean it. I mean every time I see you it’s like my heart starts jumping around in my chest and I can’t help it! You make everything so much more fun and exciting. And when I see you smile it’s like… I dunno? it just really makes my day. You’re just really cool and I think I like you more than I should. I can’t just NOT tell you right?

I know this is probably super awkward and maybe you think I’m weird PLEASE TELL ME THIS ISNT WEIRD. I couldn’t let this go on any longer. I know I’m not perfect (lies) and I probably look real silly right now but I think you’re awesome and I really hope you like me too!

But if you don’t I think I might just end it all aha…haha…

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

— Your Secret Admirer

Um also if you want me to stop smiling like a big dork every time i see you just let me know. But erm, I cant promise i’ll stop.

Who do YOU think this is? 💌

Kageyama ★ Kenma ★ Kuroo ★ Hinata ★ Bokuto ★ Nishinoya

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meritski · 2 days ago

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no (hyoid) bone to pick • heizou x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of suicide, murder, blood, and corpses (nothing very detailed but please be aware) , reader is a forensic scientist

“Regarding the victim’s past mental health problems and the medicine she has been using for the past months, her suicide can be explained by the depression she’s been experiencing. The divorce must have taken a toll on her. Poor soul, may she rest in peace.”

Heizou gave the man in front of him a close-eyed smile, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all. ‘Bullshit.’ The interview was not going to his liking, it seemed.

“Ah, I see. Thank you for your input and contribution.”

The man’s eyes lit up immediately.

“So, May I take my lea—”

“Ah, there is my favorite doctor!”

Heizou stood up quickly, leaving the man hanging in the room while not batting an eye. Intentionally, of course.

On the other hand, hearing his loud and somewhat energetic voice, you sighed while arranging the papers that were in your hands. You seemed tired, he noted. And worst of all, you seemed in a bad mood. Ah.

“Hey.”

It was a simple, curt response. One that he expected but didn’t like it nonetheless. He decided he wasn’t going to dampen your mood by wasting your time even more like he usually did.

“Got any news?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Not good ones, I suppose?”

“Well, good for the investigation.”

“Oh, they must be bad then.”

“It’s probably not a suicide,”

Hearing him hum in acknowledgment, you sighed and thought: ‘Of course, he’d guess’ and continued.

“Their hyoid bone is fractured and they are past 30, which means their bones are not flexible at all, also since they don’t weigh much— It’s unlikely for the hanging to cause a fracture. So I’d say it’s most likely to be a…”

You were giving a piece of important information while his thoughts were having none of it.

‘Are they rambling? Cute.’

“Yeah, guessed so.”

“I could guess you’d guess, detective. I am afraid that’s all I got. I wasn’t even allowed in the medical examination room, and the autopsy reports are—”

“Whoa, you sneaked a peek for me? My my, aren’t you adorable—”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, his presence was comforting. After being surrounded by dead bodies and the smell of blood all day— his cologne was refreshing in a way. And maybe his personality was also helping you to clear your head. But you’d never say that to his face and feed his ego even more.

You let out the breath you weren’t aware of holding and spoke again,

“Can you get me the blood samples of their ex-husband?”

“Ah, so we are on the same page. Though I don’t know why you need it, of course.”

This was surprisingly going well; you were waiting for him to play around a bit first. Well, it clearly saved you from the headache.

“Thanks,”

Finally, your eyes met his. Ah, now looking at him closely, he seemed tired too. Though it didn’t affect his smile, his eyes were telling a different story.

“...want to grab a drink?”

Okay, maybe the tiredness didn’t affect his smile, but your suggestion clearly did wonders because you could’ve sworn his eyes shined at the sound of it.

“Lead the way, then.”

He extended his hand to you. You looked at it for a few seconds before placing the reports on it. You opened your phone and looked at the time, all while avoiding his eyes, the words slipped between your lips,

“The café or the vending machine?”

“...vending machine.”

His tone sounded like a disappointed child who was pouting.

Good thing you didn’t look at him because, boy, was he sulking. He mentally sighed and followed after you.

��So much for wanting them to hold my hand.’

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ notes!

☆ heizou is my baby, i love him sm <3

☆ not proofread (again), so it might get rewritten later! (it probably won’t, anyway)

☆ why do i study medicine?

