#my favorite part was the car wreck

[goyardgoyangi]

planting evidence in street racer! sukuna's car

Sukuna’s car has always been untouchable—immaculate, brutal, fast. The kind of machine that mirrors him: sharp edges, no softness, no room for anyone else.

Until you.

Now there’s lip gloss in the cupholder and a scrunchie looped around his gear shift like some kind of silk flag staked in his territory. You started leaving little things behind, quietly, like you were planting evidence. Gum wrappers, a clip from your hair, even your iced coffee straw one day—left right in the side door pocket.

You expected him to toss it all back at you. Maybe with a grunt. Maybe with an eye roll and a muttered “keep your shit out of my car.”

But he didn’t.

He kept them there. Because you and Sukuna… you weren’t dating. No one had asked. There was no talk, no label. Just a long night that turned into a few more, then a pattern.

You, on the other hand, are more strategic. Conniving, even.

You don’t ask to be his girl. You don’t cling. You just leave marks. Subtle things. Things a hookup wouldn’t ever have time to leave behind. So that maybe—just maybe—if someone else ever got in the passenger seat, they’d know instantly: they’re not the first, and they’re definitely not the only one who rides here.

But no one else has. Sukuna hasn’t touched another girl since the first night he had you spread out across his sheets—back arched, lips parted, absolutely wrecked from round four. You were limp and glowing in the aftermath, falling asleep on his chest like you belonged there. And maybe you did.

He hadn’t cared to look at anyone else since.

That car used to be built for speed, for control, for the kind of thrill that made his blood rush. It was never about comfort.

But now? It’s starting to literally feel like a second bedroom. Like an extension of you—your perfume clinging to the seatbelt, a receipt from your favorite café crumpled in the passenger door, your earrings slipped into the little tray under the dash.

The backseat holds the imprint of your body, the curve of your hips pressed into the leather, a reminder of all the times he’s fucked you in his car—your legs spread wide as he drove you to the edge with each brutal, deep thrust.

Even the front, where your hand wraps around his arm as his fingers make you come undone, hitting a spot that drives you wild in ways only he knows, still carries the unmistakable mark that this seat—this car—belongs to someone else.

So when Sukuna rolls into the garage late one night—hair still damp from a shower, muscles loose from hours tangled up inside you, still half hard just remembering how you moaned his name—his fellow mechanics clock it instantly.

“Yo,” Mahito says, glancing up from under the hood of a stripped RX-7. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’? Your car smells like vanilla.”

Sukuna just grunts, shoving his keys in his pocket.

He leans against the hood, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s not thinking about you sleeping in his bed right now, curled up under his sheets in that oversized tee you always steal from him.

They take his silence as confirmation.

“You hear that, Suguru?” Mahito continues to instigate, smirking. “Sukuna’s got gloss on the gearshift.”

Suguru raises a brow from where he’s cataloging parts. “Damn. Didn’t think anyone could turn Sukuna into a personal Uber.”

That earns a laugh from the group. Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just lazily flicks his middle finger their way. But he doesn't deny it either.

“No wonder you leave work early so often,” another mechanic mutters, elbowing Uraume. “He used to hang around, talk engines, grab beers.”

They shrug. “Guess he’s got better company these days.”

Sukuna barely hears his coworkers gossip over the echo of your moans still ringing in his head. Because they’re not wrong—he has been slipping out early, ditching post-race drinks just to pick you up from work. Just to get you back in his car, where your legs fold up sweet and tight in the passenger seat and your hand always finds his without a word.

It’s routine now—his hand on your thigh the second the engine starts. He doesn’t even think about it. Just needs it. Needs the feel of you under his fingers, to squeeze the thighs he’s bruised a dozen times with his mouth.

And when you finally fall asleep, innocent and warm, lips parted just slightly?

He drives slower than he ever has in his life. Because the longer he keeps you next to him like this, the longer he gets to pretend you’re already his girl.

And he knows—he knows—you’re testing him with the things you leave behind. Waiting to see if he’ll clean them out. Waiting to see if he’ll hand you your lip gloss and tell you to stop marking your territory.

But he won’t.

Not when the vanilla scent lingers in the air. Not when the other mechanics glance at the cupholder and trade knowing looks because even they can see it—

The car’s not just his anymore.

[curseluvr]

CUM FIRST, EAT LATER!

You’re always late to dinner, whether it’s taking too long to do your makeup or wanting to squeeze in a quickie first. Luckily, these men just can’t say no to you.

tldr: when your desperate need to get fucked comes right before fine dining.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 1.7k

content: fem!reader, est. relationships, unprotected sex, semi-public/car sex (toji), riding him, degradation & praise, spanking, hair pulling, face-licking (choso…), choking, overstim, creampies, drooling

SATORU

”Your slutty pussy’s gonna get us in trouble again,” Satoru sighs, flipping you onto your back with ease before fucking into you again.

Your dress is bunched up to your ribs, and your legs are wrapped around Satoru’s waist, heels still on.

“Mmh! Shut up,” you gasp, hands clawing at the sheets. “You’re the one always—fuck! —begging for a quickie.”

He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and grinds real deep and slow into you. His other hand is busy rubbing tight, merciless circles into your clit. “Not before having dinner with your parents.” 

Your head falls to the side, unable to even look straight anymore as Satoru pounds into you. The angle has your breath catching, the coil in your belly tightening so fast it’s humiliating. 

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, grabbing your face. “Wanna look my dirty girl in the eyes when I make her feel good.” 

When you don’t respond, too fucked out to form words, Satoru squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Gonna come all over my cock before dinner? You wanna sit in that restaurant full of my cum, don’tcha?” 

You’re drooling now, lipstick as fucked up as you. Satoru’s grin is feral, his blue eyes wild at the sight. 

“So sweet and polite while I’m using this messy little cunt,” he groans, thumbing your clit harder. “Gonna give you so much cum you’ll stain those Michelin-star seats.”

SUGURU

You try to glare at him, but it’s useless. Your eyes are teary, drooping, lips parted from the effort of just enduring it. He kisses you again anyway. Wet and possessive, lips dragging across yours like you’re his favorite indulgence.“You asked for this, you take it,” Suguru says with a hint of amusement as he thrusts into you.

He’s got you on your stomach, his chest pressed to your back, one large hand holding your wrists together. The other snakes under your body, gripping your throat—not tight, just enough to hold you still as his mouth hovers right beside your ear.

“Too much,” you whine, voice wrecked and airy. Your thighs are shaking and your poor cunt is raw from already cumming twice. “Only wanted—mmmh!— a quickie.”

“That’s funny, baby,” Suguru laughs, releasing your neck just to grab you by your jaw. His hair brushes along your cheek as he leans in, dizzying you with his scent. 

He plants a wet kiss on your lips. “You know it’s never quick with me.” 

Suguru’s pace doesn’t slow. If anything, it gets rougher, sharper, until your whole body jerks with each thrust.

“You said we had time,” you moan, voice warbling through clenched teeth.

“We did,” Suguru murmurs, kissing your temple now. “You’re the one who came twice in ten minutes.”

“You made me!”

He grins, unrepentant, loving that you’re ruined. “I know, sweetheart. And you’re still not done.”

The hand around your wrists moves to your ass, gripping the flesh before spreading you wider, drilling into you with a growl low in his throat. “Not ‘til I say.”

You try to look at the clock, blinking through the blur. Suguru doesn’t care. He kisses the side of your face, slow and sweet and devastatingly gentle in contrast to the way he’s fucking you into the mattress.

“Next time you ask for a quickie,” he purrs, “remember how this ends.”

KENTO

“You know I hate being late, darling,” Kento sighs as you unzip his dress pants. 

Your smile is sickeningly sweet. “But you hate saying no to me more.” 

He can only watch, defeated, as you take him into your mouth.

“Oh, baby. So fucking needy you want to ruin the reservation I made.”

“You really think five minutes is enough?” he continues, already breathless himself. “You’re going to make me show up late to a restaurant full of people who booked a month in advance—just because you couldn’t keep your hands off me?”

You pull back for just a second, spit-slick lips curling into a smirk. “Can’t help it. You know how I get.”

His hand tangles in your hair, gentle but commanding. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling.”

Then he presses your mouth back down, because despite the watch ticking behind him, despite the fact that he loathes being even a minute late—he can’t bring himself to stop you. 

By the time he bends you over the table, you’re breathless and soaking. The brand new dress he bought you just for tonight is wrinkled and hiked up around your waist.

The table creaks. Your thighs shake. Your phone buzzes with a text from the restaurant:

Reminder: Your table is ready. We will hold your reservation for 10 minutes.

Kento sees it and lets out a sigh—but he doesn’t stop. He pulls your hips toward him, addicted to the sound of his skin meeting yours.

“They can wait,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck while you squirm. “I have something far more important to finish.”

TOJI

“Better make it worth it, girl. I’ve been craving that lobster all night long,” Toji grunts against your neck, hands under your thighs as he bounces you on his lap in the backseat of the car. 

His suit jacket’s on the floor, shirt untucked, belt undone and hanging useless from a belt loop. You hadn’t even made it inside the restaurant before you dragged him back into the car.

He’s trying to make you cum quick.

You’re straddling him in that little black dress he told you not to wear unless you wanted trouble—and look at you now. Moaning, eyes glassy, lipstick smudged from sucking him off in the parking lot before whining for more.

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait,” you pant, clenching around him as he drives up into you harder. “Said I looked good enough to eat.”

“And I meant that,” Toji grins, all teeth and grit. “But I also meant the lobster.”

His hand wraps around your ass, palm smacking it once—hard enough to make you jolt. He groans as you clench tighter in response.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You better cum fast, princess. If I miss my goddamn steak and lobster special ‘cause this pussy can’t get off quick enough—”

You shut him up with a moan, leaning forward to kiss his jaw, arms tight around his shoulders. “Then maybe you shouldn’t fuck me like you wanna miss it.”

He laughs—loud, low, filthy—and slams you down harder, the entire car creaking beneath you. Windows fogged. The smell of sex already thick in the air.

“Little brat,” he mutters, slapping your clit just to punish you. “You like ruining my plans, huh? Wanna be the reason I’m late to an expensive dinner?”

You look him dead in the eye. “Pull out then.”

“I’m hungry,” he grits out through his teeth, rutting into you deeper. “Not an animal.”

You toss your head back, laugh breathlessly, and grind down harder just to be spiteful.

“Coulda fooled me.”

SUKUNA

“Woman,” Sukuna grits out, jaw clenched, “if I don’t get my fucking steak in the next hour—”

“Be quick, then,” you say with a smirk, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Better be worth it,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous. “I’ve been looking forward to that ribeye all week.”

You roll your hips slowly, just to be bratty. “Then eat fast.”

That’s all it takes.

Sukuna growls behind you, hand wrapped around your throat from behind, pinning you against the mirror as he shoves your panties to the side. You gasp, barely able to breathe from the way he presses you flat to the cold glass.

“Say please,” Sukuna growls, already rubbing the thick head of his cock along your slick entrance.

“Please,” you moan, already melting and pushing your hips back.

“You’re so fucking easy,” he snarls, pushing in slow, cruel. “Acting like you can tell me what to do. Like I don’t own this pussy.”

You claw at the mirror as he starts fucking you rough and deep, your own ruined reflection taunting you with every thrust.

“My makeup,” you whimper helplessly.

He laughs. 

“You should’ve thought about that before walking around here with your ass out like a little slut,” he hisses, pulling your hair back so you can watch yourself come undone. “Go on. Watch how dumb you get just from my cock.”

Your thighs are shaking, mascara smudged from the way your eyes won’t stop tearing. You reach back for him, but Sukuna grabs both wrists in one hand and pins them to the mirror above your head.

“Nuh-uh,” he growls, biting at your shoulder. “You started this. Now take it like a good girl.”

You’re already cumming, and he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. The mirror fogs with every panting breath as he fucks you through it—brutal, relentless.

He smirks, smacking your ass. “You better fix that makeup quick when I’m done with you. I’m not taking you anywhere looking like that.”

CHOSO

He tried to say no and remind you that it was time to leave. Really, he did. But the moment you pulled up your dress and showed him how wet you were—nothing underneath, slick shining between your thighs—he knew he couldn’t ignore his duty to satisfy you as your lover.

“You’re gonna make us late,” he murmured, even as you climbed onto his lap.

“I’ll make it worth it,” you promised.

Now you’re riding him on the couch, purse thrown aside. He’s got his head tilted up, mouth latched onto your tits while you're bouncing on his cock like you can’t get enough. The only thing he loves more than you is sucking on your tits whenever you’re on top.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, sucking soft bruises into your chest. “Always so pretty for me.”

“Choso,” you whine, trying not to fall apart too fast. His hands grip your ass, helping you move, his touch always firm but worshipful.

And then, for no reason at all except that he’s fucking weird and in love with you—he licks up the side of your face. From jaw to cheekbone, slow and messy.

You freeze.

“Choso!” you gasp, smacking his arm. “My makeup!”

He blinks at you, wide-eyed and too honest. “You still look beautiful.”

You groan, burying your face in his neck—but your hips don’t stop. Neither does his dick. He wraps his arms around you tighter and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll fix it after. I promise.”

And he does. He holds your bag while you reapply your lipstick. Offers you his sleeve to blot the smudge. Choso tells you you're perfect even with mascara under your eyes and his cum dripping down your legs.

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[just-aake]

Whispered in Russian Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 2 of Whispered in Russian. Natasha takes you to meet her family for the first time.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, Russian translations from google

Words: 4990

You fidget with the ribbon on the container nestled in your lap, your fingers adjusting and retightening the bow for what has to be the fifth time since the car ride began. The satin already lies perfectly in place, but your nerves won’t settle unless your hands stay busy.

From the driver’s seat, Natasha casts a quick glance your way, catching the subtle tremble in your fingers.

“Rasslab’sya, detka,” she murmurs, her voice calm and low as her hand reaches over to still yours. Her touch is warm and grounding.

You exhale slowly, relaxing like she tells you to, trying to ease the anxiety fluttering in your chest. You turn your hand beneath hers, intertwining your fingers with hers, but the tension doesn’t quite fade.

After a moment, you groan and let your head fall back dramatically against the seat. You twist to look at her with exasperation, eyes wide.

“Oh, this is bad. Not even your Russian is helping me calm down right now.”

A small, knowing smirk plays on Natasha’s lips. Without taking her eyes off the road, she lifts your joined hands and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles.

“I thought you said my Russian does the opposite,” she says with a teasing lilt. Then, without warning, her voice dips into something darker, silkier—something meant only for you.

“Tebe uzhe stanovitsya zharko?”

Are you getting hot yet?

You gasp, jerking your hand back before she gets any more ideas, warmth blooming fast across your cheeks.

“Natasha!” you hiss. “We’re about to have dinner with your family. This is not the time to rile me up.”

Her grin only widens.

“You know I’m great at multitasking,” she replies breezily, her hand casually returning to rest on your thigh. But then it moves, slowly tracing delicate circles that make your breath hitch.

You clamp your hand over hers before it can travel any higher. 

“Focus,” you warn, your voice a mix of stern and pleading. “I’m already a wreck as it is. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

Natasha eases up, her touch softening but not quite withdrawing, thumb brushing along the hem of your skirt. She knows this matters to you.

It’s your first time meeting her family—the one she didn’t grow up with but still calls hers. Melina. Alexei. Yelena. All ex-assassins and one genetically enhanced super soldier. You’re not exactly bringing cookies to your average suburban dinner.

The nerves creep back in at the thought. You glance down at the container again, doubt flickering in your eyes.

“Maybe I should’ve brought something else,” you murmur. “Cookies feel…underwhelming.”

Natasha chuckles softly. 

“Well, if they don’t want them,” she says, squeezing your thigh gently, “I’ll eat them all myself.”

You gape at her. “So they’re not enough?”

She huffs a laugh through her nose, clearly entertained, as she mutters under her breath.

“Bozhe, kakoy ty milyy…”

God, you’re cute…

Your face warms immediately. You scoff, turning away so she won’t see the rising blush.

“You know I can still understand you even when you whisper,” you grumble. Then, quieter.

“Ty ne tonkiy.”

You’re not subtle.

She laughs under her breath, clearly delighted by your flustered state. You squeeze her hand lightly, a gentle reprimand.

“Your Russian’s gotten better,” she remarks, glancing sideways at you with a smirk.

“Of course it did,” you reply proudly. “I had a great teacher. Very strict. Very sexy.”

That earns a genuine laugh from Natasha. 

“Really now? Should I be worried?”

You grin, fiddling with her fingers as you lean in just slightly.

“Mmm, maybe. Our night sessions are my favorite.”

Natasha raises an amused brow but says nothing, letting you press the advantage while she drives.

“Oh?” she prompts coolly. “And why’s that?”

You lift her hand to your lips, delicately kissing her fingertip. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“Because I never want her to stop.”

The only response is the soft hum in Natasha’s throat—and the way her grip on the steering wheel subtly tightens.

