#and before that the class was doing a task wrong and i TOLD them they were doing itwrong and i POINTED OUT the evidence of that

[britneyshakespeare]

i have been working with kids for four years and i had to write my first ever note just now about a seventh grade boy being inappropriate towards me. i don't know what the hell this could possibly lead to or what. he was trying to feel my legs repeatedly to the point where i had to stop sitting next to him (and i was subbing for his one-to-one para!!!). he's got high support needs. in that kind of job, you're supposed to sit next to them all day and look over their work.

the teacher whose classroom this was happening in could also tell something was wrong. the whole class was acting kinda crazy because it was the day before school vacation week and there was another class coming in to share projects. so like, he was swamped with keeping order already. but we were sitting two feet away from his podium at the front of the room. the kid was giving him and me a hard time when he wouldn't take out his chromebook as he was instructed. and then when he did take out his chromebook, he immediately, for some reason, places it on my lap. he had been ogling my legs the whole time. he puts his computer ON MY LAP. and i'm just like, stunned, because what the hell? can you not keep it on your own lap, for some reason? i don't even know what to say, i just hold it a little above my lap while i'm thinking why on earth would this be happening? he would NOT do this to his regular para if she were here, would he? this can't be normal.

and the teacher sees this and within a minute places a stool in front of the kid for him to put his laptop on. and i'm like. oh ok. yeah. he notices exactly what's happening and that that's not appropriate. and then when the other class comes in to share projects he tells me "miss b——, you don't actually have to sit next to c—— this whole period if you don't want to." and he grabs me a chair for me to go sit with the other paras in the back opposite corner of the room. like he KNEW. and thank you mr. d—— for recognizing that because i was just kind of shocked and didn't know if i was overreacting in my head to all of this.

when there's a point in the class where the kids are discussing stuff, i privately mention what's happened to the para who's sitting closest to me. and she says that the thing about him calling me pretty is something he's been known to do, but the fact that he kept trying to touch my legs is new behavior. and that's a completely different class of behavior. i was telling him NO, don't do that, and he kept doing it. and the fact that he was calling me pretty repeatedly, even when i was giving him instructions that he wasn't taking. and this is the second to last class before the end of the day, so she says she'll take a walk with him before learning center and talk to him about it, and i'm grateful for that. she does. the kid apologizes to me as soon as i come into learning center. but like. WHAT the hell.

i'm STILL like what the hell. this is unfathomable to me. the other adults who i told about this or who witnessed it were supportive of me. but. what to do??? i wrote a long note to his regular para about this, because i knew she was going to hear about it at least from the first para i told. the second para i told about it after school had a kind of... i'm not gonna say enabling reaction, but i suppose since it had already been "taken care of" (or at least, he had been spoken to and apologized) she didn't really have much to add in the way of discipline. i told her what happened after school and she was just like... a little bit, laughing? like oh, yup, that dog. she at the very least confirmed he KNEW what he was doing, that that was not an accident. she said to me "i had a feeling he was going to develop a crush on you" (me and these other paras were together for most of the beginning of the day too). but it's like. it's not about that.

i have worked with children for FOUR years. children have had crushes on me before; i'm quite unfazed by it. boys from the ages of 5-to-15 have told me i'm so pretty before and asked me to marry them. i've never had them feeling up my legs before. i've never had them making me physically uncomfortable. it's NOT about this seventh grader having a crush on the pretty substitute. he is NOT unusual for that, at all. but i've never had a boy of any age or education level repeatedly touching my knees and thighs. THAT is problem behavior!!!

because what if i wasn't assertive enough with him to tell him to stop? what if i was a girl his age? worse, what if i was an adult who encouraged this behavior? i don't come to the middle school to be a seductress. i had no intention in putting on a pair of tights and a skirt this morning of being viewed as an attractive object, especially not by a pubescent boy. what if i did though? what if his interpretation of me wasn't so incorrect and offensive? what if i let him keep touching me inappropriately and saying flirtatious things to me? me, an adult in my mid-twenties, towards a middle school boy?

in no world would that be ok. if i had been feeling up and overly-complimenting a CHILD at my place of work, holy shit would there be reports about me. so a child acting that way could never be ok either. if it'd be firable for me to be reciprocating that action, then that action should not be happening to me. ever. and that child should never repeat that action again to any other adult again.

like i am simply not there to be treated as an attractive young woman. i put on a skirt that shows too much knee and get paired with a boy, though, and that's apparently just a natural consequence. hooo-ly shit. like i don't know what to do. first of all, the more time passes since this has happened, the more i am just unable to stop thinking about it. i wasn't "hurt" or too emotional in the moment but i'm just still processing it and it gets worse. i'm just more and more disgusted.

i don't know what i expect to come out of this, or the email i sent to his regular para. like, am i gonna have to attend a fucking meeting? what is the precedent that this sets for him? WHY do i feel BAD for him about this? well, because he's a child, of course. a child who has done wrong he may not be able to understand. but he knows WHAT he did. he just doesn't know WHY it was wrong.

and i couldn't even say something to him that was like, "well, how would you like it if i was touching you like this?" because young boys do not understand how inappropriate it'd be. i'm sure this kid thought he was gonna get away with what he was doing at the very least. but probably not unlikely he (being a child with no concept of how wrong it'd be) thought he could get some sort of "positive" attention for treating me like this. either way he was simply doing what he wanted to do, with no perspective of how it would make me feel or that it could be classified as harassment. teenage boys think it'd be awesome if the older attractive woman would reciprocate their affections. they're wrong. i, as the older attractive woman of his affection, cannot be the one to convince him of that, though.