☐ money

☐ my family forced me to do so

☐ because i want to help people

☒ to write fanfics based on what i’ve learned in class

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou #heizou shikanoin x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #heizou x you #heizou x y/n #shikanoin heizou x you #shikanoin heizou fluff #heizou fluff #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #✴ mer's work

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irregularcollapse · 2 days ago

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Hey, I'm so sorry to hear about how you feel about the mota fandom and what happened to you :/ I meant to send a message earlier but life got in the way. I hope you're feeling better now, and I can only tell you that your fics and writing are some of my favorite in the fandom. Just by reading your stories, I can tell the care that was put into choosing each word to best convey the story and the characters' feelings, and it is really somethinf I admire :) I hope I can be as good a writer as you someday ❤️ And for the mota fandom, I totally get what you and that anon said! If you'll allow me a bit of a rant, to me, the mota fandom is full of well-intentioned people but I found that one of its problems is that, as much as there is enthusiasm, it is going in circles. Many have said it and I've noticed it too, but some have a tendency to jump on other people's ideas without giving credit or even asking if it's okay to expand, and on more than one occasion I found one of my ideas in someone else's inbox just a week after I'd posted it which threw me off posting any kinds of hc or random ideas, I only post full fics now because I'm scared that people will see an idea/au that they like on my blog and decide to expand on it without my consent or even crediting me for the original idea :/ To me that sucks because what I love about creating is the interactions with people, but because of the seldom posting except for full fics I don't get much 😂 And I know I could post snippet or hc, but the overenthusiasm bordering on no fandom manners that I've noticed stops me from doing that. Also, as a writer, it is quite discouraging to see people constantly reccing the same 5/6 fics/authors. Don't get me wrong, those are GREAT fics and authors, but babes, there are over 1,000 works in the clegan tag on ao3, why are we constantly reccing the same fics as in summer 2024. It feels like people only read the fics with the highest hits count, and from an outsider's pov, you'd think there are only 10 writers in the mota fandom 😭 I don't if it's bc the mota fandom is new so there are a lots of people from tiktok/that weren't on tumblr/in fandom before but it truly feels like fandom manners are getting lost, despite the plethora of incredible creators in the mota fandom. So there's this opposition between the enthusiasm over new ideas that seems to die down as soon as a story is posted, except if if it's one of the big fics from the summer. Imo the actual recognition of fics doesn't follow the enthusiasm of ideas and hcs, which is a bit of a shame I think, and to be quite honest, it made me lose my motivation to write for mota bc it just feels like I'll post a fic, it'll get traction for maybe a day or two, and then it'll be forgotten somewhere when people sort ao3 by number of hits or kudos

Anyway that was quite long I'm sorry, you don't have to answer this at all, I just needed to get this off my chest, but I really hope you know that even if it may not feel that way, you are an amazing writer, who clearly loves your stories, the characters and the words you use, and that is translated to the ao3 page <3 You truly are one of the most talented fic writers this fandom has, and I'd support you and your stories in whatever fandom you may be in ❤️

I assure you, anon, that you're not the only person to feel this way! I've had quite a few private conversations with friends and mutuals about really similar experiences and observations, and how disheartened and uncomfortable it's making us feel.

I guess people don't say anything because they don't want to be seen as sowing discord or being mean. I know that there are going to be people who might see this and interpret it as me "fuelling fandom discourse" or "fandom wanking" or "being a cunt" but actually I'm just talking about how we treat creators in online spaces, and the way that people en masse have apparently forgotten that creators in fandoms are people.

I had another anon tell me that someone laid claim to one of their ideas in the tags of their headcanon post, and I don't think you're the only person whose idea has been stolen and passed to another writer. I'm really sorry that's happened to you, and you're so right to not feel like posting anything because of it! This is truly the kind of stuff that makes people not want to participate or put themselves out there. Sometimes it's even writers doing the stealing, blatantly and without credit. It makes me think that a lot of people haven't shared creative spaces before and don't know how to be polite.

I also 100% agree about the fic rec thing. It's really disheartening to see the same fics passed around over and over again, not only from a writer perspective but a reader perspective. Something that seems to have emerged in fandom spaces over the years is deifying certain authors of popular fics - fic authors being treated like celebrities, the concept of a "must-read fic", even people only reading fics and authors that are already seen as popular/successful. I get that some people don't want to spend time scraping ao3 for niche fics, that's super understandable, but that's also why it would be nice to see a bit more adventure and variety in fic rec lists!