You trail another kiss along her knuckle.

“So I tell her…”

You pause, eyes gleaming as you kiss a second finger, your voice sultry now.

“Yeshchyo…”

More…

Then, a third kiss, slower this time, into the center of her palm.

“Pozhaluysta, day yeshchyo…Natalia.”

Please, give me more…Natalia.

The car suddenly veers with precision into a parking lot, tires crunching against the gravel. The motion is smooth but decisive, too smooth to be spontaneous.

Before you can react, Natasha shifts the gear into park and turns to you. Her free hand reaches for your chin, firm but gentle, tilting your face toward hers.

Her eyes—deep, dark, and undeniably burning—flick to your lips, then back to your gaze.

“You really want to test me before dinner?” she asks, her voice a whisper against your mouth as she leans in just enough to brush her lips over yours.

You shiver at the contact, your heart racing.

“Now, who’s riling up who?” she murmurs before pressing her lips more firmly into yours, the teasing gone now—replaced with something deeper, more indulgent. 

Her hand curls at the back of your neck, anchoring you gently in place as she kisses you like she has all the time in the world.

And for a moment, you melt into it completely, a quiet hum escaping your throat—soft, pleased, and entirely content.

Your hand rests lightly on her chest, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. Her lips are warm and familiar, coaxing you to stay a little longer in this bubble she’s wrapped around the two of you.

But just over her shoulder, a gleam of amber light catches your eye.

You blink, breathless, and squint through the driver-side window at the storefront across the street.

Vinoteka Zvezda

Wine Star 

A small, charming little wine shop, the kind that screams “curated” and “family-owned.” An idea sparks in your brain, chasing away the last haze of Natasha’s kiss.

“That’s it!” you gasp, pulling back with sudden clarity.

Natasha remains frozen in place, her lips still slightly parted in protest, eyes fluttering open as she chases the space you just left. Her hand on your neck lingers, as does the ghost of the kiss on your lips.

She tries to lean back in, muttering against your mouth, “Chto—what’s it?”

You flash her a grin and press a quick, consoling peck to her lips.

“A bottle of wine,” you explain brightly, already reaching for your seatbelt. “It’s the perfect thing to bring.”

Unbuckling yourself, you shift in your seat and pop the door open before Natasha can reel you back in.

“Wait here,” you say, already halfway out. “I’ll be right back!”

The car door shuts behind you, leaving Natasha staring at the empty seat beside her.

She exhales through her nose in exasperation, slumping back into the leather of her seat as she watches you skip across the street, determination lighting up your features. She tracks how you enter the wine shop and immediately start talking animatedly to the shopkeeper, your hands gesturing in passionate, sweeping arcs as you describe the kind of bottle you’re searching for.

Natasha tilts her head, her lips curling into something soft and helpless.

“Kak milo…”

So cute…, she murmurs under her breath, shaking her head slightly at how easily you fluster and focus in the same breath.

She rests her elbow on the window ledge, her chin in her hand now, eyes never leaving you through the windshield. Even with the nerves, planning, and chaos, you still light up any room you walk into. And despite the teasing earlier, this…this is the part that gets her the most.

The part where you care so much.

Where you want to get it right.

And you don’t even realize how much you’ve already impressed her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha watches you out of the corner of her eye as you readjust everything in your arms—a wine bottle in one hand, the container of cookies balanced carefully in the other, and a bouquet of flowers tucked into the crook of your elbow. 

You’d made her stop at a roadside cart twenty minutes ago, determined to make the best possible impression. 

She’d offered—twice—to hold something, but you waved her off with that same stubborn confidence she’s grown increasingly fond of.

You shift your weight, square your shoulders, and glance at the front door with the kind of intensity you’d usually reserve for mission briefings.

“Okay,” you say, exhaling once. “I’m ready.”

Natasha gives you a once-over, lips twitching upward.

“You’re sure?”

You bump her with your shoulder. 

“Just knock already, Romanoff.”

She huffs but obeys, rapping her knuckles against the heavy door.

You barely have a second to mentally run through the Russian greetings you practiced before the door swings open—and any preparation you had dissolves on sight.

A tall, broad-shouldered man fills the doorway, eyes narrowed slightly, arms folded across his chest. His imposing figure, tangled beard, and the sheer weight of his stare make your spine straighten instinctively.

And you forget how to speak.

The man squints at you. Then, his gaze shifts to Natasha.

In an instant, his whole demeanor changes, and his eyes light up. 

“Ahh! My daughter has come home!” he booms, voice reverberating through the hallway before he steps forward and engulfs Natasha in a bear hug.

“Oof,” Natasha grunts as he pulls her in, her arms pinned awkwardly at her sides. “Alexei,” she mutters in protest, clearly used to this. “That’s enough.”

She peels herself out of his grip with practiced effort and steps back, brushing off her jacket. Then she gestures toward you with a small, subtle smile.

“This is my girlfriend.”

The word lands with a deliberate weight, and your heart skips at hearing her say it so directly.

Alexei blinks, then his head tilts slightly toward you. His brow furrows again, but this time in contemplation rather than challenge. His eyes dart to your full hands. 

“Girlfriend, da,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “A strong one, from the looks of it.”

You offer him a nervous smile. 

He opens his arms for a hug, but Natasha swiftly plants a palm on his chest.

“No.”

Alexei pauses, sighs theatrically, and switches tactics by offering his hand instead—before realizing you can’t take it. His gaze drops to the bottle.

You quickly shift and lift the wine toward him. 

“A gift. I thought it might go well with dinner.”

He takes it from you with a hum of approval, turning the label to inspect the vintage. 

“Ahh...1986. Hah! That year, I was invited to drink with high officials for my work as the Red Guardian. They only brought out the good stuff when I was in the room.” He winks at you before waving you both inside. “Come, come. We will drink this after dinner and toast to our victories!”

You follow Natasha in, carefully stepping around a pair of discarded combat boots and a black and red shield by the entryway. The smell of stewing herbs wafts in from the kitchen.

As you near the threshold, Alexei continues regaling you with some half-fantastical tale involving a Siberian embassy, three political defectors, and a wine-fueled arm-wrestling match.

“Alexei,” comes a sharp voice from the kitchen, cutting him off mid-story, “this is not the time. Go watch the pot before it boils over.”

You glance in and spot an older woman, her hair tied back, her sleeves rolled up, and a wooden spoon in hand. She doesn’t even look up at him to see if he’ll follow her words.

“Alright, Melina,” Alexei grumbles under his breath and trudges off.

After handing him the spoon, Melina approaches Natasha before placing her hands on either side of her daughter’s face and tilting it side to side with a critical eye.

“You’re looking healthy,” she remarks thoughtfully, then squints at her lips. “Though your lipstick is smeared. You may want to fix that before dinner.”

You immediately cough, embarrassed, breath catching in your throat at the reason it’s smeared. Natasha throws you a sidelong look and smirks, not even pretending to hide her amusement.

Melina turns to you next, her expression unreadable for a beat—then softens slightly.

“And you must be the one I’ve heard about.”

You offer her a respectful nod and a warm smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Vostokoff. These are for you.” You gently extend the bouquet.

Melina blinks in mild surprise as she accepts the flowers. 

“Oh...these are quite lovely,” she says, turning the stems in her fingers with practiced interest. Then she adds casually, “You know, with the right compound mixture, the petals of these can be distilled into a knockout gas that masks itself with floral pheromones.”

You blink once. Twice.

“I…didn’t know that.”

She hums.

“Thank you for these. I’ll be sure to use them effectively.” 

“Right…,” you swallow your nerves before continuing. “I also made these.” You offer her the container of cookies. “Thought it might be a nice dessert.”

Melina accepts them with a nod. 

“You baked them yourself?”

Before you can answer, a blonde-haired figure sweeps into the room.

“I can take that,” she announces, reaching for the container.

Melina immediately smacks her hand away. 

“Not now, Yelena, dinner first,” she says sharply. “Or else you’ll ruin your appetite.”

Yelena pouts, rubbing the back of her hand as she grumbles under her breath.

Melina takes the flowers and cookies into the kitchen without another glance.

Now left in the entryway with you and Natasha, Yelena crosses her arms and eyes you like she’s trying to gauge your combat level.

“So,” she starts, “you’re the one my sister wants to ma—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Natasha’s foot connects with her shin, and Yelena yelps.

“Ow! That hurt!”

Natasha shrugs unapologetically. 

“My foot slipped.”

Yelena narrows her eyes as if looking for an opening to retaliate against her sister before Melina’s voice calls out from the kitchen again.

“Yelena! Come set the table.”

With a dramatic sigh and a half-glare thrown over her shoulder, Yelena mutters, “This isn’t over,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

The hallway finally settles into a quiet hum.

You glance at Natasha, but she’s already looking at you. Her brow lifts slightly.

“You okay?”

To her surprise, you let out a soft, breathy laugh and shift your weight, taking her hand in yours.

“They’re…different,” you say thoughtfully, “but somehow they’re also…normal. Like a family. A real one.”

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches you, her thumb gently brushing the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters beneath her touch. Then she lifts her other hand, brushing a stray curl away from your face, her gaze warm and steady.

“You’re not scared off?” she asks, quieter now like she almost doesn’t want to break the moment.

You meet her eyes and give a small, sincere smile.

“No. Honestly?” You shrug lightly. “I think I like them.”

A short laugh escapes from her—one part fondness, one part disbelief, because of course you would. Her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners as she leans in, her hand rising to cradle your face.

She’s just about to kiss you.

“Natasha,” Melina’s voice cuts through from around the corner, sharp and efficient.

You instinctively pull back, straightening like you’ve been caught in the act. 

Natasha groans softly in frustration, her lips parted in a half-formed complaint as her hand reluctantly drops back to her side.

You offer her an apologetic smile, squeezing her fingers in consolation just as Melina steps into view.

“Alexei and Yelena can handle the finishing touches on dinner,” Melina says, glancing briefly at you before continuing with a subtle weight in her tone. “The item you requested? It arrived yesterday. If you want to come see it.”

Natasha immediately perks up, something close to anticipation flickering behind her eyes.

“I do,” she says, already moving. Then she pauses when she notices you falling in step beside her.

She turns, steps into your path, and gently touches your arm.

“Why don’t you wait in the kitchen?” she suggests lightly, nodding toward the other end of the house. “We won’t be long.”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“Abandoning me to the wolves already?”

Natasha leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, the soft brush of her lips barely enough to make up for the one Melina interrupted.

“You’ll survive,” she says, her voice low, amused, and just the tiniest bit smug.

You huff out a playful breath. 

“We’ll see,” you mutter as you turn, giving her one last look before making your way toward the kitchen.

The closer you get, the more you slow your pace as the nerves settle back in. You can hear Alexei’s deep voice rumbling through the space, followed by Yelena’s sharper reply, the familiar cadence of Russian drifting toward you.

“Gde tvoya mat’?”

“Where’s your mother?” Alexei asks, casual, distracted, and likely chopping something from the sound of the knife.

“Navernoye, otdat’ Natasha kol’tso, kotoroye prishlo,”

“Probably giving Natasha the ring that arrived,” Yelena replies without hesitation.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Аh…chtoby sdelat' predlozheniye.”

Ah…so she can propose.

Your stomach flips as your eyes widen slightly. You come to a complete stop at the entryway, hidden from sight as they continue.

Alexei hums in contemplation. 

“Yeyo devushka khoroshaya. Mne ona nravitsya.”

Her girlfriend seems good. I like her, Alexei says with a note of approval.

Yelena makes a faint sound of agreement, then adds, “I pechen’ye vkusnoye.”

And the cookies are delicious.

You blink, trying to process the whiplash of implications in their conversation. Ring? Proposal? Is that why Natasha wanted you to meet her family?

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, you clear your throat softly and step into the kitchen with your best attempt at casual nonchalance.

“Hey,” you say. “Need any help in here?”

Both Alexei and Yelena freeze at your presence. Alexei’s hand hovers awkwardly over a bowl while Yelena stands motionless with a half-eaten cookie in hand.

You raise a brow, hiding your amusement at their synchronized panic.

Yelena is the first to recover. She gestures toward the side counter. 

“Sure,” she says smoothly. “Can you help with setting the plates? We’re almost done with the food.”

You nod and walk over to the stack of dishes she points to, quietly beginning to lay them out on the table in the dining room.

Behind you, you catch the low whisper of Alexei’s voice again.

“Kak vy dumayete, ona chto-nibud’ slyshala?”

Do you think she heard anything?

Yelena responds under her breath, “Steny zdes' ne sovsem zvukonepronitsayemyye, Alexei. No, k schast’yu, ona ne govorit po-russki.”

These walls aren’t exactly soundproof, Alexei. But luckily she doesn’t speak Russian.

You suppress a smile as you gently place down the last plate, all while perfectly understanding every word.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and Melina’s voice returns with crisp authority as she steps into the kitchen.

“Looks like everything’s ready. Let’s start dinner.”

Natasha enters just behind her, eyes sweeping the room. Her gaze finds you almost immediately, her lips quirking up in something soft and private, like she knows you’ve handled her family better than she ever could’ve predicted.

You meet her eyes and smile back, warmth blooming in your chest at the revelation of what she wants for your future.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Dinner is warm in more ways than one. The scent of roasted herbs and buttery vegetables fills the room, clinking utensils and soft conversation creating a domestic hum around the table.

Natasha rests her chin against her palm, elbow propped lazily on the table as she watches you. Her gaze trails the subtle movement of your lips as you speak, the easy rhythm of your laughter, the way your hand flicks slightly when telling a story. 

She isn’t even pretending to eat. Her fork idles in her other hand, forgotten.

“You’re staring,” Melina remarks coolly, not even looking up from her plate. “As charming as it is to be hopelessly enamored, Natasha, you should eat before the food gets cold.”

You turn toward her just in time to catch the faintest flush of color on Natasha’s cheeks.

“Can’t really blame her,” you tease, casting Natasha a sly smile, your nerves completely vanishing in the warm, lively energy of her family. “I am objectively captivating.”

Natasha huffs through her nose but says nothing to tease you back. Instead, she nudges her chair just a little closer to yours. Barely noticeable to anyone else.

You glance at her curiously, but don’t press, returning your attention to Alexei across the table as he picks up where he’d left off.

“So you stopped the entire team of enemy operatives alone?” you ask, half in disbelief, half wanting to see how far this story goes.

Alexei puffs up with delight, always eager to relive his Red Guardian glory days for someone who hasn’t heard every exaggerated detail before.

“Alone? Pffft. Of course, alone. You think they could hold me with chains? Bah! They tried. I flexed. One shoulder pop and snap—bindings gone! Like thread around a bear.”

As he gestures grandly—mimicking his escape with dramatic flair—you nod along, engaged, even as Natasha slowly moves her food around her plate, her fork barely tapping the surface.

And then…you feel it.

A warm, deliberate hand slides beneath the edge of the table and lands lightly on your thigh—right at the hem of your skirt. Your back straightens in an instant. Your shoulders square. You glance sharply at her from the side, jaw tight in warning.

But Natasha? She’s chewing quietly, face entirely innocent. Her eyes don’t leave her plate.

You try to focus as Alexei mimics the sounds of panicked guards, but then her fingers give a little squeeze.

You twitch slightly, feet shifting under the table. 

Her hand slides upward, just a little, fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh.

Your breath hitches.

Just as her fingers begin to dip higher—exploring—you act fast, clamping your thighs together and catching her hand right in place.

Her fingers wriggle playfully, trapped now, but not at all deterred. In fact, from the subtle upturn of her lips, she looks positively smug.

Across the table, Melina suddenly turns to Natasha, shifting the attention just enough.

“Are you keeping yourself safe during missions?” she asks, tone sharp but not unkind. “I saw that latest intel packet. That explosion was too close.”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Define ‘safe,’” she mutters. “People keep shooting at me.”

“That’s why she has me,” you chime in, clearing your throat and adjusting slightly in your seat as you discreetly reach under the table to grab her hand, intertwining them together and firmly placing them between the two of you. “To pull her out of those things. Preferably before the explosions happen.”

Alexei laughs heartily at that, reaching for his glass.

“I like her,” he says to Melina. “Ona ostraya.”

She’s sharp.

Melina tuts. “It’s rude to speak about her like that right in front of her, Alexei.”

Natasha, without missing a beat, smirks.

“She understands Russian.”

Alexei chokes on his drink. Melina blinks once, then tilts her head, intrigued.

“You do?” she asks you. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrug with a slight grin.

“I’m still learning.”

Melina hums, impressed. 

“Well. In that case, come sit with me. Let’s see how much you do know. Bring the wine.”

She rises and gestures for you to follow her into the living space.

You stand, giving Natasha a squeeze of her fingers in playful chastising for her earlier teasing before letting go.

Natasha watches you and Melina disappear from the kitchen, her eyes trailing after you fondly until she notices the quiet shift in the atmosphere.

She glances back at the table.

Yelena and Alexei are both frozen.