i don't know. i don't know. like it's just so not ok. but if i didn't tell another adult about this, he would've gotten away with it. he would probably do it again. and him being in trouble for it is not the same as him understanding that it was wrong. unless someone has a REAL talk with him about inappropriate attention and consent, it's not unlikely that he'll just repeat the behavior in a setting where he thinks he won't be caught or told on. THAT'S the problem. me, i could just never have to be this boy's para again. in my email, i didn't say that i would never be ok working with or around him ever again. he already knows i didn't like it and i'm not afraid to tell on him; as far as that lesson applies to me, individually, i think he's become too ashamed to repeat that.

i don't know. i don't know. i very much expressed that i, i guess, "forgave" him in the email that i wrote. i clarified that i was writing it for the sake of having it on the record. i think that could potentially be very important for the purposes of preventing further similar or escalating behavior from him in the future. i don't want him to be in trouble. i don't think i will be blamed for this, especially not with how promptly i acted, although i don't know to what extent this will be framed as me thinking i'm a "victim." i'm not... i don't feel victimized. i feel disgusted. i feel afraid for the sake of what could happen to or with him in the future, if he thinks behavior like his towards me today is ok.

i feel like if i end up having to further respond to this, this will be made about me. in a way it kind of was. is? in the moment it was happening, it was certainly about me. because i was the one this boy was giving all this unwanted attention to. but to make the consequences of this about me and to involve me any further, i also don't want. because i said what i said already, i don't care if a student has a crush on me. this isn't about me being the pretty substitute. i'm the pretty substitute all the time, to tons of people. that's not really something i've been concerned about up until now.

but do i have to reexplain my personal embarrassment? that i was wearing a skirt? that he was ogling my legs? really? what more do i have to gain from sharing that, other than having the adults at my place of work confirm or deny me in their heads as the pretty substitute? i don't know. perhaps that's REALLY overthinking it. but i don't want to be the substitute that caused a problem for this special ed kid. i don't wanna be the reason that he can't be around me anymore, the person people think of when they're monitoring how he's acting around girls and young women. i DON'T want to be the one people think of when they think of his past misbehavior. i'm NOT here for that.

that's just fucking humiliating. and in this being a thing that could follow him, i have to be ogled and touched over and over again in people's minds for this to be taken seriously. but for this to be swept under the rug would be even worse, no? i don't know. i hate this. the principal is a nice guy; i wouldn't be surprised if he and/or people from the special ed department reached out to me sympathetically about this. but i don't wanna be reached out to. i don't wanna have ppl i work with tell me "sorry that kid was just so attracted to you he couldn't help himself" like come on. if the kid himself doesn't change then i don't really care to remember this incident. and no one reaching out to me and saying they've talked to this kid will actually prove to me he understands. this is the kind of inappropriate behavior it takes years for people to understand why it was wrong, especially a child who has no idea. i mean come on.

[lockandkeyhyena]

well. first day back at school was a fucking disaster

[yuwuta]

PEOPLE TOLD ME ABOUT THE FLAMES, I COULDN’T SEE THROUGH THE SMOKE — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

cw some kind of college au/boarding school au? this used to be for rodeo station and now just... exists on its own, friends to lovers, megumi has toji and satoru as father figures so are we surprised that he’s a bully and doesn’t really grow out of that phase… anyway, apologies to muta and miwa, 1.3k words

Nobara makes a poor effort to stifle her laughter as Kokichi stomps up to stand in front of you, hair and clothes drenched in chocolate milk, shoes sloshing with each step, and the bandage on the side of his cheek peeling from the wetness.

When you look up at him, you’re unimpressed, and unsurprised, so you resume annotating your lecture notes as if you weren’t interrupted. If Kokichi wanted to stand in a puddle of dripping milk, then so be it��you should have finished your notes yesterday, and you couldn’t get through your other tasks without catching up first.

“Look, I already said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bothering you for your number when you’d already said no,” Kokichi starts, wiping dripping milk from his chin, “Now, will you please call off your guard dog.”

You don’t reply immediately, focused on finishing the last paragraph of the page, much to Kokichi’s dismay, and Nobara’s amusement. He huffs at your silence, frustrated and humiliated, but there’s nothing for him to say or do until you respond. Maybe that’s something he should have considered when he kept trying to talk to you in class. Still, even now, you’re not ignoring Kokichi to embarrass him or string him along; you just want to finish your godforsaken anthropology homework.

“You seem to be under the impression that I can make Megumi start or stop doing anything,” you sigh, put your highlighter down, and tiredly look up at Kokichi, “But I regret to inform you that you’re wrong.”

Kokichi’s nose scrunches in disbelief, an angered hand coming to wave in front of his face, but his dripping clothes result in splashes to his face—and further laughter from Nobara. He sighs out of frustration, trying to put away his pride, but Nobara’s giggling and your nonchalant attitude are really making it difficult for him to take this in stride.

“Okay, you’re fucking with me—and I deserve it, alright? But, Todo already gave me a fucking lecture, Mai won’t look at me, and Megumi is going to rip and stain every single shirt I own at this point.” 

“That sounds like your problem,” Nobara snickers, rolling her eyes when Kokichi gives her a glare. 

“I'd love to help, Muta, but this is out of my control,” you loll, capping your marker, “Maybe try apologizing to Megumi instead of dripping chocolate milk over notes and shoes.”

“Eh? The hell am I apologizing to him for?” 