There is a low-key competitive feeling which a few people have mentioned to me - the feeling that there are people who want to "win" fandom or be the most popular/most reccd/most recognised writer, or whatever it may be. I just feel like anything that makes people feel like they're better than others is... come si dice... not good. I think it's a shitty way to treat people you're sharing a creative space with, to view them as competition and commodity.

Writing for consumption or writing for audience approval isn't something I've ever done, but I feel like it's cropping up more and more in fandom spaces too - not just MOTA, either. That's sort of a different discussion, but I do feel it's related to the copying/stealing in a way as well.

Now I also have to apologise for this getting too long! I'm glad you got it off your chest, and please feel free to come off anon at any time, because you've got an ally in me (and others too, I assure you). I think that everything you've said here merits consideration from everyone, at the very very least! It's in the interest of pursuing a more inclusive, supportive fandom space.

Thanks heaps as well for saying nice stuff about my writing! I only ever want to tell stories, and to give people something to enjoy that has clearly been created with care and consideration. I write to express things I want to express, and so it means a lot to me when other people see what I'm trying to say and pick up what I'm putting down. Truly madly deeply, my most boundless thanks!!! ♥️♥️♥️

#asks #anonymous #whoops this is long #dithering over whether to tag this mota

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pandabibble · 1 day ago

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what's great is if you do waste... 30 minutes oof of time recreating garbage AI shit you do end up realising a bunch of weird nonsense about AI, like there's a bunch of sort of weird oranges and I think it's tried to make a sliced orange that is heart shaped and some mountains and a weird expressionistic face in the background and the only thing that can be said about the AI doing that is just, it's clearly pulling from soviet stamps for what it's categorised as communist and some of the stamps have like a wheel or a sliced regional fruit on them so that the stamps could sort of promote and boast about how well their fruit or wheel production, plus pictures of mountains because russia has cool mountains plus communist statues would often adopt abstractions of faces and the human form to de-individualise memorial statues - and now notice how to describe the AI's art I've had to spend more time talking about the intent and meaning behind the human art it's pulling from than the AI itself, because if a person had done it we could talk about what spattering those things around might mean, or we could look into what the artist said or talked about and come away with "the author hated oranges and they wanted to convey their dislike for communism, and the mountains represent the siberian steppes where the gulags were, and that's actually the ghostly image of che guvara who died fighting guerilla wars in south american mountain regions", but it's just "guess the machine was fed some stamps" instead.

meanwhile what can I say about my parody of it? the orange slices without transparent backgrounds mock the incoherency of the weird things the AI scattered around. the literally haphazard blurring of the words to emulate that way AI render language blurry and indistinct, a corporate management level of hestitancy even as its being told to be declarative. the melting nazi speaks for itself. the way I had to slice angular chunks out of churchill's shoulders to emulate the AI, but which also sped up the cropping process and aren't as noticeable as they should be because the human eye really doesn't care that much. Or how when looking for pictures of churchill the pictures that made his jowls sag like the AI's version has were from after his severe stroke caused him to lose control of a lot of his facial muscles, but the sort of toxic wellness and masculinity cult of most AI users fear aging and the human physical process so much that it still makes churchill's hair a lot darker than it was long before that stroke, because its users are most anxious about their hair's natural progression as they age

Even within the machine slop the only thing interesting is the human aspects it's pulling from, which mold it, the anxieties of its users that it mirrors and regurgitates in a way that its users don't realise and if they did would terrify them.

obviously not an exercise I would recommend people waste their time on in general, but fun to do once.

Only the lowest IQs support communism. That's why the insist idiots are just as good as geniuses. They are idiots who believe no one is better than them.

#winston churchill #ai generated

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singingrottenbones · 22 hours ago

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just enough to be brave

He put down his glass with a little bit too much force, its contents sloshing dangerously close to the edge. Will rubbed his eyes, cursing himself for saying yes to one more glass of wine.

He knew from experience that nothing was more dangerous than that "one last drink".