Yelena’s hand hovers just over the container of cookies, and Alexei’s head is bent low, scratching at the back of his neck with obvious guilt.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

“This is suspicious,” she says flatly, rising from her seat and stalking over to her sister.

Yelena stiffens. 

“Suspicious, how?” she mutters casually, reaching for a cookie.

Natasha closes the lid of the container and snatches it away before Yelena can grab it. 

“What did you two do?”

Alexei mumbles something into his hand, but Natasha’s already locked on to Yelena, who winces.

“Your girlfriend may have…possibly overheard us talking.”

“About what?” Natasha presses.

“Your ring that you got her,” Yelena admits, bracing for impact, before adding. “And Alexei mentioned you wanting to propose.”

Natasha groans and rubs a hand down her face.

“You two,” she mutters. “I swear to god…”

“Hey, how were we supposed to know she understood Russian?” Yelena defends.

“Da, you should’ve told us, Natasha,” Alexei agrees, crossing his arms.

Natasha just rolls her eyes before glancing toward the living room and sees you laughing softly with Melina as you both talk animatedly in Russian. Instantly, her irritation melts into something softer.

Because you heard. And the information didn’t seem to scare you off.

Placing the container back on the table, Natasha moves to join you. When she enters the living room, the soft clink of glass meeting wood draws her gaze immediately to where you’re seated with Melina. 

You’re curled comfortably into the armchair, cheeks tinged with warmth that isn’t entirely from the room’s temperature. Melina sits in the other armchair beside you, calmly refilling your glass with a steady pour and a faint, impressed smile on her lips.

You don’t even hesitate, raising the glass with a small toast and murmuring thanks in Russian. But your pronunciation is just slightly off. The syllables slur at the edges, your usual clarity muddled.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

She mentally counts—two glasses during dinner, one more after you stepped out with Melina… and now a fourth. Her eyes flick to the bottle on the side table, noting the high alcohol content. 

With a quiet sigh, Natasha strides over. You’re just lifting the glass to your lips again when she gently intercepts it, slipping it from your grasp before you can take another sip.

“Hey…” you whine softly, blinking up at her with a pout.

“Detka,” Natasha sighs, “my family has an elevated alcohol tolerance. You have a normal one.”

Melina lets out a quiet chuckle, unbothered. 

“I’m sorry,” she says with an amused twinkle in her eye. “You were such good company, I may have lost track.”

“It was really nice talking with you,” you say, voice lilting sweetly. “Even if your flower stories scare me a little.”

Melina gives you an affectionate pat on the arm before excusing herself. 

“I’ll leave you alone now. I need to check on the other two before they get into some trouble.”

“Too late,” Natasha mutters.

Once she’s gone, Natasha slides onto the armrest beside your chair, perched just above your shoulder. She’s watching you with the kind of expression that’s both exasperated and deeply fond.

“So,” she says, brow arched. “How are we feeling?”

You beam up at her with the kind of drunken smile that melts her on the spot. 

“S’good,” you say cheerfully, tapping her thigh like you’re letting her in on a secret. “I asked your mom to teach me something.”

Natasha’s brow furrows, intrigued.

“Oh yeah? What’d she teach you?”

You straighten slightly, gathering all your focus like it’s a mission. You take her hand in yours, lifting it gently between you.

You blink once, twice, then look her dead in the eye with as much serious gravity as you can summon in your wine-softened state.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanoff,” you say, slow and deliberate.

Natasha huffs in surprise, a low chuckle escaping her throat, at her full name that you probably got from her mother.

You take a breath, your accent slightly clumsy but the intent is crystal clear as you look up at her and say in Russian.

“Ty vyy-desh' za men-ya za…muzh?”

Will you marry me?

The room stills.

Your voice is slightly off, but the meaning—the emotion—lands with devastating clarity.

Natasha’s heart skips. Her fingers twitch slightly in yours.

“What do you think?” you ask, eyes wide. “Was it close?”

Natasha lets out a slow, shaky laugh and leans in closer, brushing a knuckle under your chin. 

“It was close,” she murmurs, then repeats it back to you, softer and steadier, in her perfect Russian accent.

“Ty vyydesh' za menya zamuzh?”

Will you marry me?

Your breath catches, a quiet smile blooming across your face. And you whisper back. 

“S udovol’stviyem.”

I’d love to.

Natasha leans in and kisses you, slow and gentle, her hand cradling your cheek with a tenderness that quiets everything else. When she pulls back, her lips hover close to yours.

“That’s nice to hear,” she says. “But…even if my family did ruin the surprise, you’re still going to have to wait for the proposal I planned before you get the ring.”

You blink up at her, your smile turning into a small pout that Natasha promptly kisses away.

“Preferably,” she adds, “when you don’t have four glasses of wine in you.”

You giggle softly. 

“So that means I’ll need to visit your family more. That way, your mom can help me practice my vows.”

Natasha gasps in mock hurt, shaking her head as she laughs. 

“Are you replacing me with my mom as your Russian tutor?”

You hum, resting your head briefly against her leg, tracing delicate patterns with your finger.

“You’ll always have the night sessions.”

Natasha’s breath catches at that. She lifts your chin gently, and her lips brush against yours in a lingering kiss. When she pulls away, her voice drops to a whisper.

“Obeshchayesh’?” 

Promise?

You smile, gaze soft as you press your forehead up against hers and whisper back, your voice trembling just slightly from the weight of it.

“Segodnya. Etoy noch’yu. I kazhdyy den’ dal’she. YA s toboy, Natasha.”

Today. This night. And every day after that. I’m with you, Natasha.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading!

[spitefulsatanfics]

✦ 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓸𝔂 ✦

❝You know, I’ve been thinking… I’d die for her. I’d kill for her. And not just because I love her — because she’s my family.❞

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (She/Her Reader) From: Supernatural (TV Series) Tones: soulmate-level sweetness, soft domesticity, lovesick Dean, injury angst, hunter x hunter banter, established relationship, fluffy romance, protectiveness, emotional vulnerability, one-bed trope vibes

Rating: 18+ (mild injury, swearing, heavy emotional intensity, physical intimacy — minors do not interact)

✎ 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 ♡ written and published May 29, 2025™ Based on: Supernatural, Seasons 1–2 (no specific episode — canon-adjacent storyline) (Note: Show is rated 17+)

Synopsis: Y/N gets the honor of driving Dean’s most sacred possession: the Impala. But one drunk driver, one wrecked car, and one shaky phone call later, she realizes she was never just his passenger. She is the thing he treasures most.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The call came at 9:27 PM.

Dean’s phone rang from inside his jacket pocket where it hung on the back of a rickety motel chair. He was halfway through cleaning his favorite sawed-off when the shrill buzz set his pulse on edge. There weren’t many people who had that number. Sam was in the next room, grabbing takeout. Bobby always called the landline. That left one person.

You.

And sure enough— Y/N was glowing across the screen in stark white letters.

He answered it in less than a second.

“Sweetheart?” he said immediately, already on alert. There was a siren wailing faintly in the background—far too close for his liking.

“Hey, I—uh…” your voice came through ragged, breathless, like you’d just been running or crying or both. “I need you to not freak out.”

Dean’s heart plummeted straight to the motel carpet. He was already out of his seat, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“Where are you?”

“I’m okay,” you rushed out, panicked and shaking. “I mean—I think I’m okay. Just scraped up. But Baby—Dean, I’m so sorry. The car—”

The line went blurry with static for a second, but he’d already heard everything he needed to.

A crash. An apology. The word “Baby.”

Dean didn’t even need directions. He’d find you—if he had to rip up every road sign in Kansas to do it.

He was gone before Sam even made it back with dinner.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The car was barely recognizable.

She lay crooked at the shoulder of the road, one headlight blinking like a dying firefly. The passenger door was warped in on itself, hood twisted open like a jawbone snapped mid-scream. And then there was you—sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, legs swinging like a schoolgirl trying to pretend she wasn’t bleeding through her jeans.

Dean didn’t speak. He just jogged across the gravel, dropped to his knees in front of you, and cupped your face in his calloused hands like you were spun from smoke and starlight.

You tried to joke. “Didn’t even dent the paint, right?”

His hands trembled. His jaw clenched. His lips parted like he wanted to say something that wasn’t a prayer.

But all he managed was, “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean, not really. Just bruised, maybe a cracked rib. EMTs checked me out. Said I was lucky.”

Lucky.

God. He’d never hated a word more. Because you weren’t lucky. You were a damn miracle. Breathing, warm, alive in front of him. That car could be rebuilt. But you?

You weren’t replaceable.

“I thought you’d be mad,” you admitted softly. The sentence cracked at the end, a jagged edge slicing through all your bravery. “About the Impala. I know how much she means to you.”

Dean’s thumb brushed over your cheek, sweeping away a streak of blood you hadn’t noticed. His eyes—green like a stormy coast, wild and wide—locked on yours with so much force it almost hurt to look back.

“Y/N,” he said, voice raw, “I love that car. You know I do. But if it was you or her…”

His throat caught. He looked down, like the truth was too big to stare in the face.

“She’s just steel,” he whispered. “You’re everything else.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was quiet in the motel room that night. You sat on the edge of the bed in one of Dean’s old t-shirts, the smell of leather and motor oil cocooning you like armor. Your ribs ached, your body throbbed in patches of dull heat and yellowed bruises. But you’d never felt safer.

Dean returned from the bathroom with a warm cloth, kneeling beside the bed like he couldn’t stand being even an inch higher than you right now. His fingers moved with reverence—cleaning your scrapes, pressing bandages, whispering apologies into the dips of your skin like your body was holy.

“Y’know,” he said, half-smiling, “I only let you drive her ‘cause I trust you more than anyone else.”

You gave a wobbly smirk. “Guess I broke that trust, huh?”

His hand froze on your thigh. His eyes darkened—not angry, but gutted.

“No,” he said. “Never.”

You blinked. “Dean…”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice was gravel and gravity all at once.

“I could’ve lost you,” he murmured. “And you’re sitting here worried about my car.”

You swallowed. The truth hit you like a tidal wave.

“You really mean that?”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you clearly. His hand slipped to the back of your neck.

“Y/N,” he said, slow and certain, “you’re not just some girl I date. You’re not a partner in the field. You’re…” He laughed under his breath, almost bitter. “You’re the thing I pray to when I’m bleeding out. You’re what I see when I close my eyes. You are my home.”

You didn’t say anything. You just kissed him—long, slow, desperate.

It tasted like grief and gasoline and relief all tangled into one. It tasted like everything he thought he lost, now found again.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later, with the light off and the storm moving in through the windows, Dean wrapped himself around you like a shield. His hand was splayed over your ribs, gently, as if he could take the pain into himself. His breath was warm against your hair.

“I’ll fix her,” he murmured. “She’ll run again.”

You nodded sleepily. “And me?”

He chuckled softly, kissed the nape of your neck.

“You don’t need fixing,” he said. “You’re my pride and joy.”

You turned over to face him, voice low and teasing. “Isn’t that your car’s title?”

His smile was so soft, it felt like a sunrise.

“Used to be.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[never-rxne]

─── modern au sevika: silly domestic headcanons

content warnings: none. just fluff. as promised :)

"i'll give you my love, don't think i could love you any more than this i like you, i like you so much god, i think i really love you why are you so handsome? i'm nervous how can i deserve this person who listens to me? it's you this is how i adore you." (G)I-DLE, "Give Me Your (주세요)".

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   sevika’s love language: being annoying. when she gets comfortable enough around you she’s basically like the eldest brother in an asian household who got into a top college so he gets the asshole pass. gets especially annoying when she wants attention but you’re preoccupied. motions to tip your bottle up as you’re drinking from it. randomly takes your book, flips through it, puts the bookmark in another place, then hands it back without a word. flicks you on the forehead, never hard enough to hurt, but when you get fed up and whine that it does, she’ll laugh and suddenly pull you close to plant a hard kiss where she flicked. also ruffles your hair aggressively as she passes by. if you protest about it she looks back with a raised eyebrow and the most innocent expression on her face that it just makes you laugh.

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   goes through your camera roll after a trip and insists that she took any photo that came out well even when she clearly did not. you both fully know who actually took the picture (you) but she starts these petty arguments purely to mess with you. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   when she gets sick you cook her favorite foods for her and she’ll follow you around the kitchen wrapped in a blanket, criticizing every choice you make in spices. 

“why don’t you just go lie down?”

“if you don’t add the cumin the curry will taste wrong.” 

“sevika, go lie down.” 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚   good at lifting but terrible with cardio, she gets winded after like 15 minutes. you started forcing her out of the house for daily walks through the park to build her stamina. grumbles but will go along without complaint if you promise to pay for the gelato on the way back home.  

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  will watch comedy movies without a twitch of the mouth but cackles at the most unfunny parts of horror/drama movies. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  has a sixth sense when it comes to keeping you out of danger. covers the edge of a table with her hand to keep you from banging your head. grabs you by the shirt and yanks you back before you walk into the street in front of a car. it's second nature for her. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  has the maddening habit of whistling anything she heard on the radio the day before. you don’t need to turn on 106.7 Light FM to know what classical track was playing because she’s been whistling the William Tell overture for the past hour while she fixes the sink in the kitchen. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  sometimes has dreams about something vaguely mean you did and sulks for the whole morning about it. it won’t even be a seriously bad dream—it would be something small, like you ignoring her when she tried to talk to you or the tone of your voice was irritable and it hurt her feelings. in the dream. refuses to tell you until like a week later when she mentions it in an offhand voice.

“THAT'S why you didn’t want the coffee i made that morning? are you serious?-”

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  incapable of giving compliments. her brain does not work that way. every sweet thing she wants to say to you gets lost in translation from her thoughts to her speech and she’ll end up saying something that would sound like a backhanded compliment at best, a downright insult at worst. you’ve gotten used to it though. when she says you look like a hairless cave rat you know she means you look so adorable she wants to put you in her pocket and carry you around. when she says you look like you just survived a train wreck you know she means she’s worried about how tired you are and wants you to rest. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  almost never initiates physical affection in the day (her pride won’t allow it) but in her sleep she refuses to let go of you. if you wriggle away from her unconsciously she’ll take it as a personal affront, and just pull you closer. even the hot summer weather won’t stop her from using you as her teddy bear. just keep the fan on and throw the blankets to the floor, she needs to feel your pulse beat against her skin to be able to fall asleep. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  your contact on her phone is just your full name without a profile picture. her contact on your phone is “hubby 💞” and her pfp is a ridiculously goofy 0.5 pic of her looking up at you that you took standing on the chair while fixing a lightbulb in the living room. she told you to delete it. of course it's the first thing you see when she calls you. 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚  she walks around a lot when she’s on a call with her parents. paces around the room absent-mindedly picking things up and putting them down in a different place. her voice changes when she’s speaking hindi. it gets softer, the edge in her voice when she speaks english is gone. you can always tell when she’s speaking to her father—her tone is more subdued, she keeps her eyes down, and for just a moment the uncertain young girl she once was is revealed in her expression. when she gets off the phone she goes back to what she was doing before, but she’s quieter than usual, lost in thought, her mood subtly darkened. when she calls her mother, on the other hand, you hear your name come up a lot in the conversation. sometimes she throws a glance at you across the room, and winks.

end note: the dash of angst at the end couldn't be avoided i'm sorry i'm sorry also sorry i didnt have the time to make this longer but... ~sevika fluff for the soul

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── STAY THE NIGHT...PLEASE ? ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where he knows he will never, ever get enough

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 984 ⌗ so much fluff, skinship, cuddles cuddles cuddles

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── wow jakeyn are taking big kid steps,,,they're having sleepovers :') & you best know poor jake is losing his goddamn mind over it. this one genuinely…made me so so so so SAD . bc theyre so goddamn cute oh my god. idk why i do this to myself at this point

“Jakeee, stop messing with the volume.”

You nudge his hand, the same one that’s been mindlessly clicking on the volume buttons on your remote for the past ten minutes.

Jake’s not even watching the movie anymore. He can’t. His brain is spiraling—just pressing the volume up, then down, then up again, as if that will somehow stop the absolute meltdown happening inside his head.

All because you just asked him to stay the night.

And for the past ten minutes, he’s been trying very, very hard to be normal about this. To be cool, calm, collected. To be chill.

But the truth is—he’s very much not cool, calm, collected. He is, in fact, deeply unchill.

Because you—the crush-of-his-life, almost-kinda-sorta girlfriend, glowing-in-this-dumb-living-room-TV-light person he’s obsessed with—just casually looked up at him, all soft and sleepy, and said:

“It’s late. You should just stay the night.”

Like it was nothing.

Like it wouldn’t completely wreck him.

“I—uh—” Jake stops clicking the remote. He straightens up a little, his arm slipping from around your shoulder so he can turn to fully look at you. And his eyes are wide, like a deer in headlights, “Are you…are you sure?”

You blink. “About what?”