“You’re the one who pissed him off—how should I know?” you sigh, sliding your pens and markers into your bag, and closing your folder. 

Nobara pipes in to taunt, “You’d better figure it out soon, though. I hear they’re serving spaghetti tomorrow, and that definitely stains.” 

You swear you hear Kokichi growl, but it only makes Nobara laugh harder. The two of them together is a bad combination—Kokichi is easily aggravated, and Nobara easily aggravates. You’re certain that if Megumi weren’t already on his ass, Nobara would have stepped in to bully him just for the fun of it.

Still, you’d rather not have to testify on either of their behalf, so you bid Kokichi a goodbye, offering him your best advice about cleaning milk stains out of white shirts, and drag Nobara by the arm before she can make another quick quip to finally make him snap. 

She’s still laughing at Kokichi’s expense all the way back to your dorm, “As much as I like seeing Megumi pummel Muta, he’s definitely gonna get written up, at the very least, if he keeps it up. Just tell him you’re not mad about it anymore, and he’ll piss off.” 

You stuff your hands into your pockets, “I don’t control megumi. I didn’t tell him to egg Muta’s car, and pour milk all over him. ” 

“Like hell you don’t,” Nobara scoffs, “Kokichi was right about one thing—Megumi’s a doberman on a leash and you’re his owner.” 

“I didn’t even tell him that Kokichi kept asking for my number. I’m pretty sure Todo told Yuuji, and Yuuji told Megumi.”

“Yeah, that’s almost worse,” Nobara huffs, “He’s just moved to protect you out of undying loyalty—it must be nice to have a knight in shining armor. Does he call you ‘my liege,’ when you’re alone? He might as well bow down and kiss your shoes with the way he worships the ground you walk on.”

You know Nobara is teasing. The rhetoric that you have influence on Megumi isn’t new to you, but it’s always confusing for you to hear. You’ve known Megumi since grade school, and one thing you’re certain of is that he does things of his own conviction, and when he’s decided something, there’s little anybody can do to convince him otherwise. He’s the true definition of steadfast, and sometimes you wonder if his beliefs have inadvertently made him gain masochistic tendencies, because you’ve seen Megumi suffer in pain just to prove a point. 

“Megumi’s his own person, and he’s not easily influenced,” you chuckle, “If anything, he’s more of an attack dog—he bites whenever he sees something he doesn’t like.”

“In any case, he’s your dog,” Nobara shrugs. She pauses for a moment, skipping to catch up to you with a scrunch to her face, “I change my mind though, he’s definitely not scary enough to be a doberman. What are the puffy ones—the really small ones that yap a bunch?” 

“Pomeranians?”

She lights up—“Yeah, that’s way more fitting! Plus, he’s got spiky hair like those little mutts, a really bratty, spoiled one too. Gojo probably kept him in his Birkin as a kid.” 

You giggle as Nobara searches for an image to compare to one of Megumi. She goes as far as to make a collage and send it in your group chat for approval, instantly getting a rave reaction from Yuuji, and predictably, no response from Megumi.

Nobara walks you back halfway to your dorm, leaving you on your own to head to the gym to meet up with Yuuji. When you get back to your room, you’re not surprised to already see Megumi inside, sitting snugly on your worn-in couch with a book in hand. It’s Wednesday, so he only had morning classes, and prefers to spend his afternoon studying in solace, usually taking advantage of your larger, empty room to get his work done. He gives you a small wave, enraptured in his reading, and you know better than to try and disturb him, so you take your place on the opposite side of the couch with the remainder of your notes in hand, finally having the peace and quiet to finish your annotations. 

Megumi finishes his chapter before you’re done, but he waits for you, quietly scrolling on his phone so as not to interrupt you. You don’t face him when you speak, keeping your eyes on your notes, and simply stating, “Kokichi apologized.”

You hear him hum. you know he’s looking at you, but you don’t meet his gaze, and do your best to bite back a smile before he asks, “You forgive him?”

You finish your annotations with a final asterisk at the bottom of your page, so you cap the marker, and finally turn to face Megumi. He doesn’t ask a second time, even as you silently observe him, even if your smile is confusing to him.

“I wasn’t ever really upset,” you explain, “It was annoying, but he wasn’t harassing me or anything.” 

He hums again, but it’s not agreeing. “Tsumiki is gonna get mad if you get suspended.” 

Megumi calls your bluff with his hum this time, and you sigh. Tsumiki won’t get mad, because Megumi would never get suspended, not as long as Gojo is around as headmaster.

Megumi turns his body inward, raising an arm to rest his elbow against the cushion of the couch. He lolls his head to rest against his palm, cheek squished, and almost mischievous glimmer in his eye. In this light, you see Nobara’s argument—with sleep-tousled hair and expectant eyes, Megumi looks an awful lot like a puppy waiting for a command. 

It’s cute, until you realize that Megumi is awaiting your command. Is he?—why would he, he’s never been known to listen, and yet, you’re tempted to see if you truly do have him on some proverbial leash, like everyone else seems to believe.

“Megumi,” you call, softly, “He’s learned his lesson, and I’m fine, alright? Leave him alone.”  

Megumi blinks slowly. His features soften, only for a moment, before he’s turned away from you to pick up his book again. He doesn’t respond verbally, doesn’t touch on the topic for the rest of the evening that you both spend studying in your room, but the following day, you walk past Kokichi and Miwa heading into their chemistry lab, and notice a distinct lack of milk or food residue on his clothing or in his hair, so there isn’t anything more to be said.