His face was hot and his entire body felt fuzzy. It was the pleasant kind of tipsy that lowered his inhibition just enough whilst leaving him mostly in control of his senses.

But was he ever truly in control around Hannibal?

Will looked up to find Hannibal staring at him. He knew that the good doctor was well aware of his inebriation. After all, he had been the one pouring him glass after glass.

Will squinted, trying to remember how much of that second bottle of wine had gone to Hannibal, and hoping that it had been at least half. He really didn't want to embarass himself in front of Hannibal, not when he was sitting so closely next to Will, dressed dangerously casual in grey pants and a white button down shirt.

He wasn't even wearing a tie, and the top two buttons had been left open (or had he opened them over the course of the evening? Will didn't remember), a detail that had been occupying Will's mind all evening.

Was Hannibal teasing him?

As if on cue, Hannibal leaned back onto the sofa, exposing even more of his skin.

Will clenched his fist, trying to swallow the wave of desire washing over him. If his cheeks hadn't been flushed before, they surely were now.

"Will, I'm not sure I can let you drive home in this state in good conscience," Hannibal said, taking another sip of wine from his glass.

A drip of the burgundy liquid was left on his upper lip and Will barely resisted the urge to reach over and wipe it off. Instead, he watched Hannibal drag his tongue across his lip. Will exhaled sharply.

"Will?"

Oh, right. Shit.

"Not to worry. This isn't the first time I've driven home after having had one too many."

He knew that he had to get out of there now, or his tongue might get a bit too loose for his liking. He shifted forward to get up, but a warm hand on his thigh stopped him.

"I insist."

Those damn fucking eyes.

"Anything else would be gross neglicience, and we wouldn't want that."

"No, I guess we wouldn't," Will replied, sinking back down into the cushions.

Hannibal's hand was still on his thigh, warm and gentle and so close—

Was this it?

Had the bridge between them been built to completion, the wall torn down? Will's pulse was racing, thud after thud echoing through his body.

He tilted his head, taking in the sight of Hannibal once more. A twinkle in his eyes, a strand of his otherwise perfectly styled hair hanging in his face.

This time, Will didn't hesitate to reach out and brush it away, gently tucking it behind Hannibal's ear. It didn't stay there. Of course it didn't.

Hannibal showed him one of his rare smiles, and Will allowed himself to get lost in it. He was too far gone to backtrack now anyway, far beyond anything that could be blamed on the wine.

He dragged his hand across Hannibal's jaw, chiselled like Michelangelo himself had carved it.

How often had he been sitting across from him, dreaming of doing just that? How long had Hannibal known? And he must have known, surely. He always knew. And Will knew that he knew, and it felt quite alright.

Their noses were almost brushing. Hannibal's breath smelled of wine and cedar and something else that Will couldn't be bothered to identify.

He felt calm. His heart had quieted down. Perhaps because it hadn't been his for some time.

This was the quiet before the storm, the air between them buzzing with electricity.

"I've wanted to do this for quite a while," he said, closing the distance between them

#hannigram #murder husbands #hannigram fic #hannigram ficlet #hannibal fic #hannigram fanfiction #hannibal fanfiction #will graham #hannibal lecter #my words #cw alcohol #tw alcohol #this is my first ever hannigram fic/ficlet pls be nice #fadserver

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kikyoupdates · 1 day ago

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Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

previous | story masterlist | next

You never thought you’d be able to say this, but you’re officially a Jujutsu High student.

It feels stranger than you can even put into words. The fact that right now, you’re living under the same roof as Itadori, Fushiguro, and technically even Gojo… in many ways, it’s a dream come true.

As long as you don't think about the scary parts, that is.

You've finished unpacking and your dorm is now completely set up. Unlike Itadori, you didn't bring any industrial-size posters, and truth be told, you hardly have any attachment to your belongings since you've barely been in this world for a few weeks. There's a bunch of stuff you wish you could've brought along with you from the real world, but there's not much you can do about that at this point.

I wonder if I'll ever find a way back to my old world.

Realistically, you know it's probably a lost cause. But maybe there is some kind of condition that needs to be met. Maybe if you see the story all the way to its conclusion, and once Itadori can finally rest easy, maybe your job will be over, and you'll be allowed to go home.

Still, you know better than to hold out hope for a miracle. Your number one priority is to adapt to your new environment and survive.