“I mean—” He rubs the back of his neck. “About me staying the night. Are you, like, 100% sure? Because I can totally just call a car, it’s really not a big deal, I wouldn’t want to overstep, or like—”

“Jake—”

“—like, I mean, obviously I want to stay over—but it’s completely up to you, whatever you’re comfortable with, no worries at all—”

“Sim Jaeyun.”

“—I can literally be out of here in two seconds, just say the word, I swear—”

You roll your eyes before cutting him off the only way you know how.

You lean in and—

You kiss him.

His breath catches as your lips press against his—soft, warm, and completely, completely sure.

And Jake—well, Jake glitches.

Brain: gone.

Thoughts: none.

Air: optional.

Remote: still clenched in his hand like a lifeline.

You tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss, and squeeze his free hand with your own.

And all he can do is just sit there, his eyes immediately fluttering closed as he instinctively kisses you back, his mind trying to push away the fact that you—his most favorite person in the whole world, the literal sun in his sky—just kissed him to shut him up.

He should be embarrassed. Should be.

When you finally pull away, brushing a strand of his messy hair out of his face, your eyes are twinkling. “Yes, Jake. I’m 100% sure.”

Jake.exe has stopped working.

“I—uh—” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. Tries again. “Yeah. Okay. Cool.”

You fight back the smirk forming on your face, completely amused.

“So…you’ll stay?”

Jake nods rapidly, eyes wide.

“Yes. Yep. Totally. 100% staying.”

You grin, pressing one more quick kiss to his lips before standing up. “Good. Lemme find you something to sleep in.”

Jake barely processes your words before you’re gone, leaving him sitting there, remote still clenched in his sweaty palm, heart pounding.

He’s doomed.

So, so, doomed.

Jake wakes up to the smell of vanilla.

Which is confusing because—his room hasn’t smelled this nice since…well—ever.

His eyes blink open, slow and sluggish, and it takes a second for his brain to turn on.

Soft morning light spills through the curtains, warm and golden, and for a moment, he genuinely considers the possibility that he died in this sleep and went to heaven.

Because the first thing he sees—

You.

Oh.

Oh.

He’s not in his bed.

He’s in yours.

It takes him a full business minute to register that last night was, in fact, not a panic-induced dream. That he, indeed, fell asleep with you last night, curled under your sheets, legs tangled with yours, with your steady breathing lulling him into the best sleep of his life.

He remembers now—how the movie had finished and neither of you moved. How you both curled into each other on the couch, laughing at dumb jokes and whispering about everything and nothing at the same time. How he ended up brushing your hair behind your ear just to see your sleepy smile a little better.

How you kissed him with a soft grin and mumbled, “C’mon, Jakey. Let’s go to bed.”

And now here you are—leg fully draped across him, arms sleepily looped around his waist, your head tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck.

You smell like vanilla. And dreams coming true and fresh laundry.

Jake thinks he might be in love.

He also thinks that his arm is completely numb under your head—like, completely dead, pins-and-needles, might-need-amputation level of numb.

Does he move?

Absolutely not.

Instead, he tightens his hold on you, tucking you even closer to him—because the weight of you in his arms feels better than anything he’s ever known.

The shift makes you stir. Your brows scrunch the tiniest bit, your head nudging against his chest before you blink one eye open, tilting your face up to look at him.

“Go back to sleep,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep and entirely too endearing for Jake to handle, “...too early.”

Jake exhales a soft laugh, his fingers instinctively brushing the hair out of your face, “Sorry, pretty.”

You hum in response, already slipping back into sleep the second you bury your face back into the crook of his neck, clearly not planning to move for the next seven years.

Jake watches you for a long moment. The soft rise and fall of your shoulders. The way your hand is still curled against his side like it’s always belonged there.

He presses a gentle kiss into your hair, letting himself melt entirely into your warmth.

And he knows—he can never get enough.

So he doesn’t.

He stays over the next night.

And the one after that.

And every single night after that.

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[honeyryewhiskey]

⋆｡°✩ no mini-skirts allowed

synopsis ✩ teasing older!dean has become your favorite pass time here comes trouble intro page for more age gap drabbles

warnings ✩ 18+ descriptions of dean being horny, skimpy outfits, undressing, flaunting/teasing, restraint 1.8k words

Dean’s pushing fifty, he’s seen every kind of mini-skirt a woman could wear—denim, snakeskin, pleated, painted-on tight. And you—you’ve got one of each.

Every damn day, it’s something new. One morning, it’s a little plaid number, all flirty and preppy, barely covering a damn thing as you lounge on the couch. The next, it’s tight denim, hugging every curve as you bend over the Impala’s hood, pretending to be interested in whatever he’s fixing. Then there’s the snakeskin one—hell, that one nearly did him in. Slinking around the bunker like some kind of walking temptation, flashing him that wicked little smirk every time you caught him looking.

But today—it’s the black one.

The shortest, clingiest, most offensive thing you’ve ever worn. And it’s been a problem all day.

Maybe it’s because you’re practically flaunting it in his face. Maybe you damn well know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s because Dean knows if he was his younger self, he’d have spent the whole day with his hips locked between your thighs—but you’re a case. A spritely little thing he swore to protect, not defile. Either way, Dean’s been fighting a losing battle, his patience wearing thinner with every step you take.

And you’re enjoying every second of it.

This morning, when he stepped out of the gas station, he damn near dropped the bag in his hand at the sight of you bent over the Impala’s vinyl seat, half inside the car, digging around the floorboards. The fabric was stretched to its absolute limit, clinging to every dip and curve, and that little triangle of pink lace peeking out from between your thighs was down right offensive to his resolve.

Dean stopped dead, heat crawling up the back of his neck, his grip tightening on the plastic bag until the rustling of it was the only sound he could process. That sliver of lingerie was a goddamn bullseye, branding itself into his brain. His stomach clenched, jeans tightening around his cock far too much for a man standing in a parking lot at eight in the morning.

He ripped his gaze away, clearing his throat like that might dislodge the image from his brain. “You lose somethin’?”

You wiggled. Hips twitching as you hummed back, “mhm. My phone.”

Dean turned on his heel so fast it nearly gave him whiplash, muttering something about being careful as he yanked open the driver’s side door and tossed the bag on the dash. No way in hell was he standing behind you. Instead, he slid into the seat, reaching under the passenger side until his fingers curled around the cool, smooth shape of your phone.

“Here,” he grumbled, practically shoving it into your hand without looking at you.

You only smiled, sweet and cunning—like you knew just how much you’d wrecked his entire damn morning.

Later, while Dean was working on Baby in the garage, he was trying—really trying—to focus on the engine in front of him, but that damn skirt was making it impossible.

You’d perched yourself on a barstool a few feet away, flipping lazily through some magazine like you had no care about what you were doing to him. Legs crossed just enough to hike the fabric higher, teasing the soft skin of your thighs.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, tightening a bolt with more force than necessary. But his resolve slipped when your legs parted—slowly—before crossing again, like you were stretching just for the hell of it.

Dean caught the flicker of a smirk on your lips.

Son of a bitch.

He gritted his teeth, wrench working double time to keep his hands occupied. The garage was warm, but it wasn’t the heat making sweat gather at his collar. He knew better than to look again—knew damn well that every glance was just giving you ammunition.

But then you hopped down from the stool, the movement making the hem of that tiny excuse for a skirt ride up just enough to give him a peek at the curves of your ass. The little top you have on doesn’t help, the hem doesn’t even cover past your belly button. The plush skin of your stomach pokes out between the two pieces, another taunt. Another image burned into his brain that’ll creep back into his mind when he’s alone in his bedroom at night. 

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, dragging a hand over his stubbled jaw. You didn’t adjust the fabric, didn’t even pretend to be modest as you strutted past him like you hadn’t just shortened his lifespan by a couple years.

“That skirt’s a safety hazard,” he grumbled, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You didn’t even glance his way, just laughed, light and teasing, as you bent over to grab a drink from the cooler. The motion made the back of your skirt ride up again, and Dean had to snap his gaze to the ceiling before his self-control completely crumbled.

“Right,” you chided, cracking open a bottle of water. “You worried about my safety, big guy?”

Dean exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like that might shake the tension out. “Yeah,” he muttered, wrench clanking against the metal. “Somethin’ like that.”

But you heard the strain in his voice. And from the way you licked a stray drop of water off your lip, eyes meeting his like a damn challenge—you knew you had him closer to where you wanted him.

The breaking point comes when you crouch in front of a bookshelf in the bunker’s library, back to him, that godforsaken skirt dipping low. The waistband sliding down your back enough for the strings of your panties to come fully into view. Slung around your hips, material so thin Dean figures it’d take one pull to tear the lacey pink from your skin. 

Dean’s hands clench at his sides. His jaw locks. His restraint is hanging by a damn thread, and he’s too tired to keep up his composure.

“All right, that’s it,” he announces, voice gruff, decisive. “No more skirts.”

You glance back at him over your shoulder, blinking wide, innocent eyes. “No more skirts?”

His stare is locked onto you like a man staring down a loaded gun, like he’s already taken the hit but is too damn stubborn to go down. “You heard me.”

Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, turning to face him, that little smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “I don’t know what you mean, Dean,” you say sweetly, approaching him with your hands behind your back. “It’s just a skirt.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your head tilts, mischief gleaming in your eyes, and then—without breaking eye contact—you take another slow, deliberate step into his space. Close enough that the air between you turns thick. Close enough that he can smell the vanilla in your shampoo, feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“Take it off me, then.”

The words go straight to his growing bulge, all the heat in his body coursing to his core. He prays you don’t glance down, because he knows that triumphant little smirk will come back and he can’t do anything about it. 

Dean stills. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the instinct to grab. His gaze flickers over your face, lingering on your lips for a beat too long, before dropping—just for a second—to the hem of that damn skirt. At the lace still peeking over the waistband because you, apparently, are refusing to adjust it today. 

For half a second, you think he might actually do it.

His hand lifts—just an inch, just enough for his fingers to graze across your hip and naval, the heat of his fingertips burning against the soft exposed skin of your stomach. A touch so fleeting, so barely-there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Dean hears it. His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring.

And then—just as quickly—his fingers curl into a fist, like he’s physically snatching his own control back.

With a rough exhale, Dean steps back, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he's some damn teenager again, knocked flat by the first girl who ever looked at him like she wanted more. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying fast. “Go to your room,” he mutters, voice like gravel.

You laugh, soft and teasing, the sound sliding down his spine like a warm hand.  “Go to my room?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, fingers flexing at his sides. “Before I do something stupid,” he grits out. “This—” he motions between you, frustration rolling off him in waves, “can’t happen.”

His voice is strained, rough-edged, but his eyes—the heat in them, the way they drink you in like you’re something dangerous tells you that there's hardly any grit behind those words.

He’s not giving in yet, fine, but can't happen and won't happen are two different things. And besides, you’re sure as hell not done toying with him for the day. You tilt your head, all wide eyes and faux innocence, “Fine. I’ll take it off.”

Dean doesn’t even have time to process the words before your hands are slipping under the waistband, pushing the little black scrap of fabric down your thighs. The air in the room shifts, charged, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Dean’s throat works as he swallows hard, pulse hammering in his ears as the skirt pools at your feet. His gaze—traitorous, desperate—flickers downward before he can stop it.

Pink lace. Thin. Damn near sinful.

Heat licks up his spine, tightens his stomach, makes his skin prickle like he’s seventeen again, fumbling through the backseat of a car with a girl he has no business touching. Only this is worse. Because he’s not some dumb kid—he knows better. And yet, he still can’t look away.

Then you turn your back to him and bend at the waist. Slow. Deliberate.

Dean grips the back of the chair beside him like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity, fingers digging into the worn wood. His jaw flexes so tight it aches. His eyes watch shamelessly as you give him full view of everything he's craving. Skin he can't let himself touch, hips he wants to grip onto while he fucks some of that attitude out of you.

And you—like you don’t even feel the heat radiating off him, like you didn’t just wreck him beyond repair—saunter toward the door in nothing but that little top and pink panties.

At the threshold, you pause. With a wicked little smile, you toss the discarded skirt over your shoulder.

It smacks Dean square in the chest.

He catches it on instinct, fingers fisting in the fabric, knuckles going white. The soft material, still warm from your body, feels like a brand against his skin, like evidence of the war he’s losing.

“You are gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice low, wrecked.

You glance back at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing at your lips. “What a way to go, huh?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He just stands there, burning, watching you disappear down the hall, still gripping that damn skirt like it might be the only thing keeping him from chasing after you.

You never got that black mini-skirt back. 

tags ✩ @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @daylighted @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @cowboysandcigarettes @littlesoulshine @couturewinx @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @snowluvvie

[meganwritesfanfics]

Highway Don't Care (Dr Jack Abbott x reader)

Dr. Jack Abbott x reader

Word Count: 4002

TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of car wreck, discussion of injuries, angst. I know nothing about medicine.

Companion Story: As it Was

“Why are we not taking my truck again?” Jack yawned as he stretched out as much as he could in the cramped Prius. 

“Because someone decided to work a shift the day before we left for vacation, and is currently running on 2 hours of sleep.” Y/N laughed. “And you know that I don’t like driving the truck.” 

“You can put in a chest tube without blinking but you are still scared of driving a stick.” He laughed. 

“Will you just sleep, you are too sassy when you are sleep deprived and we will not survive the 3 hour drive if you keep acting like this.” 

“Fine! But I would be much more comfortable in my truck and not in your toy car.” He teased. 

“Jack, you forget I can murder you and make it look like an accident.” 

“You took an oath to do no harm Doctor.” 

“I think they would understand.” 

Jack smiled as he reached over and gently placed his hand on her check and she leaned into his touch. 

“I love you so much.” He said and her heart swelled. She and Jack had been together for over five years, but everyday she still felt so lucky to have him in her life. 

“I love you too you old grump.” She said as she turned to look at him taking him in. “Now sleep.” 

“As you wish” He teased quoting her favorite movie as he closed his eyes. 

Y/N giggled. 

She barely had turned back to look at the road, when she felt the impact of the car, and everything went black 

*******

Jack woke with a groan, every part of his body hurt. He had blood on the side of his head. 

“Y/N,” He grumbled as he tried to get his eyes to focus. All he could see was the shattered glass of the windshield. “Y/N” he said again, hoping for a response. He could feel the ever familiar sense of dread washing over him. “Please,” He whispered as he slowly turned to look at Y/N. 

His heart stopped as he saw her. Her side of the car was absolutely caved in there was shattered glass all over her lap and her face was covered in blood. And she didn’t look like she was moving or breathing.

“Y/N!” He screamed as he tried to reach over to her, but the seat belt locked him in place. “Fuck!” Quickly he reached down to his pants pocket to grab his pocket knife. Jack winched in pain as he could tell his wrist was fractured, but he pushed past the pain to cut through his seat belt and leaned over to check on Y/N. “Sweatheart, open your eyes for me.” He pleaded as he held out a shaking hand and felt for a pulse. 

“No,” He gasped when he didn’t feel one. “Y/N, don’t do this.” And in that moment he fully kicked into doctor mode. He quickly reached over and sliced through her seat belt, one hand supporting her head. “Y/N, come on, I need you to wake up.” The minute she was free Jack started to pull her out of the car. His whole body screamed with pain but he pushed it down knowing that Y/N needed him. 

The minute he got her out and laid down on the wet grass, he started compressions. 

“Come on Y/N.” He kept repeating. His wrist felt like it was on fire as he put all of his body weight into his hands for the compressions. 

“Is she alright?” A voice called. “I’ve called 911, they are on their way.” 

Jack didn’t respond, his whole focus was on getting Y/N’s heart pumping again. 

“The other driver barely has a scratch on him,” The bystander called. “He is loaded though, there are open cans of beer in his passenger seat.” 

Rage rushed over Jack as he looked up from giving rescue breaths. 

“What?” He growled. “He was drunk.” 

“Yeah the car reaks. Who the hell is getting drunk at 10am in the morning?” 

Jack’s whole body shook, and if the love of his life wasn’t hanging on by a thread, and his hands weren’t the only thing keeping her alive at that moment, he knew that he would be on top of that bastard ripping him to shreads. 

It felt like hours before he finally heard the sound of the sirens growing louder as they headed his way. 

“Do you hear that baby, the ambulance is on it’s way. We will be back to the Pitt soon, and Robby’s working today, he will fix everything.” He soothed mostly talking to himself trying to keep himself from spiraling. 

“Dr Abbott?” A voice said and he turned to see that he recognized the paramedics. 

“Y/N isn’t breathing and she currently doesn’t have a pulse, we need to keep going with compression and…” He started rambling a bit. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Don’t worry about me, we need to save her.” He snapped as one of them took over on compressions.

The exhaustion and pain was starting to catch up with him as they all loaded into the back of the ambulance. 

As he watched the parametric work on Y/N, Jack could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t survive it. 

Quickly he pulled out his phone, that miracuriously wasn’t damaged in the crash. He mindlessly called Robby his eyes never leaving Y/N’s pale form. 