Megumi is waiting outside of your lecture hall after your last class of the day, offering you a carton of strawberry milk—unopened, and un-thrown. You accept it, reaching up to ruffle his hair as a thank you, and you’re surprised when you feel him move into your touch. He dips his head down a bit further, gently knocking it against yours before straightening up with a sly smile. He nods his head, wordlessly, and turns towards your dorm, ready to walk you back. 

You follow, dazed, as you stab the straw into your milk. You’re a half-step behind Megumi, head clouded with confusing new daydreams about the boy in front of you, and now you can’t help but to wonder if you’re the one left to follow Megumi’s whim, or if he’s just pulling you by his own leash. 

[corroded-hellfire]

Could I get a blurb or something from the AYW family when eddie and reader find out that she is infact pregnant and he's so happy and he can't wait to see her all pregnant with bigger breasts etc. And he loves to help her in anyway he can. And he's so excited about her belly when they do have sex. All the Fluffy stuff but a bit of smut to. Hehe. Thanks!

Eddie is a lovesick puppy all the time, but his pregnant wife? Oh boy. So thankful and happy to write this with my beloved @munson-blurbs 💚

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap to up), pregnant!reader, breeding kink or does this move to pregnancy kink? We all know this Eddie has breeding kink BAD

Words: 2.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie’s been on cloud nine from the moment you even suspected you might be pregnant. Now with it confirmed, everyone knowing, and steps rolling along to get things ready for the baby, you’re pretty sure your husband physically can’t get any happier. You’re proved wrong the moment he notices your breasts getting a little larger, though. Then the very beginnings of your baby bump appeared, and Eddie’s hand didn’t leave your stomach for what felt like a week. 

Your husband has always been a gentleman, but he’s kicked it up a notch now that your second trimester has started. He’d always carry things for you, but now he makes the extra effort to go grocery shopping so you don’t have to reach for things on the high shelf or lift the full bags from the cart into the trunk of your car. And he isn’t the only one helping out.

The boys were, for the most part, good about doing their chores. Once in a while you’d have to get on one of them about picking their clothes up off the floor or cleaning up after themselves in the kitchen, but it was never anything major. But as twelve and nine-year-olds, they weren’t exactly known to go the extra mile, either. So, the day you first came home to them working as a team to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer, you almost thought you walked into the wrong house. You hadn’t intended to stand there and watch them as they did the task—they didn’t need a supervisor. But the pure shock kept you rooted in place as you watched Luke toss a dryer sheet in and Ryan reach up to press the correct buttons on the dryer’s control panel. 

“Eddie, the boys did laundry,” you had told him when he came home from work, your wide eyes amusing to the man. 

“I figured it was about time they learn,” he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Helps you out around the house, too.”

“That was your real motive,” you had said, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“So, sue me.” Eddie shrugged and stepped around you to get a bottle of water.

The men of the house have been at this for a few weeks now and it’s honestly nice to have some of your usual duties lifted from your shoulders. Are things done perfectly? No. But they weren’t when you did them, either. At least when Luke got Ryan’s clothes and Ryan got Luke’s this time, they could blame themselves instead of you. 

The boys have even been changing their own sheets and putting the clean ones on. Luke’s been so proud of himself that you don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s been putting the bottom sheet on inside out this entire time. 

The domestic bliss of it all fills you with a soothing warmth, like you’re being wrapped in the softest downy blanket. Sometimes you’re afraid this is all a dream and you’re going to wake up in your apartment back in college, late for some class before you have to go pick up the boys from school so you can babysit them. When that happens, you usually walk over to the large fake crystal bowl on the counter where you keep your keys and pull out your set. On your keychain there’s a small, laminated Shrinky Dink that says “Luke” that was given to you the first Mother’s Day that you were with Eddie. The first year they saw you as a mother figure more than a babysitter. 

You run the pad of your index finger along the rough plastic edge of the Shrinky Dink and the tiny little pricks of pain are another reminder that you’re not dreaming. 

Getting ready for bed that night, you tighten the belt of your lavender bath robe before grabbing a cloth to wash your face. This bathroom never used to seem as cold as it has to you these past few months. Pregnancy does weird things to your body. 

“Oh!” Eddie says as he steps into the bathroom. He snaps his fingers and spins around to head back into the bedroom. A moment later he comes back with a plastic drugstore bag in his hands. “I got this for you today. I know you said your gums are being more sensitive now, so I thought this might help.”

He offers you a plastic and cardboard package, a jade green toothbrush inside, and the words “Soft-Bristled Brush!” emphasized on the front. The hormones well up in you but you force them back down, refusing to cry over a toothbrush.

“Thank you, baby,” you say. “Now I can throw out that mean, old medium strength one.” 

Eddie chuckles and presses a kiss to your head as he passes by to get to the shower. 

As you scour your dresser drawers for pajamas, lacy material grazes your fingertips—maternity lingerie, courtesy of Jess, who swore Eddie would go absolutely feral over it. 

Her exact words were actually “he’ll cream his jeans,” but that was neither here nor there. 

Your eyes flit back to the bathroom where your husband is currently bathing. Your husband—the man you love and adore, who doted on you before you got pregnant and is the epitome of devotion now that you’re actually carrying his child. The alleviation of chores, the special toothbrush…maybe he deserves a little reward. 

As quickly as you can—which isn’t all that fast, considering your new center of gravity, you put on the babydoll slip, adjusting it so the slit down the middle showcases your bump. The matching set of panties almost feels like a waste, considering how swiftly Eddie will tear them off, but you step into them anyway and complete the look. 