You’re sure you'll have plenty of time for an existential crisis along the way.

It's nighttime now, and you’re just about ready to go to sleep. You finish all your preparations and change into your pajamas, but before you actually tuck in for the night, you can't help but creep out of your room and steal a peek down the hallway.

“Itadori’s lights are still on,” you mumble.

You know it's probably not polite to disturb him at this hour, but you decide you'd like to say goodnight and wish him sweet dreams. Gojo already told you earlier that tomorrow, you'll be picking up the last remaining first-year student—which is none other than Kugisaki Nobara, of course.

Tomorrow is going to be pretty eventful, and you're bound to encounter some curses too, from what you recall. Just the thought of it makes your stomach clench. It won't be smooth sailing from here on out.

Maybe that's why you want to enjoy the last bit of normalcy, while you still can.

You knock on Itadori’s door as quietly as you can, not wanting to wake Fushiguro. At first you think he might not have heard you, so you raise your hand and prepare to knock again, but soon enough you hear the sound of his feet padding across the floors, and the door opens.

Itadori blinks, and it doesn't take long for him to sport a grin. “Oh, hey, [Name]! What's up?”

“I noticed you were still awake, so I just stopped by to say goodnight. I hope I'm not bothering you.”

“Not at all! To be honest, I'm a little too energized to go to bed right now anyway. Did you want to come in and talk for a little while?”

Hanging out in a cute boy's dorm room after hours?

Uh… hell yes.

“Thank you,” you say, smiling shyly as you step inside. His dorm layout is mostly unchanged from what you saw earlier. Like you, he didn’t really pack a whole lot. His Jennifer Lawrence posters are probably his most prized possessions, from what you can tell.

“Can’t sleep either?” Itadori asks, lifting a brow.

“I guess not. This is a lot to take in. I’m still in the process of adjusting.”

Perhaps that might come across as a bit insensitive. He’s stuck dealing with Sukuna, after all. There are few things that can top becoming a vessel for the ever-powerful, malevolent King of Curses.

Well, other than traversing worlds, of course.

It looks like you’ve got him beat in that regard.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Itadori sighs, plopping down on his bed. He pauses, then smiles as he pats the spot next to him. “Did you want to sit, too? The bed’s probably more comfortable than the crappy desk chair.”

Damn. Itadori Yuji just invited you into his bed. Not literally, but still.

You’re grinning like a goddamn fool.

“Th-Thanks,” you stammer. You sit down next to him, reminding yourself to be cool, to be normal (yes, you can do that sometimes), and by some miracle, you manage to reign in your erratic heartbeat.

Itadori looks over at you. “Hey, [Name]. You can be honest. Now that I’m that Sukuna’s vessel… does it make you a little nervous? Being around me?”

No. I’m more nervous about the fact that I’m in bed with you.

“Why would I be nervous?” you reply.

“Earlier, Gojo made it sound like he was really dangerous. This is obviously all new to me, but I think it’s finally starting to sink in. That he’s hurt a lot of people until now. You were friends with me before all this happened, so I can’t help but wonder if you feel uncomfortable now. Because things are different. And I definitely wouldn’t blame you for feeling that way.”

“But you can suppress Sukuna. Because you’re strong. I’ve always known you were strong. Not only that, but you would never hurt anyone. So, please don’t worry,” you smile gently. “There’s no way I’d ever feel uncomfortable around you.”

Itadori’s eyes widen, and his expression seems to brighten a bit as well. Maybe he needed to hear those words. As cheerful and upbeat as he always tries to be… you can only imagine how afraid and frustrated he feels right now. His body isn’t even entirely his own anymore. He shouldn’t have to worry about losing his friends too.

You’ve already decided that you’ll stay by his side, no matter what happens.

“Thanks, [Name],” Itadori chuckles. “I feel like you always know exactly how to cheer me up. I’m glad I have you here with me. It really helps.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll be as strong as you are, but I can promise that I’ll do whatever it takes to make things even just a little bit easier for you.”

Right. You can’t promise anything. Even with a bit of knowledge on your side, there’s no guarantee things will go to plan—as evidenced by the fact that they already haven’t.

But at least you can try.

And you’re damn well going to try your hardest.