“Brother, you haven’t even been gone from this place for a full 4 hours, what are you doing calling. I thought you and Y/N were heading up to the cabin this weekend.” Robby teased

“Robby,” Jack started his voice cracking. But he could hear the sound of the intercom calling in the incoming ambulance. 

“Listen I have to go we have…” Robby started. 

“It’s me, I’m coming in the ambulance.” Jack snapped. 

Robby froze. “What?” 

“Y/N and I got in a car wreck. Some drunk bastard hit us.” 

“Are you…” 

“I’m fine, but Robby, Y/N she’s… God… I had to do compression until the ambulance showed up, and she still not… I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“We will be ready when you get here. Jack. We are going to do all we can.” Robby said but he felt like he was going to lose it. Jack and Y/N were the closet thing he had to family. And he knew that Jack worshiped the ground that Y/N walked on. He had never seen someone more devoted to another person in his whole life. And he also knew that Y/N was incredibly good for Jack. The change that Robby had seen in his friend since the two had been together was amazing. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they lost Y/N. 

It only took the ambulance around 10 minutes to get to Pittsburgh Truma Medical Center and as they rolled in Jack could see the entire team waiting for them. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are not ok.” Robby snapped watching as Jack limped in, covered in blood. 

“Robby, she needs you, please don’t worry about me. Y/N needs you.” He pleaded and Robby had never heard his friend sound so broken before. 

Robby nodded. “Dr Mohan will you take Dr Abbott to a room to check him over.” 

“No Robby I need to be with her I need…” 

“Jack you know you can’t. You are hurt. Please go with Samira.” 

Jack looked over at Y/N who was in trauma one already and was surrounded by people working on her. 

Jack just nodded as he limped behind Dr. Mohan following her as she brought him into room.

“I think I’ve got a fractured wrist.” He started as he hoisted himself onto the gurney wincing with pain. 

“You are limping pretty bad, does your leg hurt?’ Mohan asked. 

“My leg always hurts.” He snapped back, he know he shouldn’t take everything out on Mohan, she was just trying to help. But all he wanted was to be back next to Y/N. He needed to be useful in some capacity or he was going to lose his mind. 

“Does it hurt more than usual?” Mohan continued. She had only worked with Dr. Abbott a handful of times, but she knew enough that he got defensive and standoffish when he was stressed. Not that he wasn’t always standoffish. 

He sighed. “Yeah,” He reached down and started to take off his prosthetic. “I think my prosthetic pushed back into my leg in the crash.” When he pulled the prosthetic off he coud see that there was quite a bit of blood. “Fuck.” 

While Mohan worked on Dr. Abbott, Robby was working on Y/N. She had broken ribs, and some internal bleeding from the wreck as well as a shattered femur. 

“I think she has a collapsed lung.” Langdon said. 

“Fuck,” Robby sighed. “Is Garcia on her way down?” 

“She’s stuck in surgery, she said she will get down as soon as she can.”

“I don’t know how long Y/N has to wait.” 

“I know boss, I’m going to put in a chest tube, give her the best chance. Have you checked in on Abbott?” 

“Mohan is with him.” Robby said and he didn’t know if he could face his friend again without having any good news to share. 

“He’s probably losing his mind, I know I would be if this was Abby.” Langdon said his voice cracking. Every doctor’s worst nightmare is their own loved ones coming in and their inability to help them. 

“Robby,” Dana said popping into the room. “They just brought in the other driver. .350 blood alcohol, small lacerations on his arms from the air bag, but that’s it.” 

“Fuck,” Robby sighed. “Do not let Abbott know he’s here, and we need to stick security outside his room, I’m sure the police will want to talk to him.” 

“How is she?” 

Robby just shook his head as he ran his hands over his face. “It’s touch and go, she needs surgery but everyone is tide up. I don’t know what he is going to do if we lose her.” 

“Hey, don’t think like that, not yet. That girl is a fighter, lord knows she has to be in order to put up with Jack.” Dana said and Robby cracked a smile. 

“Will you go check in on the other driver, if I go in there, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“And you don’t think I won’t smother him with a pillow. That’s our girl in there.” Dana said seriously tears in her eyes. “I’ll send one of the med students. I’ll make it Santos, Lord knows that girl could frighten a nun.” 

“Robby!” Langdon yelled as he burst out of the trauma bay. “She’s coding.” 

“Shit,” Robby ran in. “What happened!” 

“We had her back and stable, but then she started seizing.” 

“God call Nuro, she most likely had some severe head trauma. And where the fuck is Garcia!” 

After being patched up and told that he needed to stay off his leg for a few days to allow it to heal, Abbott sat in his hospital room, running through scenerio after scenarios of all the injuries Y/N could have because of the crash. And he kept cursing himself for picking up a shift the day before. If he hadn’t he could have driven, and it would be him in that room not his girl. Y/N didn’t deserve this. Not after putting up with him for so long. He knew he could be an absolutely menace to live with. Some days he would come home from work and not want to utter a word to anyone. Other times, he needed to hold her as close to him as possible. She was he anchor. She kept him going. 

“Jack,” A voice said and his head snapped up to see Dana making her way in. 

“How is she, is she ok?” He rambled his eyes wild. 

“Robby is still working on her, so is Langdon.” She sighed as she walked up to his placing her hand on his back, as she rubbed circles. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’ve got a fracture wrist, but Dr Mohan’s got this temporary brace on, so it feels better, and my prosthetic cut into my leg, but she’s got that wrapped up as well. She wants me to get a head CT but I…” 

“I read your chart Jack, but how are you doing?” She asked looking into his eyes. 

“I…” And finally the flood gates broke. “I can’t lose her Dana.” He sobbed. 

“Oh darlin’” Dana wrapped her arms around him. 

“She’s my whole world, and I know I don’t deserve her, hell she deserves far better than me, but I can’t lose her not like this. It’s my fault. I took the shift last night, and Y/N didn’t want me to drive because I didn’t get much sleep. And she won’t drive the truck so we had to take her stupid fucking prius. It should be me Dana.” 

“Jack Abbott, don’t you dare talk like that.” Dana scolded. “That girl loves you so much. She would be so angry at you talking like this. And you know that the only person whose fault this is, is that drunk bastard who hit you.” 

Jack’s head snapped up and his eyes were filled with rage. 

“Is he here, did they bring that fucker here.” 

“Jack, you know I can’t tell you that.” 

“Y/N could die, and that fucker doesn’t even have a scratch on him.” 

“Jack,” Robby said as he walked in the room.

“Michael, how is she?” 

Robby’s jaw clenched as he pulled a chair closer so he could sit in front of his friend. 

“No, don’t do that. Just tell me.” Jack snapped. “Is she alive?” 

“She’s alive, but it’s not looking good Jack. She came in with a collapsed lung, internal bleeding, her left femur is shattered and we think she has a brain bleed.” 

Jack let out a shaking breath. He knew he should ask more questions, but he couldn’t form words. 

“She is going to head up to surgery, did you want to see her before she heads up.” Robby asked. 

“Yes.” He said as he reached for his prosthetic. 

“Jack, let me get you a wheel chair. Dr. Mohan said…” Dana started. 

“I’ll be fine.” He snapped as he stood up wincing slightly from the pain but he limped his way out into the hall and to trauma one. 

The minute he laid eyes on her, the seasoned trauma doctor froze. He had seen so many horrific injuries in his time both in the service and as a trauma doctor, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing Y/N lying there looking lifeless. Tubes running all around her and the intubation tube running down her throat. She was still covered in blood and bruises but Jack couldn’t help but think that she still looked absolutely stunning. 

“Are you ok?” Robby said laying his hand on Abbott’s back.

“No. I won’t be until I know she’s going to survive this.” Jack sighed as he walked into room and in just a few strides was by Y/N’s side her cold hand tightly in his grasp.

“Y/N, I’m here.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You are going to be just fine. You have to be. You cannot leave me. What happened to you taking care of me when I turn senile.” He tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sob. Behind him he could feel the eyes of all the med students and nurses staring at him. But he didn’t care. “You have to pull through. You fight, you fight harder than you have ever fought before. You are so fucking strong. You can beat this. Just come back to me.” 

“We are ready for her.” Garcia said quietly. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I love you so god damn much.” He kissed her forehead again. 

The minute Y/N was wheeled out of the room, Jack felt his knees buckle and he collapsed. Luckily Robby was waiting behind with a wheelchair. 

“Thank you for all you have done for her Robby. You gave her a fighting chance.” Jack said. 

“Don’t thank me, it was your quick work after the wreck that really saved her.” Robby said as he started to wheel Jack out. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore… I want to go home. Why won’t you let me leave.” A voice yelled across the Pitt. 

Jack looked up to see what was clearly a very drunk man argueing with Ahmad. 

“That’s him.” Jack growled and he was up before Robby even had a chance to stop him. 

“Jack don’t!” Robby screamed. “Ahmad stop him!” 

Ahmad quickly turned just in time to catch Jack as he he lunged for the guy. 

“It should be you up there getting surgery. You hear me you piece of shit! How is it that you walked away with a few scratches, and the greatest woman I have ever known might die!” He screamed. “I should kill you.” 

“Jack stop.” Robby said as he finally reached him grabbing him and pulling him back. 

“He did this Robby. He’s the reason Y/N could die.” 

“I know, I know Jack. The police are on their way.” 

“It’s not enough, it won’t be enough if she dies.” 

“I don’t even know who you are man.” The guy slurred and for a moment Robby thought about letting Jack have at him. But just in that moment two officers came in, ushering the drunk man back into his room to ask him questions. 

“If she dies Robby, I swear to God I will kill him.” Jack said as he started to stagger. Robby quickly ushered Dana to bring the wheelchair back over. 

“You will have to get in line. Everyone in this hospital has already called first dibs,” Robby said trying to lighten the mood. “Now, we need to get you up for a head CT.” 

“I do not need a CT, my head is fine I…” 

“At the very least humor me, I would like to know if your ego shows up on that CT since you got such a big head.” Robby teased and for the first time all morning, Jack cracked a small smile. 

***********

It was hours before any new came about Y/N. Everyone kept checking in on Jack, trying to make sure he was staying preoccupied. They found on head CT that he has a slight concussion, but nothing that was concerning. Robby would pop in and run through all the patients they had so far, he knew that Jack needed to work in some capacity other wise it would drive him insane. Dana popped by while things were slow and the two of them watched their favorite cooking show, the one they used to watched together when Abbott used to work day shift. Even Langdon popped by a few times. 

Jack had just closed his eyes to get some rest when Dana rushed in. 

“Jack,” She said tears in her eyes. 

His heart stopped. “Did I lose her.” He gasped. 

“No they said everything went really well, and she is showing improvement. They are relatively confident she is going to pull through.” 

His head slumped forward and he sobbed. It felt like the weight of the world he had been holding in, waiting for it to fully crush him was finally lifted off. 

“Oh Jack,” Dana said as she ran to him pulling him into her arms. 

“She’s ok,” He sobbed. “She’s going to be ok.” 

“They said you can come up and see her, they have moved her into a private room.” 

In an instant Jack was reaching for his prosthetic. 

“No, hey, listen here mister.” Dana snapped. “Robby has insisted the only way you are getting out of this ER is if you use the wheelchair. He told me I had permission to use the soft restraints if you refused.” 

“Who knew you were so kinky Dana.” Jack laughed. 

Dana let out a loud laugh, there is the pain in the ass Dr. Abbott I know.” She smiled as she helped him into the chair. As they headed out Dana called out. “Princess your in charge until I get back.” 

Jack felt like his whole body was vibrating. All he wanted to do was see her. 

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Dana rolled him into her room and he laid eyes on her again, and he let out a loud sigh. 

She still was covered in wires and tubes and she still had the intubation tube down her throat, but her color was so much better. When he reached out for her hand it didn’t feel nearly as cold. 

“Hi baby,” He breathed and he pulled himself up so he could lean forward and kiss her forehead. “I’m here baby, you pulled through. I’m so proud of you.” 

Against all of the hospital prodocals, Robby pulled some strings and had another hospital bed added to Y/N’s room. He knew there was no way Jack was going to leave that hospital without Y/N by his side, and although Jack swore up and down he could just sleep on the couch, Robby wasn’t about to let one of the best Trauma Doctors throw his back out. 

He never left Y/N’s side the whole time she was out. And every day the doctors came back with good news. By day 3 they were able to pull the intubation tube out, just leaving her with cannula.

Jack was doing laps around the room, trying to get the strength back to his leg after being off it for a few days, when he noticed Y/N shift. Instantly he was by her side again holder her hand tightly. 

“Baby, Y/N, can you hear me.” He pleaded desperate to see her eyes open. 

Slowly Y/N’s eyes cracked open and she winced from the pain of the bright lights. She could feel the pressure of someone holding her hand as she looked to see it was Jack. The minute she saw him and saw the stitches on his head, she remember the car wreck. 

“Are you ok?” She asked looking him up and down. Her voice was rough and horse, and it hurt to talk. 

Jack smiled sadly tears in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you are the one laid up in a hospital bed, you shouldn’t be asking me if I’m alright.” 

“Car crash I…” She said trying to remember anything, but all she remember was Jack telling her he loved her and then the loud crash and darkenss. 

“Some drunk asshole hit us, don’t worry I have already talked to the police, that fucker is going to do some hard time.” Jack said and she could see the rage in his eyes. Carefully she lifted her hand up to place it on his cheek. “I thought I was going to lose you Y/N. You weren’t breathing when I pulled you out of the car. I couldn’t find a pulse. I… I have never been more terrified in my entire life.” He said as he leaned forward placing his forehead on hers. “You can’t ever leave me baby. I need you more than I could possible explain.” 

They stayed like this for a while, Jack finding comfort in the sound of her labored breathing. 

“Well, I don’t have a ride anymore, so I wouldn’t be able to leave even if I wanted to.” She teased. “Guess you are going to have to teach me how to drive the truck.” 

Jack laughed as he leaned down to kiss her.

I'm thinking about writing a second part about the readers' recovery. Let me know if you would be interested in reading it.

[demonic0angel]

Anger Management prompt where there is a car accident, except it's in space, between Team Phantom and The Outlaws.

(Lmaoooo this is so freaking funny bc my sister got into a car accident just a week ago. She’s fine tho, dw)

Part 2

“Fuck you!” The teenager immediately screamed. “Where the hell did you learn to drive?! Go back to school, fucking dumbass! You can’t even drive, you piece of sh—”

He was then pulled back by one of his friends, who grabbed him and dragged him back to their normal looking, definitely not broken spacecraft. A girl, dressed in a very distinctive style of goth, then made an awkward face, popped her gum, and said, “Sorry about him. He has really bad road rage.”

Jason’s eye twitched. “I can see that. So what’re we going to do now? You crashed into our spacecraft!”

“Well, you don’t have spaceship insurance, do you?” The girl drawled.

Jason was suddenly reminded of why he hated Tim Drake and Damian Wayne. They were goddamn insufferable, obnoxious, annoying, irresponsible teenagers.

Jason suddenly felt like he aged 20 years in an instant and wondered if this was what Dick felt like, being so old.

Roy patted him on the arm. “Want me to take care of this?”

Jason gestured for him to go ahead, already feeling a headache. Roy walked forward and smiled charmingly. “Hey, kiddo! So, it’s not a big deal that we got bumped into— happens all the time! But we just want to know where your parents are! And why you’re out in space! And how we’re going to get back to earth, since our shipped is now wrecked. You know what earth is, right? Earth is—”

“We know what earth is,” the same cursing teenager from earlier said with a snide tone, “We live there too.”

Roy and Jason blinked.

Then Jason spat, “Well, that doesn’t do us shit! We still have a wrecked spacecraft and we’re stuck here on this moon until you fix it! Don’t think you can just fly away! We’re stranded because of you brats!”

Kori then appeared out of the spacecraft and flew down to them all. The kids all immediately stopped, eyes wide in awe. She smiled and said, “Hello, children! Is there anyway you can help us? You did wreck our spacecraft after all.”

Immediately, in the most respectful tone Jason had ever heard, the two-faced brat from earlier then said, “I’m so sorry, miss. We didn’t think that anyone would be exploring this part of space out here, so we weren’t looking! We’re sorry. We don’t have the tools to fix it either.”

Jason’s entire face suddenly wanted to break out into the nastiest glare he could muster. So not only did this kid blatantly show favoritism to Kori (even if she was definitely super cool), he also couldn’t help at all despite the fact that he completely stranded them in space after being careless with a spaceship?

Kori frowned and they all shared a look. Now what? Jason could feel the migraine get more annoying and he almost wanted to pull out his gun just to kill some kids and feel better about his shitty fucking day, when the other teen, who had pulled away the feral brat, spoke up and said, “We can call Jazz!”

“Oh yeah! Jazz! Quick, Sam, call her up!”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “Who’s Jazz?”

“My big sister,” the brat said, “She’ll fix this.”

Great. Another annoying person who would only make his headache worse and possibly piss him off even further. However, just as he finished thinking this and sharing another annoyed look with Roy, a green portal opened up and a goddess stepped down.