There’s a clattering in the bathroom, jolting your already buzzing nerves. You know better than to ask what’s going on; over the years, you’ve found that many questions are best left unanswered. 

“Babe, have you seen my—holy fuckin’ shit.” Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes in the sight of you. The towel wrapped around his waist tents where his erection begins to burgeon. 

“Seen your what?” You bat your eyelashes, exaggerating your innocence, as you caress your bump. 

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” His hands are drawn to your sides, thumbs brushing over the swell of your stomach. “What’s all this for?”

“Just wanted to thank you for being such an amazing husband, even when I’m tired or moody or—”

“Baby,” Eddie cuts in, “all I’ve done is get you a new toothbrush and delegate chores to the boys. I should be thanking you for having my baby…and looking so damn good doing it.”

With that, he gets on his knees, grabs your thighs until his fingertips sink into your plush skin, and kisses the bump. 

“You’re perfect.” 

He moves forward on his knees, gently guiding you backwards until the back of your thighs hit the soft cotton sheets of your mattress. Large hands follow your hips onto the bed and quickly move down your legs to slip your panties off.

“Eds?”

“Hmm?”

“I, um,” you pause, feeling insecurity creep up in you despite your arousal, “haven’t been able to shave as well as I used to…”

Eddie pays your words no mind, instead just uses his pointer and middle fingers to part your lips and lick a stripe up your center. 

“‘S not gonna stop me.” His voice is gravelly, deep, and it sends a pleasant shiver up your spine. 

He takes your clit between his lips, tongue gently flicking over the bud. Giving it a little suck, he drops his unoccupied hand to your thigh and squeezes. 

You can’t help the way your hips move, as though of their own accord, grinding your core against his face. Eddie notices it, too, pulling away briefly to tease you. 

“Needy little thing tonight, hm?” His smirk glistens with your arousal. 

You’re in no position to argue; you simply nod and thread your fingers through his curls in a silent plea for him to resume licking at you. 

Eddie takes the hint, his tongue eagerly finding your hole and fucking it wildly. 

“Eddie, shit, holy fucking shit!” You find your voice in time for your orgasm to crash over you, crying out your husband’s name as he brings you that beautiful release. 

When he stands up, panting, you can see just how hard he is. The towel must have slipped off while his face was buried between your legs, and he’s now stark naked in front of you. 

“Tried to look at you while I ate your pussy, but, uh…” his cheeks tinge red, “couldn’t quite see you over this.” He cradles your bump, pressing his erection into your thigh. The pre-cum that’s beaded at the tip sticks to your leg, a reminder of what you do to him.

You flop back on the mattress, breathing heavily with a lazy smile on your face. 

Eddie crawls up over your body, chuckling when he catches your euphoric expression. 

“Feel good, baby?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes drifting shut.

Eddie parts the sheer panels of the baby doll top so your emerging bump is on full display, pressing kisses in the valley between your breasts and working downward. 

He stops when he reaches your stomach. “Wish I could just keep you pregnant. Fuck, you look amazing like this.”

“So do it,” you mumble lazily.

“Don’t tempt me,” Eddie says, looking up at you with another smirk. 

He pauses, delaying removing his hands from your belly but craving being inside you. 

“Ride me, baby?”

You giggle. “Gonna need some help.”

Eddie nods, standing up and kissing you with his hands on your cheeks. “Anything. Anything for you. Christ, you’re a goddess.”

He helps you on top, his hands on your hips and holding your bump. Without further hesitation, he lines himself up and you sink onto his cock, letting yourself be filled entirely. 

“F-Feels so good.”

Eddie grunts. “That’s because this pussy belongs to me. You belong to me.” 

You just moan in response, so he grips your hips tighter and growls, “say it.”

“I belong to you,” you whimper, tightening around him as he thrusts up into you. “I’ll do anything for you, Eddie.”

After a few minutes, a newly-familiar ache creeps into your chest. Though you try to hide your wince, Eddie is all-too aware of your every move.  

“What’s wrong?” He stops thrusting, grabbing your wrists and pulling your attention to him. 

You gently maneuver out of his grasp and cup your breasts. “They’re just really sore from the, um, bouncing.” This never happened before pregnancy, but their extra sensitivity has you feeling every twinge of discomfort. 

Eddie pouts, not from disappointment, but from the realization that you’re in some pain. 

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

He withdraws, earning a whimper from you before he gently guides you onto your back and places a pillow beneath your lower back. 

“I’ll take it a little slower, yeah?”

You nod, your warmth enveloping him once again. He thrusts languidly, holding back so he doesn’t hurt you, and his carefulness has you connecting your lips to his. 

“I love you,” you mumble into his mouth. “I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

His words, his movements, and your earlier orgasm are a perfect combination. You come undone, clenching around his cock and digging your nails into his back. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, kissing just below your ear. “Baby, can I go a little faster? Is that okay?”

He rarely begs you; normally, you’re the one pleading with him to let you come. 

“S’okay, Eds.” You smile and he returns it, bracing his elbows on either side of your head. 

He slams into you, burying himself to the hilt and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck—feels s’good—gonna come.” The words barely leave his mouth before he’s spilling into you, filling you with his seed. His body against yours and his release coating your walls has you falling into a foggy haze—the closeness, the intimacy, the safety you feel with Eddie is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s only grown fiercer since carrying his baby.

The moment he pulls out of you and starts to move from hovering over your body, you tug him down next to you. Eddie laughs as you practically wrap him up in a death grip as he bounces against the pillows. 

“Well, this is one way to cuddle,” he says. 

“Got overexcited,” you say as you loosen your grip on him.