“Hm, I’m still not sleepy,” Itadori admits. “Oh, but I’m not keeping you awake, am I? If you’re tired, don’t stay up too late because of me.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t feel like going to bed yet either. You brought your laptop, right? Do you want to maybe watch something for a little bit? Maybe some kind of Jennifer Lawrence YooTube compilation?”

“No way,” Itadori blinks, and he proceeds to stare at you in awe. “[Name], do you… like Jennifer Lawrence too?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a bunch of her movies. And she’s funny in a lot of interviews. Plus, she’s pretty.”

Itadori continues staring at you with his mouth agape, and for a split second, he wonders if you might be his soulmate.

“Yeah, let’s do it! One Jennifer Lawrence compilation coming right up!”

It doesn’t take long for you two to get sucked into the black hole known as the internet, and you both lie in bed, flat on your stomachs, with Itadori’s laptop facing towards you. Every so often, you shuffle around and reposition yourself, bumping up against Itadori’s body in the process. By mistake, though—totally by mistake. Totally.

Long story short, you eventually lose track of time, and it turns out that you’re being a lot louder than you thought, because Fushiguro eventually bursts into the room.

“Will you two keep it down already?!” he fumes. “I’m actually trying to get some sleep!”

You and Itadori turn around, and it allows Fushiguro to get a proper look at what’s currently blown up on the laptop’s screen. Namely, a collection of pictures, each featuring a half-naked Jennifer Lawrence.

The Oogle search bar reads: jennifer lawrence bikini hot.

“I-It’s not what it looks like,” you desperately insist, but of course, your efforts are in vain.

Fushiguro is already closing the door, and the last thing you see is that trademark disgusted expression of his.

This time, you can’t really blame him.

“...hey. I said, hey. Wake up, already. We’re going to be late.”

Your eyelids slowly lift, heavy from morning haze, and it takes a little while for your blurry vision to clear.

When it finally does, you find Fushiguro staring down at you with his arms crossed—looking somewhat like a disapproving mother when their child oversleeps for school.

“G’morning,” you mumble groggily. A quick glance down at your slightly damp pillow tells you that you were drooling in your sleep, and you hurry to wipe your face and fix your bedhead, mortified to have been seen in such a disheveled state.

Fushiguro sighs. “I’m sorry for barging into your room like this, but you really need to start getting ready. I had to go wake up Itadori earlier, too. Being late on your very first day of school sets a terrible precedent, doesn’t it?”

“Sorry. I’m… not really a morning person.”

“I figured as much,” he sighs again. There’s a pause, and his gaze briefly flickers down to the front of your pajama shirt. One of the buttons must have come undone in your sleep, and the fabric is hanging off your shoulder a bit, revealing perhaps a bit too much cleavage.

It only takes a second for Fushiguro’s face to turn bright red.

“A-Anyway, just hurry up,” he splutters, quickly turning away from you. “We seriously need to get a move on. I left your new uniform by the door.”

Fushiguro leaves in a hurry, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. You feel a bit embarrassed that he had to see you looking all sloppy like this, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s judged you.

Pressed for time, you finish getting ready as quickly as possible, but you make a point of stopping to look back at your reflection in the windows. Now that you’re all decked out in the Jujutsu High uniform… it feels even more real. You struggle to reel in your excitement, but ultimately fail, and out in the hallway, Fushiguro can hear you happily giggling to yourself.

“So ridiculous,” he scowls.

Yet again, he can’t fully bring himself to admit that you’re absurdly cute. In kind of a stupid way, but still.

Eventually, you and Itadori both finish getting ready, and the three of you head down to Harajuku Station, where you’ll be picking up the last addition to your group, Nobara. Itadori buys some popsicles while you wait for Gojo to show up (Fushiguro refuses to have one, of course), and you suck on the iced treat while glancing all around, eagerly searching for a short-haired brunette.

“I still feel like four people is way too little for a first-year class,” Itadori absently remarks.

“Other than [Name], have you ever met anyone who could see curses?” Fushiguro points out.

“Well… I guess not.”

“That’s just how much of a rarity jujutsu sorcerers are.”

You bite into the last chunk of your popsicle, briefly shuddering from how cold it feels against your teeth. Right as you’re finishing it off, you hear a familiar voice, and you turn your head towards the station’s entrance.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gojo greets, lifting his hand in the air. He tilts his head as he walks over towards the three of you. “Oh. Looks like the uniforms made it on time. How are they? Comfortable?”