She was tall, with a curvaceous figure wrapped in black and blue robes, as well as a fluffy cape around her shoulders. Her hair fell down over her back, colored red like fire and sunsets and tiger lilies, and her face was that of a statue, carefully designed, crafted, and admired by all. She was so beautiful and picturesque that the air around her seemed to glow like a halo.

Just looking at her made Jason’s sorrows disappear.

She blinked her fluttering eyelashes over her turquoise eyes and then asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

Her voice was so angelic that Jason didn’t even feel his headache anymore.

“Nothing now that you’re here,” Jason said dreamily.

“Oh my god,” Roy said, hand over his mouth as he stared at Jason in shock. Even Kori looked shocked and amused.

The boy with black hair shared a disgusted look with his friends. “I thought that would’ve been my line.”

[gdinthehouseee]

Freak: CHOI SU-BONG x READER

summary: you've been teasing your boyfriend all night, and he can't let you get away with that...

word count: 1176

tags: SMUT; no real plot, teasing, begging, dom thanos and sub reader, oral (m receiving), praise + degradation, unprotected p in v sex

ao3 link

It had started at dinner. The playful graze of your fingers on his thigh under the table. The way you leaned over to whisper in his ear, letting your lips brush his skin, just to see the flicker of restraint flash in his eyes. 

The car ride was unbearable. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other casually rested on your thigh—dangerously close to the edge of your dress. Every red light he leaned over just a little, brushing his lips over your bare shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. Yet, you kept looking over at him with that smirk like you were in control.

You weren’t.

And you realize it the second Su-bong slams the door shut behind you in your shared apartment. You barely have time to blink before he’s in front of you, towering, all sharp jaw and dark eyes. He doesn’t touch you at first. Just tosses his jacket over a chair and leans against the wall, watching you.

“Well?” His tone is bored, but his eyes burn. “Still got that brat mouth on you? Or are you ready to be a good girl now?”

You swallow. Step toward him.

“Su-bong,” you murmur, reaching for his belt, but he catches your wrists and pulls them up over your head, pinning you to the wall behind you.

“Oh no, sweetheart. You don’t get to skip steps.” His mouth brushes yours, but never quite lands. “You wanted to tease me? Now you beg.”

He lets go, and you drop to your knees. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your voice is breathless. “Please, Su-bong… let me taste you.”

“What was that?”

You look up at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted.

“I need you in my mouth. I want to make you feel good… please. Let me.”

He chuckles, low and dark, pulling his belt free with one swift motion. “That’s more like it.”

You undo his jeans, hands trembling slightly, breath catching when his cock springs free. He’s already hard. The way he looks down at you, chin tilted, hand running slowly through your hair, makes your whole body heat. You lean forward, kitten-lick the tip, just to tease. He groans and grips your hair.

“You tease me again, I’ll stop you.”

You whimper and obey, wrapping your lips around him, sinking down slowly. His grip tightens. His hips twitch.

"Fuck, just like that," he hisses, head falling back. “Look at you now. So eager to please.”

He guides you, slow at first, letting you get into a rhythm before the control shifts. His hand tightens, pulling at your hair. He sets the pace with his hips; rougher, deeper.

“You like being on your knees for me, don’t you princess?” 

“Mhmm.” 

You mumble around his cock, earning another groan from above you. You’re desperate at this point, mouth full, eyes watering—but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not when he sounds like that. Not when he looks at you like you’re his whole world and his favorite toy at the same time.

When he finally pulls you off with a gasp and a shudder, his voice is wrecked. He pulls you up off the floor with one arm around your waist, your lips still slick from him, your eyes glassy with need.

“Bedroom. Now.”

You stumble slightly as you move—knees wobbly, heart hammering—but he’s right behind you, crowding you forward with a hand firmly planted on your lower back. The second you step into the room, he doesn’t even bother shutting the door. He just grabs you by the wrist, spins you, and throws you onto the bed face down and ass up. 

“You wanted to be put in your place, didn’t you?”

You whimper, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. “Yes…” 

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice deeper and thick with lust. “I want you exactly like this.”

You’re still catching your breath, cheek smashed into the sheets, your dress bunched up at your waist, underwear already shoved aside. Your thighs tremble with need.

“You looked so fucking smug tonight,” he mutters, dragging the tip of his cock along your dripping folds, but never pushing in. “Touching me under the table like a little slut. Smiling like I wouldn’t bend you over the second we got home.”

“Su-bong—” you whimper, trying to push your hips back.

Smack.

His hand lands across your ass, hard enough to make you gasp.

“Did I say you could move?”

“Ah, I’m sorry—” 

“Mmm. Not yet, you’re not.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up just enough so you’re not buried in the sheets anymore.

“You wanna be used, princess?” He whispers against your ear. “Want me to ruin that little attitude?”

“Yes, please. Just fuck me already…” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Despite his comment, he spanks you once more and thrusts in all the way. One hard, deep motion that makes you cry out loud.

“Oh my God, Su-bong—”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give you time to adjust. Just slams into you again, and again, his hips snapping forward, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress with every punishing thrust.

“You wanted to play games,” he grunts. “Now take it.”

The only sounds are skin slapping, your moans, and his low growls of pleasure as he fucks you deeper—rough, unrelenting, obsessed with every noise he rips out of you. He lets go of your hair only to wrap that same hand around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your head swim.

“You’re gonna come like this,” he rasps. “Face down. Gripping the sheets like a good little slut.”

You can’t speak. You can barely breathe. You nod frantically, overwhelmed, sobbing his name, every nerve on fire.

“Beg for it,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Please—please let me come, I need…” 

“You need me to what?” His voice is cruel and sweet at once. “To fuck you harder? To fill you up?”

“Please.” You whine. 

He fucks you even rougher, each thrust driving you higher, tearing sounds from your throat that don’t even sound like words anymore.

“Come for me,” he growls, leaning over you, voice hot against your ear. “Now.”

You shatter—body jerking, toes curling, mouth wide open on a silent scream as the orgasm crashes through you. Your whole body trembles, collapsing under him.

He chases his own high a moment longer before he groans deep in his chest, burying himself inside you as he finishes with a growl that sounds more animal than human. He stays there for a moment, chest heaving, one hand still gripping your hip, the other softly brushing your back as he slowly pulls out. You’re still trembling, wrecked, speechless.

“You took it so well, sweetheart.” He’s a little breathless himself, but his voice is softer now; not punishing or teasing anymore. He kisses the curve of your spine. “My good girl now, huh?”

You nod weakly into the sheets.

“Good. Because next time, I won’t be so nice.”

dedicated to @flymetothexmoon as a thank you gift <33

taglist: @emmiesoverthemoon @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 @heartubeatusalon @ninnys 

[bxeckers222]

summary: paige was your bestfriend, and you’re only friends, right?

right?

word count: 10k

warnings!! cursing, angst

again, only my second time writing so don’t judge too hard, and if you have suggestions please please tell them to me !!

Paige is my best friend. everyone knows this, we’re inseparable.

except to me, it’s more than that.

the late night drives, the cuddling, the nicknames she has for me, and the always being around her.

i’m in love with her.

part of me thinks i always have been, like i was born to find paige bueckers.

we met when we were young, our parents are good friends. the first memory i even have of Paige was outside her house. it was burning hot, and i’d say we were about 4 years old at the time, playing in the pool. we don’t have that “we hated eachother at first” story, we really just clicked.

Paige knows i’m a lesbian. she’s always been supportive, even when i came out to her at the age of 13, her views, and the way she loved me never changed.

she’s never really been open about her sexuality with me, just a few “oh she’s hot” here and there, but then theres her celebrity crush on Steph Curry that makes me question everything she’s ever said.

she’s also never been open about her feelings towards me. there was the time we kissed in the 10th grade, but that’s normal for friends to do right?

right?

| present day. you’re 17 in your senior year of high school, in paige’s bedroom. it’s a Friday night. |

“hey babe can you hand me that pencil?” she asks me

there’s one of the nicknames i was talking about earlier.

i stand up from her desk i was sitting at and hand her the pencil, sitting down beside her on the bed, crossing my legs. she scoots closer to me, sitting just close enough just to make sure our arms were touching, a small gesture that meant more to me then she knew.

“doing homework on a Friday night? really?” i said, with a teasing tone in my voice.

“can’t help it, pre-calc final on Monday”

“i took mine today, need help?”

“please, I’m dying over here”

she handed me her notebook and pencil, her notes are a wreck. i can barely read her messy handwriting.

“well no wonder you’re struggling p, how do you even read this?” -i say with a laugh.

she rolls her eyes playfully and nudges my arm.

“please just help me, math is supposed to be your thing, not mine”

she was right, math was always my strong suit, hers being english. we balance each other out, one of the many reasons i love her.

“okay so, to begin with you need-“ i started.

“this is so boring” she retorts back. “let’s do something more fun, i don’t want to study anymore. i have all weekend”

“but Paige you-“ before i could get the rest of my sentence out, she’s speaking again.

“cmon let’s go to the park or something, i can teach you how to shoot basketball” she adds.

“paige, honey it’s almost dark”

“oh well, it’s okay. not dark yet” she pleads, before adding- “i’ll drive”

“fine, let’s go”

“great!” she says, as she kisses me cheek before she stands up, i think this caught her off guard as much as it did me. her cheeks turned a light shade of pink before her lips curled into a smile while she slipped her shoes on.

this is normal friend behavior. that’s all, right?

right?

she grabs one of her many, many basketballs and we walk downstairs, getting in her car.

we get in her car, and she turns her favorite playlist on. it’s the one she always has on shuffle, it’s titled “anotha banga.” you would think since she liked english so much she would atleast spell the words right, but i guess that’s just who she was. she didn’t care about small things like that.

i care too much about the small things, and that’s my problem. but really, the “babe” and kissing me is just friendly. right?

right.

i have to keep telling myself that.

she’s straight.

right?

right.

right?

we’re driving with the windows down, it’s the beginning of april so the weather is starting to get nice again, but still chilly enough to wear hoodies and sweats everywhere. it’s a nice evening, around 60 degrees outside, and not a cloud in sight, the sunset becoming more evident and as beautiful as always.

she’s, as beautiful as always.

she’s wearing a UConn hoodie since that’s where we’re headed in the fall, yes “we’re”. I told you we really are inseparable. along with that, it’s some grey nike sweats, and her basketball shoes from 10th grade, that she thinks it’s bad luck to get rid of.

“is it too cold for you? want me to roll the windows up?” she asked me

“no i’m okay, it’s perfect”

“if you get cold, there’s an extra hoodie in the back if you want it”

i wasn’t cold, i just wanted to feel closer to her. wearing her hoodie would do for now.

i reach into the back seat and grab the hoodie, slipping it over the plain black cropped t-shirt i was wearing.

she looks over at me with a smile, straightening the hoodie out as she drives.

“you look great, you should keep that one” she says as she pats my thigh

i can feel the blush creeping across my face. my cheeks are hot at this point

“really?” is all i can manage to say back

she lets out a small laugh and returns her focus on the road

“really, it looks good on you”

she always knows exactly what to say. my lips curl into a soft, genuine smile

“well thank you, you can have one of mine next time we go to my house. your choice”

“i’m holding you to that”

“i know, don’t worry i won’t forget”

we finally make it to the park, it’s daylight but barely. the evening sun hiding behind the trees, but still casting a glow on her face that makes my heart skip a beat. she’s always been beautiful, but it’s astonishing how good she looks right now. i’d kiss her right now if i could.

she walks me over to the basketball court, talking about how she can’t wait to teach me the proper shooting form, how she can’t wait for me to watch her succeed in college ball next year.

i’m just as excited for her. i can’t wait to go through the next chapter together.

together?

you know what i mean.

we make it to the court and she immediately starts shooting, all of her shots sinking effortlessly.

“baby c’mere, your turn”

nicknames again.

i walk over to her and she positions herself behind me, handing me the ball

“okay so what you’re gonna do, is plant your feet and when you release the ball, push with your left wrist”

she makes it sound and look so easy

“paige i don’t think i can do it”

she laughs again, moves her hands to mine, helping me hold the ball how i’m supposed to

“you got it, i know you do”

she takes a step back and crosses her arms with a smile, like she’s proud of what she’s watching. she’s always wanted me to get into basketball with her, but my thing has always been soccer. it’s convenient, we can always go to each others games because our seasons don’t collide. and trust me, i’m at every single one of hers, and she’s at every single one of mine.

i shoot the ball, and as expected, it bounces off the rim and i miss.

Paige just laughs, a whole-hearted laugh, one that instantly made me laugh too.

“Paige stop i’m embarrassed” i say with a fake pout.

“no no it’s okay really” she says breathlessly, still laughing her ass off “you dummy, you’re shooting with both hands- let me help you again”

she gets back behind me and positions me again, her hands lingering on my waist for a little longer than normal before she steps back again

“you got it this time, 100%” she smiles and nods before adding, “i believe in you”

i take a deep breath and shoot the ball again, this time it swishes through the net.

i turned around and locked eyes with her, honestly i had never seen her so excited in my life. not even that time when she wrapped a string around my loose tooth and tied it to a door knob and slammed it. yes it hurt, but yes it worked.

i smile at her, and she smiles back.

“well paige, looks like you have some competition. better watch your spot on the UConn team next year”

she walks over to me and wraps her arms around my waist, holding me close to her, and speaks with a warm tone.

“not even close, but that’s was a good shot if it makes you feel any better”

“it does actually, thank you”

there’s a silence, not an awkward one. it’s only silent because i caught the glance of her looking at my lips, then back up to meet my gaze again.

my cheeks flush red, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“you’re beautiful, y’know that?” she says as she brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear

i take a moment to gather my thoughts. should i say it?

no. might make things awkward.

what if it doesn’t?

i should say something.

“paige i..” i start, but then stop myself.

“you what?”

silence.

my breathing speeds up and my heart drops to my stomach.

i need to say it.

it’s eating at me.

i have to say it.

“i love you. you know that right?”- i finally speak up.

“and you know i love you too, right?”

i nod my head. - “yeah. i know”

silence again.

come on idiot. say it.

i open my mouth to talk again and she cuts me off - “you don’t have to say anything else. i know what you mean. and i promise i feel the same way”

“you do?”

she lets out a small laugh, “was it not obvious?”

“god paige i thought i was the only one feeling this way”

“you idiot, i’ve loved you for so long”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“i thought i was obvious enough”

i don’t know what took over my body in that moment, but whatever it was, im glad it did.

i leaned in and kissed her, wrapping my arms around her neck. holding her close to me like she could disappear any moment. months, years of built up feelings all slipping away between our lips.

it was slow at first. gentle, sweet. then she moved her hand to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss.

she pulled away first, and rested her forehead against mine, i watched as she smiled, and still held me close.

“wanna stay with me tonight?” she asked

“of course i do, is that even a question?”

she kissed my forehead and grabbed my hand, squeezing it gently as she led us back to her car

after we get in her car, she leans her head back against the seat and looks at me, still holding my hand, that same beautiful smile playing across her lips that i’ve seen all day.

“paige?”

“mhm?” she says back quietly

“there better be a lot more kissing now that we’ve established this”

she nods her head and laughs- “oh you know it”

she leans over and gives me a quick kiss before she starts the car to head back.

“oh and one more thing” she adds

“what is it?”

“can we stop by your house so i can pick out that hoodie you promised me?”

“you’re serious?”

“of course i am, you have one of mine, so it’s only fair that i get one of my girlfriends hoodies too”

“girlfriend?”

“shit, you know what i meant, but only if you want”

“then it’s official paige, you’re my girlfriend”

“i like the sound of that”

“yeah p, me too”

we drive to my house and she picks out a grey hoodie with my soccer number on it, and she wasted no time putting it on.

[rafeys-sweetie]

𝐈 𝐁𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬’ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

(I always want you when I’m finally fine.)

Part one - here

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of silence. Fourteen nights of staring at the ceiling, your phone glowing next to you with messages you didn’t open.

| Rafe [1:14 AM]: “Please, just talk to me.”

| Rafe [7:49 AM]: “I fucked up, I know. But you mattered. You still do.”

| Rafe [10:02 PM]: “You’re not answering. Are you okay? Please just say you’re okay. Please baby.”

You never responded. You couldn’t.

Because the second you opened your mouth, it would all come spilling out: the pain, the betrayal, the part of you that wanted to scream at him and the part that still wanted to curl into him and believe it meant something.

And when the gifts started showing up — first a necklace you’d once admired in a store window, then your favorite perfume, then a leather-bound journal you’d mentioned needing — you didn’t know whether to cry or throw them all in the trash. You left the boxes stacked in the corner of your bedroom. Untouched.

You didn’t want his apology to come in the form of expensive distractions. You wanted the truth. You wanted to believe he could say it to your face.

But he didn’t. Not right away.

When you blocked his number, you started getting calls from random ones. Unknown. No voicemails, just silence. Like he couldn’t bring himself to say anything unless he knew you’d hear it.

You didn’t tell anyone.

How could you?