He doesn’t go too far though, immediately moving so that you can tuck into his side. As you move to slide closer, there’s a sharp intake of breath and your right hand instinctively goes to hold your bump.

“Baby?” Eddie asks, sitting up in concern, careful not to jostle your body. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head as you scoot closer to him again. The sharp jab of pain vanished as quickly as it was sprung on you. A subtle aftershock rolls through you, but it’s barely even detectable.

“Just some mild contractions. Doctor said they can happen after sex sometimes. They’re not, like, baby contractions,” you explain. 

Eddie visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping, and lays back against the pillows with you. “So, my excellent fucking skills didn’t send you into super early labor?”

A snort of laughter bursts out of you as you lay your head down on Eddie’s warm, solid chest.

“Sorry, Eds. Baby’s gotta stay put till she’s fully cooked.”

Your husband gives you a fake groan but smiles the whole time, kissing you tenderly. 

“All right,” he says. “But I heard from someone who shall not be named—”

“Steve?”

“Who shall not be named, that sex can help induce labor. In case you need some assistance in a few months.”

You smirk. “Let me know if anyone’s offering. There’s that cute guy at the grocery store—”

Eddie tackles you, taking care not to hurt the bump, pressing sloppy, silly kisses to your cheek and neck. You squeal with laughter and try to push him off of you.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

Eddie pulls back and smiles down at you. “You better be. Because this,” he gestures to your lingerie-clad pregnant body, “is mine and only mine.”

“Well, this,” you say, gesturing to your own body, “has to pee.”

Eddie pouts as you slide off the bed, eyes not leaving your frame for a moment.

“But we were gonna cuddle,” he whines.

You walk into the bathroom as you shrug your shoulders.

“Take it up with your daughter,” you say before closing the door.

With a dramatic sigh, Eddie rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His thoughts linger on your last sentence and the smile that was already on his face grows until it becomes a beaming grin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself. “I’m going to have a daughter.”

[judyprincess]

Too Pink for me- Logan Howlett +18

04: Adam's Apple

"No."

The garden area, where the teachers usually had breakfast, was filled with Logan's bad mood from the early morning, marked by his firm refusal.

"Logan, I haven't finished," Charles said calmly, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

Everyone was watching the scene, but Ororo didn't seem surprised—she had already predicted this would happen.

"Guess what, I don't care."

Logan replied before taking a sip of his black coffee, fully intending to escape Charles' explanations. Knowing what was coming, Charles had no choice but to use his powers, stopping Logan from walking away, which made a low, almost animalistic growl escape from his throat as he turned back to them, frustrated.

"Is this some kind of joke or punishment? Did I do something wrong as a substitute that I don't know about?"

Logan finally spoke, his rough voice like sandpaper, clearly expressing his displeasure.

"Logan, I still don't understand why spending time with Rosellina is a punishment." Charles didn't react to his bad attitude and took another sip of coffee. "The girl is delightful."

"I don't like her. Can that be respected?"

"Do you have a valid argument I might accept?"

Charles leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced hands, waiting expectantly. Logan thought for a moment, but no words came out.

"Then, no, I can't respect it. It's just nonsense."

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep the animal inside him from breaking free.

"This is Scott's job. I don't get why I'm the one doing this."

Ororo glanced at Charles when Logan justified himself to avoid the task, her expression clearly saying, I told you so.

"Logan's right," Scott said after a moment, surprising everyone.

Hank nearly choked on his coffee, having to grab a nearby napkin to wipe himself off as he coughed. The world must have been ending—Logan even raised an eyebrow at Scott.

"Well, that's new," Ororo muttered under her breath, watching the situation unfold.

"Professor, I don't usually agree with Logan."

"Usually?" Logan asked, accusingly.

"Never," Scott corrected. "What I mean is, Rosellina is a new student. I don't think her first day at the school should involve enduring Logan's bad mood. She needs a good experience."

Logan mentally thanked Scott for the intervention, though Scott never missed an opportunity to criticize him.

Charles sighed in his seat, remaining calm and unfazed by Logan's attempts to escape. He waved a hand toward Scott, signaling that his intervention wasn't necessary, before addressing Logan.

"Logan, you have two options," he finally said, unwilling to prolong the situation further. He could already sense Rosellina's thoughts approaching—no, in fact, he could feel her emerald eyes watching them.

"You help Rosellina with her tour of the facilities and try to swallow your bad mood a bit."

Before Charles could continue, Logan cut him off with a challenging tone.

"Or what?"

"Or you'll start teaching history classes first thing Monday morning as an official professor," Charles dropped the ultimatum, taking a sip of his coffee without even looking at him. He didn't need to look to imagine Logan's expression.

"Your choice," Charles concluded, leaving a silence as Hank struggled to hold back a laugh.

"This is the library," Logan grumbled, just like every time he pointed out a new room to Rosellina.

After that trap Charles had set for him, Logan had no choice but to reluctantly accept. As soon as he left the garden, Rosellina was already waiting for him. They began on the ground floor, and after a few rooms, they found themselves in the library where several students were studying.

Logan leaned against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed, as he watched her wander around the room with curious eyes. He couldn't help but let his gaze slide over her, observing how she moved so delicately, like a graceful heron. Her clothes were simple, yet somehow, she made them look elegant and magical—a pink skirt and a white blouse with puffed sleeves. Half of her hair was tied up while the rest cascaded down her back like a waterfall, reaching places he knew he shouldn't be staring at. Logan mentally scolded himself, shaking his head firmly as he tried to focus on the windows.