“Mine’s a perfect fit,” Itadori nods. “My uniform looks different from Fushiguro’s, though. It’s got a hood, for one.”

“You can put in requests to have your uniforms customized,” Gojo explains.

“I’m pretty sure I never requested that.”

“That’s because I did it for you, of course!” Gojo proudly sticks his thumb in the air, and his grin gets even wider when he turns towards you. “Yours too, [Name]. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I did my best to come up with a cute design. How is it? In my opinion, it suits you really well.”

“Does that mean you’re also calling me cute?” you gape incredulously.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo laughs. “You look super cute. I guess I’ve really got an eye for this kind of thing, huh?”

You press your palms to your flushed cheeks and somehow manage to bite back a squeal. Meanwhile, Fushiguro’s expression turns to his disgust yet again. It’s practically a superpower at this point.

“Sleazeball,” Fushiguro mutters.

“Who, me?” Gojo points. “What’d I even do?”

“You started hitting on a high-schooler.”

“Hey, now. I was just complimenting one of my students. I’m being a supportive teacher. You know, positive reinforcement and all that.”

You nod enthusiastically. “The positive reinforcement is definitely working. Keep it up, sensei. I can feel myself getting stronger already.”

Fushiguro shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’re all a bunch of idiots.”

Since Nobara specifically requested that you meet up in Harajuku, there are plenty of shops to hit while you wait for her to show up. Itadori holds your hand as he excitedly leads you through the crowds. Fushiguro refuses to partake in anything fun, of course, so you and Itadori treat yourself to yummy crêpes, needlessly complicated drinks, and try on silly accessories like comically oversized sunglasses and animal ears.

“Itadori, you’ve got some whipped cream on your cheek,” you say.

“Huh? Oh, shoot. I didn't even realize.” Itadori pauses, then leans closer to you and smiles. “Would you mind getting it for me?”

“S-Sure,” you reply, and even though the gesture is innocent enough, your face feels ridiculously hot as you gently swipe your finger across his cheek, picking up the leftover whipped cream. The deranged part of you briefly considers licking the cream off your finger, in true clichéd anime fashion, but you ultimately wipe your finger with a napkin, proud of yourself for not giving in to your fangirl urges.

Fushiguro grimaces. “They’re basically just on a date. And we’re being forced to watch. Also, why didn’t she just use the napkin to wipe his cheek in the first place? I swear she’s got a few screws loose.”

“Ah, young love,” Gojo muses.

You finish off the last of your treats then throw away your garbage, and apparently, just in time to watch a familiar scene unfold.

“Excuse me, do you have a moment?” a suited man asks, smiling politely as he approaches a woman walking on the street. “You see, I’m looking to scout potential models. Here’s my business card. Would you be interested, by any chance?”

“I’m busy right now,” the woman curtly replies, clearly not willing to give him the time of day.

“Please, just hear me out. Even a short chat would be more than enough—”

“Hey, you.”

The man is roughly grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back, and he turns, coming face to face with the girl you’ve been waiting for this whole time.

“Forget about that woman. What about me?” Nobara asks, with the sort of confidence you can only dream of having.

Panic immediately seeps into the man’s expression, but naturally, Nobara doesn’t let up.

“For the modeling gig, duh,” she continues. “I’m asking what you think about me. I’m pretty, aren’t I?”

“Oh, um… e-excuse me, but I’ve got some urgent matters to attend to, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just be on my way…”

He tries to escape, but she forcefully pulls him back again, and her tone of voice becomes significantly more confrontational than it was just a few moments ago.

“What the hell, man? Don’t run from me. If you’re got something to say, then come right out and say it!”

“We’re about to go talk to her?” Itadori blinks. “That’s kind of embarrassing, not gonna lie.”

“You of all people shouldn’t be talking,” Fushiguro mutters.

“Hey, hey, over here!” Gojo calls out, waving his arms so that Nobara spots him. She turns around and catches a glimpse of you through the crowd, giving that poor man the chance to finally run away.

Nobara approaches the group, one hand resting squarely upon her hips. “So, you’re the other first-years. I’m Kugisaki Nobara. You should feel honored to be able to spend time with me.”