Kie would’ve lost her shit. Pope would’ve judged you before you finished the sentence. John B would’ve looked at you like you were someone else entirely. And JJ—

You couldn’t bear the thought of JJ knowing. Of the look he’d give you. Not anger. Disappointment.

So you kept it buried. Pretended the dull ache in your chest was nothing. Told everyone you were fine.

And when Kie suggested a night out at The Wreck, you finally said yes. You needed air. You needed music and drinks and people. Even if your hands still shook when you poured your makeup into your bag and zipped your jacket.

Damn,” JJ said when you climbed into the back of Kie’s car. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been off.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, smiling too tight. “Just tired.”

Kie glanced at you through the rearview mirror but didn’t push.

The bar was warm, crowded, familiar. Shots were poured, beers cracked open, and you laughed a little — even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Then you saw him.

Across the room, with Topper and Kelce. Leaning against the bar in a white button-down, hair pushed back, like he hadn’t been unraveling your life thread by thread for weeks.

Rafe.

He saw you almost instantly. You tried not to look back, but you felt it — the weight of his stare, the tension in his jaw. His drink stayed untouched in front of him.

JJ noticed too. “Ignore him,” he muttered, steering you toward the pool table. “Fucking Cameron’s not worth the oxygen.”

You laughed a little, nodded, played along. But your heart wasn’t in it. Rafe’s eyes stayed on you all night. Quiet. Steady. Like he was waiting for something.

Eventually, it got to be too much.

Your throat was tight. Your eyes burned. You didn’t want to cry in a bar bathroom.

“I left my wallet in the car,” you told Kie as she threw back a tequila shot. “Can I grab your keys?”

“Yeah, sure. In my jacket, right pocket.”

JJ handed it over. His brows were pulled together like he didn’t quite believe you. “You good?”

You smiled. Lied. “Yeah.”

You walked out the back door alone.

The air hit your skin cold and sharp. You crossed the lot toward Kie’s Jeep, trying to breathe. But just as your fingers brushed the handle—

A hand clamped over your mouth.

You screamed into it — fought, twisted — until the voice hit your ear:

“Hey—hey—it’s me. It’s just me. It’s Rafe.”

You froze. His hand loosened.

He turned you around gently, both palms up now like he was trying not to scare you.

“Jesus,” you snapped, your voice shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I—I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I just—I needed you to listen.”

“You could’ve texted. Called. Oh wait—YOU DID. And I blocked you for a reason.”

“I know,” he said, breathless. “I know you hate me. But I didn’t know you were there that night. I didn’t know you heard me. I swear, if I’d known—”

“You would’ve what?” you shot back. “Lied better?”

“No.” His voice cracked. “I would’ve never said that shit. I was drunk and I was pissed off and—fuck—yeah, I was being a coward. I was scared. Scared of what people would think. Scared of my dad. Of Topper. Of everyone. But not of you.”

You didn’t speak.

He stepped closer. “I was ashamed, yeah. But not of you. Of me. Of what it meant to feel this much for you and still hide it.”

“Don’t do this now,” you said, but your voice was thin.

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A silver ring. Thin. Simple. A wave etched into the metal.

“It was my mom’s,” he said quietly. “Before she died. She used to wear it when she took me to the beach. Said it helped her feel grounded.”

He pressed it into your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“I’ve never given it to anyone. Never even taken it out of the house. But I’ve been carrying it since the day you left.”

Your chest caved. Tears pressed behind your eyes.

Rafe leaned forward. Pressed his lips to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For what I said. For how I made you feel. For all of it.”

You didn’t move.

He cupped your cheek. Kissed you. Soft at first. Then deeper. Slower. The way he used to when it was just you and him and nothing in the way.

And then, without words, he opened the back door of his truck and pulled you inside.

Your back hit the seat. His mouth was on yours again, desperate now, hands everywhere your waist, your thighs, your hips. His voice broke against your lips.

“Let me fix it.”

He dropped to his knees on the truck’s floorboard, tugging you down with him. Your skirt rode up as he spread your legs, dragging your panties off like he couldn’t bear another second between you.

“Let me say sorry the only way I know how,” he breathed.

You gasped when his mouth met you, slow at first, then deeper. Tongue working in tight, practiced motions, hands gripping your thighs to hold you still. He knew you. Knew how to touch you. Knew how to make your back arch, your fingers tangle in his hair, your body tremble with every flick of his tongue.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Your back hit the seat. His mouth found yours again rough now, teeth dragging over your lower lip, fingers sliding beneath your panties.

“Say you still want me,” he whispered.

“I’m still mad,” you said, breath hitching as his thumb found your clit.

“I know,” he murmured. “Let me say sorry.”

He slid down, settling between your legs, spreading you open like he was starving.

He groaned when your hips bucked. “God, I missed this pussy. You taste the same. Better.”

Your hands tangled in his hair, body arching into his mouth. You moaned his name, and he growled hands gripping your thighs, keeping you still as he devoured you.

It was worship. Desperation. Guilt and love and hunger all tangled into one.

And when you came thighs trembling, breath shattering he didn’t stop. He kissed his way up your stomach, up your chest, over your collarbone, until his forehead was pressed to yours and his hand was still wrapped around the ring he gave you.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean what I said. I swear to God, I’ll never hide you again.”

You looked at him flushed, pupils blown, voice broken and saw the boy beneath the Cameron name. The one who once kissed you in his bed and said you made him feel human.

You didn’t say anything. Just kissed him again.

Fifteen minutes later, you walked back into the bar.

Hair tousled. Lip gloss smudged. Kie raised an eyebrow.

JJ narrowed his eyes. “You good?”

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I am.”

[emilsendo]

Nsfw! Alphabet

Switch!Sanzu Haruchiyo X Dom!Male Reader

Type: Smut

Request: nope

Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Obsession themes, heavy kink energy, toys, psychopathic behavior, messy, rather rough sex, swearing, degradation, stimulation, swallowing, (mentions of blindfolding, tying up,), risky sex, Painplay! Breathplay! KnifePlay! Ownership! Corruption and control! Oral(receiving and giving), anal, etc.

A — Aftercare

Either clingy or completely silent. Depends on how deep you pushed him. If he’s totally wrecked, he’ll curl into your chest and mumble things like, "Don’t leave me." But other times, he just lights a cigarette with trembling fingers, staring at the ceiling, still shaking from it.

B — Body Part

On you: Your voice. He gets instantly hard when you growl his name, especially if you’re holding his throat or whispering filth in his ear.

On himself: His scars. He secretly gets off on you tracing them with your fingers or tongue—makes him feel claimed.

C — Cum

A total cumslut. He wants it in him, on him, multiple times. He’ll say things like, "Mark me. Paint me. Fill me."

He also gets so turned on when you cum on his tongue and make him swallow without breaking eye contact.

D — Dirty Secret

He’s fantasized about you tying him up, blindfolding him, and leaving him at your mercy all night. He craves the helplessness—but only when it’s you. You’re the only one he trusts enough to let him fall apart.

E — Experience

Plenty. But it’s all meaningless until you. Sanzu knows how to fuck, but you’re the only one who makes him feel. That’s why he can’t stop crawling back.

F — Favorite Position

Either bent over something expensive (desk, car, bar counter)—or riding you while holding a gun to his own head, moaning like a psycho. He’ll say, "Bet you’d hate losing me, huh? Then fuck me like you mean it."

G — Goofy

Almost never. But he’ll laugh during sex—not at you, just from the sheer overstimulation. It's unhinged, breathless laughter between broken moans. That "I’m losing my mind and it feels so fucking good" type.

H — Hair

Trimmed but often messy. He doesn’t care until you grab it. Pull it, fist it, shove his face down—he’ll melt instantly.

I — Intimacy

Hidden beneath obsession. Sanzu doesn’t say "I love you"—he proves it by letting you destroy him. Letting you see his scars. His tears. His need. Intimacy for him is you holding him after he breaks.

J — Jack-off

He does—but it’s always violent and fast, like he’s angry at himself for needing it. He’ll send you videos of it, though—bit lip, flushed face, whispering your name while choking on his own moans.

K — Kinks

Breathplay & Knifeplay – Loves the fear. Loves the trust.

Ownership – Collars, marks, your name on him. He belongs to you.

Degradation – "You’re just a needy little cumdump, huh?" He’ll nod.

Corruption & Control – Letting go. Letting you make him yours.

Painplay – Scratches, slaps, overstimulation. Bruise him up. He begs for it.

L — Location

Private—but dangerous. He’ll drag you to his penthouse, his office, the backseat of a Bonten car, just to get ruined. Something about expensive surroundings makes it hotter when he’s reduced to a shaking mess.

M — Motivation

You saying "on your knees." You grabbing his jaw. You giving one command in that voice—and he’s gone.

Sometimes he’ll provoke you on purpose just to get pinned and punished.

N — No

Won’t play submission games with anyone else. You’re the only one allowed to top him. If someone else tries? Blood will be spilled.

O — Oral

Insatiable. He gives the nastiest, messiest head you’ve ever had. Sloppy, wet, filthy sounds. Loves when you grip his hair and use his throat.

Receiving? He’ll cry if you tongue him while fingering him open slowly.

P — Pace

With you in charge? He wants it slow and deep—make him feel owned. But if you ever let him take control (rare), he rides you fast and wild, making eye contact the whole time with that high-pitched moan of his.

Q — Quickies

Yes. Before Bonten meetings. Right after a hit. In alleyways. He lives for the rush and gets off harder when there’s risk involved.

R — Risk

High. He doesn’t give a shit about getting caught—but he does love the thrill of almost being punished. The dirtier the setup, the better. He’ll say, "We could die right here and now—and I’d still beg you to fuck me first."

S — Stamina

Unreal. He’ll go three or four rounds if you let him. Keeps asking for more. You’ll finish and he’ll say, "You done? I’m not."

T — Toys

Owns a drawer of toys. Vibes, plugs, ropes, gags, even custom cuffs with your name engraved. He’ll bring them out and pout: "Please? Want you to use me tonight."

U — Unfair

Extremely. He’ll edge you just to laugh. Send you voice notes of him moaning when he knows you’re at work. The brat energy is high—but he loves when you punish him for it.

V — Volume

Loud. Not just moans—he whines, cries, gasps, begs. If you fuck him hard enough? You’ll get that broken sob where he can’t even say your name anymore.

W — Wild Card

He wants to be filmed. Not for anyone else—just for you two. He gets off watching himself cry and beg on camera. Sometimes he replays the video while jerking off and moaning your name into his pillow.

X — X-Ray

Tight as hell, even after years of chaos. He squeezes around your cock like he never wants you to leave. His body responds to you only. You stretch him out so good he gets dumb and speechless.

Y — Yearning

Obsessed. He watches you like prey and worships you like a god. Gets needy after fights—will crawl into your lap, ride your thigh, whisper, "Remind me I’m yours."

Z — ZZZ

Only sleeps if you're there. Wrecked and satisfied, he clings to your chest and falls into a coma. If you try to leave after? He’ll grab your wrist in his sleep and growl, "Mine."

[missbellie]

Redline, and...GO!- B.E

Synopsis: You and your ex-girlfriend are illegal car racers. Your breakup wasn't very amicable due to both of your toxicity, so you've avoided competing with each other. But apparently fate has other plans for you.

Pair: B.e×F!Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: jealous billie, cursing

Style: Fanfic | Imagine | Headcanons

Part: part 1 ⇽ part 2 ⇽

For two weeks, you couldn’t compete—too busy fixing the wreck Billie fucking Eilish left you with.

“I wanna kill that girl when I see her,” you muttered, scrubbing grease off the hood. “Do to her skull what she did to my car.”

“That bad, huh?” a familiar voice chimed.

You turned fast—and froze.

“Alice?!”

You dropped the sponge, running toward her. The blonde, hair in a messy braid, smiled and caught you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground.

“Hey there, baby girl. How’s the warzone?”

You pulled back and gave her a once-over, still stunned. “You’ve got a motorcycle now?!”

She leaned casually against the beast of a bike parked behind her. “A lot’s changed. Wanna catch up?”

You didn’t hesitate. She handed you a helmet, and seconds later, you were clinging to her back, the engine roaring beneath you.

...

Later, at your favorite bar—John’s in Jason’s—you were deep into your second beer.

“I started working on my license, took the risk, and boom—freedom,” Alice said, grinning behind the bottle.

“And the tattoos?” you asked, eyeing the ink crawling up her forearm. “You look good, girl.”

“Look who’s talking, hot piece.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue. “Shut up. What brought you back?”

She leaned in a little, smile soft. “Missed this place. Missed you. And shit got messy where I was. Coming home felt right.”

You smiled and lightly kicked her shin under the table. “That’s your second-best decision after getting the bike.”

She laughed. “Well, I know you’ll make it worth it.”

Your cheeks heated, but you waved her off. “Don’t start.”

She sipped. “So. You and Eilish? I heard things went nuclear.”

You groaned. “We broke up, like, two or three years ago. It was toxic. We were dumb, selfish, angry… and in love. But mostly just angry.”

“Sounds familiar.” Alice stretched, sitting awkwardly, legs spread like always. “What about now? I heard something about sabotage?”

You gave her the rundown—how Billie’s car choked thanks to a little unauthorized tweaking, how she retaliated by screwing with your steering, and how you ended up kissing a damn tree.

Alice was laughing so hard she nearly spit out her beer. “She really went full psycho?”

“Full. Fucking. Psycho.”

“And your car’s okay?”

“Now it is. Barely. I want to shove the bill down her throat.”

You stood up to pay. “I got this round.”

“No way, I’m paying,” Alice said, standing too.

You pushed her back down. “Relax. I got it.”

But when you turned toward the counter—you saw her.

Billie. Sitting on a barstool like a storm cloud with legs. Staring at you like she was planning your funeral. Her hand gripped her glass so tight it looked like the thing might shatter.

You walked up anyway, like you hadn’t just stepped into a landmine.

And then—there she was beside you.

“You into bikers now?” she asked, head tilted, voice dipped low and mocking.

“Better than dishonest car racers,” you snapped, handing your card to the bartender.

She laughed bitterly, eyes never leaving you. “Fuck you. What’s she doing here?”

“What do you care? Mind your own fucking business, Eilish.”

She stepped closer. You felt her breath. “Keep saying my name like that and I might actually start thinking you miss me.”

“God, you’re disgusting. Fuck you.”

Then—an arm slipped around your shoulders. You instantly relaxed at the familiar scent of wood smoke and leather.

“Take it easy, Eilish,” Alice said, pulling you in closer. “She’s not into it.”

Billie’s eyes dragged over her with disdain. “Didn’t realize I invited your sniffy little ass. But hey—welcome back, Garfield.”

She turned her back, slapped some cash on the bar, and walked off like she hadn’t just lit a fuse.

You exhaled slowly, the burn of her presence still clinging to your skin.

“Still got that magic, huh?” Alice said beside you, calm as ever.

You didn’t answer. Just took your drinks, and followed her back to the table.

But inside? You were still on fire.

...

The sun was starting to set when Alice heard the knock on her apartment door—sharp, impatient, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t in the mood to talk. She wiped grease off her hands, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and opened the door.

Billie Eilish stood there, solo, hoodie zipped up to her chin and jaw tight.

Alice blinked once, then leaned on the doorframe, calm. “Well, if it isn’t the storm in eyeliner.”

“Where is she?” Billie asked, skipping the bullshit.

“Not here.” Alice raised a brow. “Why?”

Billie didn’t answer right away. Her fingers twitched at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them. “What are you doing back?”

Alice tilted her head. “Same thing you’re doing. Breathing. Existing.”

“You don’t just show up after years and start hanging around her like nothing’s changed.”

“She invited me back in,” Alice said, arms crossed. “You didn’t exactly leave the door open for her, from what I heard.”

Billie’s eyes flared. “Don’t play this game. I know you liked her. Back then.”

Alice smirked. “She was always important to me. Still is. I don’t think of her that way…” She let that sentence hang, letting Billie exhale just a little—before twisting the knife.

“…But if you care that much about her, Billie, maybe you should stop acting like you don’t.”

That hit.

Billie’s mouth opened, then shut. Her eyes dropped for a second before locking onto Alice’s again, burning.

“You don’t get to tell me shit.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Alice said coolly. “I’m just pointing out what’s already obvious. You’re here. Alone. Angry. Jealous. Doesn’t look very casual to me.”

Billie stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest now. “I’m warning you—”

“No,” Alice cut in, voice low and even. “I’m warning you. If you’re gonna play with her head again, you’ll have to go through me first. And you remember how that went last time, don’t you?”

Billie’s nostrils flared, but she said nothing. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her jaw working like she had a thousand things to say but couldn’t settle on just one.

Alice leaned in a little, like she was daring her to move. “You still love her, huh?”

Silence.

Then Billie scoffed, stepping back with a bitter laugh. “You’re real cocky for someone she almost forgot.”

Alice shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe. But she remembers me now.”

Billie stared at her a beat longer, then turned and walked away without another word.