That's exactly what he hated about this girl—the way she made everyone fall under her charm without even trying. Even he, despite his enduring love for Jean, couldn't stop himself from looking at her. It made him feel like a disgusting pervert.

Logan let out a low growl, tightening his grip on his arms, leaving faint marks from the pressure, though they quickly disappeared. He could hear the murmurs of the students watching her as he tried to keep his mind steady.

"She's beautiful," a rough whisper from one male student made Logan turn his head.

With indifferent eyes, Logan observed the admiration that built up around Rosellina with every step she took. The students watched her with eyes full of infatuation. She hadn't even said a word, but they were all staring at her, though they kept their distance, as if feeling unworthy of approaching her. Logan raised an eyebrow at their behavior. It was like she was a painting they admired from afar, afraid to touch for fear of breaking it. Like she was somehow "forbidden."

He chuckled under his breath, but it wasn't because he found it funny. Not at all—it irritated him. The reverence for someone just because they were pretty, someone who barely said more than two words.

"Uh, good morning," Rosellina finally spoke after hearing the whispers, attempting to greet them.

Logan was surprised by the gesture, but what shocked him even more was the students' response. Shy and embarrassed, they turned away, and only a few managed to give her a small nod in return.

Logan huffed at their ridiculous and timid behavior. Impatient, he pushed off the bookshelf and grabbed Rosellina's wrist.

"She's just a girl," he growled. "Stop drooling and at least return her greeting, you rude brats."

Rosellina was caught off guard, not only by Logan's sudden intervention that caused the students to mutter their apologies under their breath, but by his grip on her wrist—so rough, so abrupt, and of course, without any permission. She hadn't even realized when her legs instinctively quickened, trying to match Logan's long strides as he moved swiftly down the hallway, his towering height forcing her to keep pace.

"L-Logan..." she murmured softly, trying to keep up as they climbed the stairs. "It hurts..." she whispered, wincing as he dragged her down the hallway.

"I really hate you," he spat.

Those words left Rosellina stunned. She could only remain silent, frozen by the sharpness of them. Logan was a man giving her firsts in ways she couldn't understand. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Why was this man, who barely knew her, so determined to bury her beneath his hatred, to push her away from him?

"The way you draw attention, the way you make people stupid, unable to speak, and yet you don't even say anything back," he continued, releasing her wrist abruptly, letting it drop as she came to a halt.

He turned to face her, his breathing heavy, revealing the erratic pace of his heart driven by the rush of adrenaline.

"I hate it so much."

Rosellina looked at him, feeling a sudden ache in her chest. What was that feeling? Why did it hurt? She wasn't sick, so why did her heart feel this way? In a desperate attempt to ignore that unknown pain, she offered him an embarrassed smile. Even though she wasn't to blame, she was ready to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking at him. "I didn't mean to be such a bother to you today."

Logan blinked, taken aback by her response. It only made his irritation grow. Why was she acting like she was the one at fault? Why so much submission? It was driving him crazy. He hated that unbearably helpless attitude.

"Forget it," he muttered under his breath.

The sharp words, like a blade ready to cut deep, were held back. He was restraining himself, knowing deep down that this girl wasn't truly at fault. Or at least his mind tormented him with the thought of Charles scolding him if she ran off in tears because of his rough demeanor.

"Walk," he grumbled as he began to move, shoving his hands into his pockets. The quicker they got this over with, the better for both of them.

The tour of the facilities continued until they reached the second floor, above the dormitories where more secluded rooms were located. Rosellina remained silent, avoiding greetings but offering a shy smile as the older students occasionally glanced at her. Soon, the hallways were empty, and she couldn't help but fidget with her hands.

"What's your mutation?" she dared to ask after what felt like an eternal silence under the weight of the tension.

Logan didn't respond at first, unwilling to engage in more conversation than necessary, but it seemed Rosellina was determined to go against his plans.

"Healing."

He answered curtly, but he could feel her gaze behind him, quietly asking for more information.

"I've got enhanced senses. I'm like an animal, but with extraordinary regenerative abilities," he explained after a few moments of hesitation.

Rosellina nodded, trying to piece it together. Someone who could heal as quickly as he was injured? That explained why Logan, despite his age, looked so young. His mutation slowed his aging. She observed him subtly, careful not to seem intrusive, until her eyes landed on his chest. A dog tag rested against his shirt, and she could clearly read the name on it.

Wolverine.

She remembered Rogue mentioning that most had nicknames, and she quickly deduced that this was Logan's. It suited him, considering what he had told her about his mutation. Yet, despite everything, Logan didn't generate any ill feelings within her. It was his behavior that caused those tiny stings of pain in her chest.

"Were you in the army?"

Rosellina asked after a while, nervous that she might anger him again. Logan let out a heavy breath in response before turning slightly to look at her.

"You're out of questions."

That was all he said, but his response only confirmed for Rosellina that it was a sensitive subject for him. His expression had darkened when she mentioned it. She followed him closely as he pointed out more rooms, moving at a faster pace, his desire to end the tour evident.

"The professor mentioned an attic," she whispered softly, debating whether she should've said anything at all.

She could've let him go and asked Rogue to take her there instead. She watched Logan stop, fully expecting him to sigh in frustration.

"I... we can finish here—"

"Follow me, it's up the right staircase."

Logan interrupted her, veering off and walking with long strides, though his pace had softened so she could keep up. They ascended toward one of the mansion's towers. When they arrived, Logan turned on the lights, the smell of wood immediately filling the space, mingling with the natural floral scent of Rosellina as she stepped inside, awestruck by the attic's size. Logan lingered in the doorway, watching as the light from the balcony helped him see her move around, as if she were already placing things in their designated spots in her mind.