She’s very self-assured, no doubt about it. Well, you already knew as much from watching the anime, but actually meeting her is a whole different story. You almost feel a little bit intimidated by the sheer magnitude of her presence. Some might go as far as to call her arrogant, but you know that deep down, she cares deeply for her friends and is willing to risk her life for them.

“I’m Itadori Yuji,” Itadori introduces with a grin. “I’m from Sendai.”

“Fushiguro Megumi,” the other boy says—and that’s it. Full stop.

Nobara narrows her eyes as she looks them over. Even without her saying it aloud, you already know exactly what’s going through her head right now. Based on first impressions alone, she thinks Itadori is dorky and unsophisticated. The type who ‘definitely ate his own boogers as a kid’, to quote her word-for-word. As for Fushiguro, she seems to think that he’s stuck up and considers himself superior to others, based on how blunt and unenthusiastic his response was.

Anyways, since she judged them so harshly, right from the beginning, you fear to imagine what she must think of you.

“I’m [Last Name] [Name],” you introduce, bowing politely and offering a small smile. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m from Sendai too. Itadori and I went to the same high school. It was only for a little while, but we kind of know each other from before. Also… I think you could definitely do it. The modeling gig, I mean. That guy from earlier was clearly blind.”

Nobara blinks, visibly surprised, and suddenly, her haughty expression does a full one-eighty.

“Aw, you really think so?” she grins, latching onto your arm and pulling you into a hug. “Right? That’s what I’m saying! I swear most people can’t recognize talent even when it’s staring them right in the face. Thank god there’s another girl in the group. I don’t know what I’d do if it was just me stuck with those stinky boys.”

“She just randomly called us stinky,” Itadori gapes. “But… we don’t even smell bad. Right, Fushiguro? Right?”

Unsurprisingly, Fushiguro ignores him.

“Are we going somewhere from here?” he asks.

Gojo chuckles. “I’m glad you asked. Well, since I’ve finally got all of my students together, and it just so happens that most of you are from the countryside… there’s really only one thing to do. We’re obviously going to go sightseeing in Tokyo!”

Cue a wave of excited cheers from both Itadori and Nobara. They’re dancing around Gojo and yelling out all the different places they’d like to see. In this world, you started off in the countryside, yes, but back in the real world, you’ve lived in big cities pretty much your whole life. There’s not really much appeal here.

Besides, you already know that Gojo’s letting them get their hopes up for nothing.

“I will now announce our destination,” Gojo says, and you watch as Itadori and Nobara both drop to their knees in subservience. “We will be visiting none other than… Roppongi!”

The pair of fools stare back at each other, eyes all glossy, wide, and hopeful. Poor things. They’re in for one hell of a disappointment.

You pout. “Sensei, are we really going sightseeing? Are we actually going to get to do fun things?”

“What do you mean?” Gojo hums, feigning ignorance, of course. “What else is there to do but let loose and have fun? Look at how excited your classmates are!”

“Uh-huh…”

For obvious reasons, you don’t trust a word he says, and when you arrive in front of the abandoned building that’s teeming with cursed energy, Itadori and Nobara can only wail in desperation.

“I knew it,” you say, pouting again. “Sensei, you’re a liar. I saw this coming from a mile away.”

Even though I technically used cheats, but still.

Gojo crosses his hand over his heart and pretends to look hurt. “You wound me, [Name]. Weren’t you just saying the other day that you trust me completely? I didn’t expect you to doubt my intentions.”

“I can just tell,” you shrug. “Good luck lying to me. I’m pretty sure I’ll know.”

“Hm. Is that so?”

Gojo’s lips pull into a smile. You’re incredibly perceptive, it seems. Fushiguro’s known him for a long time, so it’s no wonder he’s not surprised with this outcome, but he was expecting you to be convinced, just like how Itadori and Nobara were.

Perhaps he’s reading into things too much, but he wonders if this perceptiveness of yours has anything to do with how you knew Itadori was supposed to eat Sukuna’s finger. How you had full confidence that he’d survive. Maybe this is just a stretch, and it might just be that he’s not as good of a liar as he thought he was, but still.

He’s got his eye on you, and from now on, he won’t let you out of his sight.

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

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