Alice watched her disappear down the stairs and murmured, mostly to herself, “Still the same Billie. Still can’t say what she really wants.”

jealous billie, QKQUQKWHWBWHAIWUAU I LOVE IT

hope you liked it babies, xoxo!

[kasdan]

gf headcanons

marvel masterlist | request rules | ko-fi

summary: gf headcanons with marvel women for pride month<3

characters: carol danvers, valkyrie, natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, yelena belova, lady loki

reader: f!reader

warnings: yelena's part is bsf hcs instead of gf hcs since she's canonically aroace, there is a nsfw part for each (minus yelena) that will be marked, i think the sexualities are a mix of actual canon and my canon? idk but they're canon to me✌🏼,not proofread, the image of valkyrie should be straight up illegal ty and gn

a/n: happy pride everyone! i decided to celebrate by writing gf headcanons for some of my favorite marvel girls, and somehow i've turned just the sweet hcs they were supposed to be into them also being spicy so there's that lmao i hope you enjoy<33

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓁 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈

sexuality: bisexual

{SFW}

likes to go out on walks with you in the morning

even if you're not the biggest morning person, she's still dragging you out of bed in order to get outside

gives you piggy back rides back to the house after the walk when you're too tired to walk back

on the occasional occurrence that you're both up before sunrise, you'll sit on the roof together to watch the sun rise in the horizon

you both try camping once and it was going okay until a bear ate all your food in the middle of the night and it started raining shortly after so you had to pack up and go home

really likes the feel of your hand in hers

throughout the time you were in the woods, she wouldn't let go of your hand, even when you were sleeping

if you weren't the adventurous before her, you are when you're with her

keeps a blanket in the car for if you fall asleep while you're both out late

road trips are a must for her

she loves driving around not having a destination in mind and just going until you find something cool

will have dance parties in the living room and compete on who can put together the stupidest outfit

definitely has the drunk karaoke vibes, just saying

{NSFW}

she knows exactly what to do to get you riled up

walks around with tight crop tops and shorts

teases you for being 'needy' when she knows that she's making you that way

makes it her mission to make you so needy that you can't help but grind on her

loves watching you lose control on her

will grab your jaw to force you to look at her

if you try to keep quiet she'll force your mouth open so she can hear your moans

will sit back and watch you squirm around on her lap until you plead for her to help you

you regret saying anything when she looks at you with that smirk on her face moments before she completely wrecks you

kisses the tears away when they roll down your cheeks at how sensitive she's making you

encourages you that you'll be able to do "just one more"

it's never 'just one more'

never pushes you too far, only far enough to where she knows you can take it

loves having you sit on her face so she can feel your body writhe against her

will force your thighs down onto her when you're hesitant to release your entire weight onto her

knows all the right spots to lick and twist her tongue on to get all her favorite reactions out of you

you could suffocate her to death like this and she would die a happy woman

𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓀𝓎𝓇𝒾𝑒

sexuality: bisexual

{SFW}

will be the one to spoil you rotten and get you whatever you want

is a sucker for forehead kisses

whether it's you giving her one or her giving one to you, she just loves how you show affection that way

will fuck anyone up if they try to lay a finger on you

literally if she hears anyone breathe wrongly in your direction, they're getting their ass beat

likes to be the big spoon while cuddling so she can hold you

won't let you leave the bed if you try to get up from her grasp

will tighten the hold she has on you so you're physically not able to get up

you have to tell her that if she doesn't let you go that you will end up peeing on her

even then she's still reluctant to let go of you

all your showers are together

she claims it's to 'save water', but she just wants to be close to you

gives you random massages when she thinks you look like you need them

thinks it's hot if you want to spar with her

she obviously goes easy on you, finding your face cute when you're trying to focus on your moves

{NSFW}

don't be mistaken for you being spoiled to think you can go around and act like a brat though, because you have another thing coming

is the kind of type to be like 'don't ask for it if you can't take it'

once you allow her to be completely off her leash there is quite literally no going back

can and will be a brat tamer if she finds it to be necessary

probably one of the roughest women here on the list

while most of the others are just teases, valkyrie will scramble your brain so much you don't remember either of your names when she's finished

is prone to using a strap on when she plays with you

her all time favorite thing is to watch you take her cock down your throat on your knees while she fucks it into you

thinks you look so pretty on your knees with your mouth stuffed, just taking what she gives you

will push you back onto the wall, lift you up and immediately push her cock all the way into you

knows you'll be able to handle it when she starts pounding you into the wall

loves the way you can't speak at all when she's driving into you, just whimpering and making noises that sound like you're trying to say multiple words jumbled together at once

will make you put a vibrator in and then get ready for the day, just to see how quickly she can make you fall apart without even touching you

it's really not long at all

𝒩𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒶 𝑅𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑜𝒻𝒻

sexuality: bisexual

{SFW}

will read to you if you can't fall asleep

her voice is just so soothing you end up falling asleep almost instantly every time

wants to be as close to you as possible while you're sleeping

you sometimes wake up to her laying directly on top of you

she can't help that she finds you extremely comfortable

has an entire list of pet names she likes to call you, some of them being completely stupid and unserious

likes to see your reaction when she calls you a new one that's completely horrendous

will have big movie marathons and see who will fall asleep first

loser has to cook breakfast for the winner and deliver it to them in bed in the morning

sometimes she'll feel bad and go help you cook in the morning when she purposely started talking a lot in the soothing tone that always puts you to sleep, ultimately causing you to lose the marathon competition

you'll find her sometimes just staring at you as she rubs her thumb across your cheek

if you ask her what's wrong she'll just shake her head and mutter something about being lucky to have you as she kisses you and cuddles into your arms

{NSFW}

this girl is absolutely obsessed with your boobs

every time she has a chance, she's messing with them in some way

when she comes up behind you she's automatically going up to cup them

at times you have to physically push her away from you because of how sensitive she made them

she could be pounding into you with a strap, and she'll still find the time to lean down and take a nipple into her mouth

if you pull her hair when she goes down on you she'll go absolutely feral

you'll hear her growl into you before she starts sucking on your clit extra hard, and makes obscene noises when slurping up your juices

she likes it when you're loud so she can hear how she's making you feel

will pinch you if you're not making enough noise for her

you've gotten so many complaints from the neighbors this way

thinks your pussy is just the greatest thing in the world

once she starts she finds it hard to stop

it could be hours after she started and you already came a numerous amount of times, but she can't find it in herself to stop

she just thinks you taste so damn good

𝒲𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒶 𝑀𝒶𝓍𝒾𝓂𝑜𝒻𝒻

sexuality: bisexual/pansexual

{SFW}

she loves to cook with you

even if you're not the greatest cook she'll have you in the kitchen with her helping with the little things she needs

she just likes to spend time with you and enjoys your company

there are some days when it's relaxing in the kitchen with quiet music on in the background while you two talk

and then there are others when it's complete chaos and you don't know what's going on anymore

those are usually the days when she decides she wants to try a new recipe that she hasn't done before

she also loves to take baths with you

those relaxing moments she has with you where she can let all her stress and worries of the day float away while in a warm bath with you

she loves the feeling of your skin pressed against hers in warm water with bubbles floating next to you

she's content to just sitting there too, not washing yourselves just relaxing her body with the things she feels around her

half the time it ends up with you guys having to shower after anyway

she'll give you random kisses throughout the day, just wanting to let you know that she's there

a lot of the nights are spent cuddling and playing with her hair as you watch movies and late night tv

{NSFW}

most intimate moments between you two are usually unserious

it's filled with giggles and laughter

she just likes to make sure that you're having a good time

you'll have to encourage her to be more rough if you want her to

she's hesitant because she doesn't want to hurt you

she lets herself go slowly over time

she'll be hovering over you, fingers working in and out of you at a steady pace, and she'll place her hand over your throat for leverage

apologizes extensively when she realizes what she did

eyes darken when you tilt your head back and place her hand back over your throat

you learn the feeling of her hand around your throat and rings digging into your skin all too well after that

"you look so pretty wearing my hand like a necklace, baby"

says the filthiest things in your ear to see how much she can make you squirm

will pull you in for a kiss by the neck

you feel her smile into it when she hears you whimper

experiments with more and more things, and eventually you both have a collection of things that you love doing in the bedroom

𝐿𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝐿𝑜𝓀𝒾

sexuality: pansexual/genderfluid

{SFW}

is such a tease

will purposely put things on the highest shelf so you won't be able to reach them easily

comes to 'help' you reach them

lifts the item over her head and won't give it to you unless she gets a kiss for it

thinks it's cute when you pout

loves to distract you from anything you're doing

will hug you from behind and start to pull you back slowly from what you're doing

claims that she's "not doing anything" and feigns innocence when you turn around to give her a look

is a huge fan of PDA

always has an arm around you, or is holding your hand

she just likes to feel you next to her

sometimes you have to push her off you when she's getting a little out of hand in public

is also very protective of you

if someone so much as looks at you in a bad way, she's over there threatening them

you've had to drag her out of many places because of this

you love how she is though, and she knows that

you just hope that you'll be able to stop her from killing anyone

{NSFW}

if you thought she's a big tease normally, she's an even bigger one in the bedroom

has you squirming around desperate for her to do something

she can spend hours just playing with your body and watching how it reacts to things

by now she knows your body like the back of her hand

will have you begging her with tears falling down your face before she actually puts her mouth on you

her tongue is absolutely magical.

can and will spend hours sucking and licking your clit until it's puffy and so sensitive the slightest movement has you jumping away from her

you now have to beg her to stop, and that you can't take it anymore

"i thought you wanted me to do something, baby. now be a good girl and take it."

she doesn't let up easily, and won't stop until all your limbs feel like jelly and you don't know what's right or left anymore

has somewhat of an exhibition kink

will pull you into restaurant bathrooms and alley ways just to see how you behave

puts her hand over your mouth when you're making too much noise as her fingers plunge in and out of you at a rapid pace

"shh honey, don't want the whole restaurant to hear your pretty moans and how good you are for me, do you?"

𝒴𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒶 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓋𝒶 {bsf headcanons}

sexuality: aromantic/asexual

you'll never find a dull moment around her

will come to you for the littlest and stupidest things

she called you at 2am once claiming it was an emergency and when you picked up the phone she needed to know if she was in the mood for hot or salty chips

why she needed to call you for that is beyond you

you'll both have sleepovers and stay up all night watching really bad tv and making fun of whenever something dumb happens

will most likely end up on the ground in laughter from anything remotely stupid happening

the entire night is actually just a giggle fest with her

goes to different stores to try on clothes that are definitely not appealing to either of you

makes the stupidest runway show out of it before you're both kicked out from the store

she makes you push her around the grocery store in a shopping cart

will start to grab random things and throw them in the cart with her every chance she gets

she once crashed into the side of an isle when you pushed her too hard causing the things to fall off the shelf and onto her

granted you're banned from your local grocery store, but she didn't seem to mind as she almost peed herself from laughter as we were escorted out of the store by security

she'll ask you the most random questions out of nowhere and half the time they don't even make sense

she's deadly serious about them too, and will wait for your answer every time

even when you're like what are you even talking about, she'll want you to still answer

you'll never find yourself bored with her as a best friend

it's like every day is a completely new adventure with her and you have to wait and see what she's going to bring you to do that day

buy me a coffee ♡

[hy6erion]

Hi🤍🤍

Could you do a desire doue nsfw alphabet?🤍

🤍🤍

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 - 𝐃𝐞́𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞́ 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐞́

𝐃𝐞́𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞́ 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐞́ 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜/ 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞/ 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

A – Aftercare

Désiré isn’t just sweet after sex—he’s devoted. Once he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure from you, he pulls you close, kisses your temple, and murmurs praise while massaging your thighs. A warm towel. Water. A hoodie slipped over your bare skin. He makes sure you’re not just satisfied, but cherished.

B – Body Part

He’s obsessed with your hips. His hands always settle there, whether he’s gripping them to keep you still while he pounds into you from behind, or tracing circles over them lazily after. He says they were made for him—to hold, to worship, to rut against.

C – Cum

Désiré is possessive. He loves to finish inside you, slow and deep, watching the way your body clenches around him as you both ride the wave together. He murmurs, “That’s mine,” every time he sees it leaking out.

D – Dirty Talk

Filthy doesn’t even begin to cover it. He talks you through every second—“You like that, don’t you? Look at you, dripping for me.” He loves when you get shy about it, especially because he knows how wrecked you get when he gets mean with it.

E – Experience

He might surprise you. He’s young, yes, but he learns fast—and he’s naturally gifted. Confident without being cocky. Attentive. Bold. He gets off on learning what makes you fall apart, and once he finds your weak spots, he abuses them.

F – Favorite Position

Bent over with your face buried in the pillows, your ass high in the air, and his hands locked around your waist. The sound of skin slapping, the wet heat of your moans—he loses himself in it every time. But he also loves missionary, just so he can watch your face when he makes you come.

G – Guilty Pleasure

Filming it. Just for the two of you. He props the phone up, fucks you slow and deep while whispering, “Wanna watch this later? Wanna see how good you look taking me?” And later, he does. Usually with you sitting in his lap, your body already aching for round two.

H – Hair

Trimmed and clean, but not bare. He doesn’t care much about grooming—he’s focused on how you feel, not aesthetics. But he loves when you run your hands through his curls while you’re going down on him.

I – Intimacy

He doesn’t separate rough from romantic. Désiré knows how to be gentle, but even when he’s being filthy, it’s because he’s obsessed with you. Kissing your shoulders between thrusts. Telling you how good you feel. Pressing his forehead to yours as you both unravel.

J – Jack-Off

He does it often, especially when he’s on the road and can’t have you. And he always thinks about you—specifically the way you moan his name when you’re close, or the way you tremble when he fingers you just right. Bonus: he loves sending you voice notes of it.

K – Kinks

Praise & Degradation: He’ll ruin you with “Good girl. Just like that.” And then whisper “My filthy little slut” five seconds later.

Marking: Hickeys. Handprints. Bite marks. He wants you covered.

Control: Not full dom/sub, but he likes holding you down, pinning your wrists, telling you when to come.

L – Location

The backseat of his car after late-night matches. He’s still sweaty, adrenaline pumping—and he ravages you. The windows fog up, your clothes half-off, and he moans into your mouth like he’s starving for you.

M – Motivation

He gets hard just watching you exist. You in one of his oversized tees? Instant problem. Biting your lip while you text? His hands are already on your thighs. You riding him slow while whispering his name? He’s feral.

N – No

Nothing involving pain, fear, or humiliation that crosses into disrespect. He wants to be filthy with you—not cruel. And he’s serious about checking in if something doesn’t feel right.

O – Oral (Receiving)

He loves it. Deep, messy, and eye contact? He groans so loud it echoes. But he’s not a “lean back and relax” type—he’ll hold your hair, whisper filthy encouragement, and finish with a shudder while praising how good your throat feels.

P – Pace

Désiré likes to build it up. Starts slow and sensual, just to make you beg. But once you’re whining his name and gripping the sheets, he snaps his hips harder, rougher, relentless. He keeps going until your voice breaks.

Q – Quickies

He lives for them. In the locker room shower. A hidden hallway at a party. Pressing you up against a wall and grinding into you while whispering, “Five minutes. You can be good for me that long, yeah?”

R – Risk

He’s not reckless, but he loves the thrill. Hands under the table at dinner with friends. Fingering you in a dressing room. Whispering what he’s going to do to you later, just to see you blush and squirm.

S – Stamina

The man has endurance. One round is never enough. He’ll eat you out until you’re shaking, fuck you slow for round one, rough for round two—and if you can still walk, he’ll make it his mission to fix that.

T – Toys

He’s into them—especially ones he can use on you. Remote-controlled panties when you’re out in public. Vibrators during foreplay. He gets off on control and watching you come undone for him.

U – Unfair

He teases ruthlessly. Kisses down your stomach only to pull away. Fingers you until you’re about to break—then stops. He loves hearing you whine for it. But he always rewards your patience. Hard.

V – Volume

He’s vocal. Deep groans, breathy curses in French, and your name in a broken gasp. He wants you to hear how good you make him feel. Sometimes he even talks you through it—“So tight… fuck, you were made for me.”

W – Wild Card

Sometimes, after a game, when he’s still on a high, he’ll grab you without a word, drags u into the empty locker room and absolutely wrecks you. Up against the wall. Clothes half-torn. He fucks you like a man possessed and leaves your body buzzing for days.

X – X-Ray

He’s big. Thick and long enough to make your breath catch when he pushes in. The curve hits deep. You feel full in the best way—especially when he grinds his hips and tells you how well you take him.

Y – Yearning

He’s not just horny—he’s addicted to you. The way he looks at you after a few days apart? Eyes dark, hands restless, voice low—“I need you. Now.” It’s never just sex with Désiré. It’s hunger.

Z – Zzz

Afterward, he wraps around you like a blanket. Hand on your stomach, face buried in your neck, still warm inside you. He falls asleep like that, totally spent, whispering, “You’re everything.”