"Why did the professor give you the attic?"

Logan asked, curiosity gnawing at him. Rosellina, stepping away from the table she had been examining, turned to face him.

"He said I could paint here if I needed space, so I wouldn't bother anyone."

She answered, as kind as always.

"Paint?" Logan raised an eyebrow, not expecting that response.

"Yes, I'm an artist."

Logan could sense the hint of pride in her words when she spoke about her craft.

"Well, I guess that's something you can afford to do when your father's one of the Pentagon's big shots," Logan scoffed, the glint of disdain sharp in his eyes.

Rosellina lightly grazed her fingers across the wooden table before pulling her hand back, a small smile on her face.

"I suppose," she murmured after a moment.

Why did it feel like Logan kept testing the limits of her patience? Was she always going to let people treat her like this without pushing back?

"I really do love painting. It's a way to express myself."

Her words pulled him from his thoughts, as she stared down at the floor.

"Everyone expresses themselves somehow, but for me... well, sometimes it's hard to say what I feel." She confessed, her face turning toward the warm light spilling in from the balcony. "It's so easy to swim and just as easy to drown at the same time. But a lifeline can always be there, something to hold on to and escape from the obvious, if only for a moment."

Logan listened closely. Her words flowed like prose, a melody written in frustration and emotion on the oldest pages of Europe, hinting at something deeper. He wasn't sure if it was just her artistic nature making such elaborate comparisons to things that could've been explained in simpler terms, but something about it held him captive.

"Escaping death is easier than escaping feelings, always finding a way to hide them in plain sight, beyond the understanding of those who can't see past their own pain." Rosellina recited, as if recalling a forgotten tale lost in an untold book.

Logan found himself submerged, drawn into that stormy sea of words that seemed to lead nowhere—yet they consumed him. Because, in his mind, there was an understanding, a connection to what she was saying, even if he didn't fully grasp it himself.

"Maybe... painting is my lifeline." Rosellina turned to meet his gaze with a gentle smile. "But mostly, I love doing it because it makes people happy when I do."

She added, as if trying to steer the conversation away from the previous reflections. Logan looked into her eyes, those emerald gems piercing deeper into him, searching for something beyond what he projected. They were mesmerizing, undeniably beautiful. A truth he couldn't deny.

There was a silence between them as Logan observed her; a storm always seemed to brew whenever Rosellina was around. After what felt like an eternity, Logan finally peeled himself away from the doorway.

"I'm sure you've got other things to do, just like me," he said, turning to head down the stairs. In his language, that meant: time to get out.

Rosellina hurried to follow him, casting one last glance at the space. For some reason, Logan didn't seem as resentful as he had been yesterday or even this morning—that was a small victory for her. They descended the stairs together, arriving at the ground floor where most of the people were gathered. Jean crossed their path before Rosellina could greet her, but Logan beat her to it.

"Hey, Jean," he greeted her with a small smile.

Jean quickly returned the smile and greeting. Rosellina stood there, watching the interaction, noticing Logan's smile and his attitude towards Jean. Was he only resentful towards her? No, surely not. Rosellina mentally shook the thought away.

"Hi, Logan, and you too, Rosellina. I see you've finished the tour," Jean observed after saying hello.

Rosellina greeted her and nodded in agreement.

"Well, you sure took your time. It's already lunchtime."

"Yeah, well, the place isn't exactly small," Logan replied with a short laugh.

Rosellina could feel herself fading into the background of the conversation. Even though they were talking about both of them, the conversation started to feel more like it was just between Logan and Jean. Her emerald eyes watched their expressions, noticing the faint air of flirtation between them.

A flush rose to Rosellina's cheeks. They were probably a couple or at least interested in each other, and here she was, stuck in the middle, feeling like a third wheel illuminating a pair of lovers.

"I've got things to take care of, ciao," Rosellina mumbled softly, excusing herself so as not to interrupt any further.

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw them speaking comfortably, catching sight of Logan's expression as he looked at Jean, noticing the small touches she made on his arm. She quickly turned back.

Intrusive. You're being rude, Rosellina.

She scolded herself mentally, determined not to look again. All she could think now was that Logan probably had a girlfriend, which didn't make him a bad guy, right? Rogue had been right, after all. Not that she had ever thought he was a bad guy anyway.

Logan was so absorbed in his conversation with Jean that he suddenly realized he no longer caught the scent of Rosellina's perfume. He turned around to see that she was gone. When had she left? Jean had distracted him that much.

"Logan?" Jean called, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, didn't notice the little annoying rose had left," he muttered, refocusing on Jean.

"You don't like her, huh?" Jean asked as they walked down the hallway and out of the mansion, heading toward the front gardens.

"No," he answered firmly.

After a while, Logan's curiosity got the better of him, and he continued, "Beyond her striking looks, I don't even know what her mutation is."

"Well, you didn't ask her, did you? I'm sure she would've told you. She's not shy about showing it."

Jean teased him, practically telling him it was his fault for not asking her directly. Logan cursed under his breath, glancing at Jean while listening to her. Standing around like an idiot and just listening wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

"I'm asking you so you can tell me, Jean."

Jean raised an eyebrow before giving a sly smile.

"It's in her eyes."

Logan stopped in his tracks, recalling how he had been captivated by her eyes just a moment ago. He remembered thinking they were the most intense emerald green he'd ever seen in his life—like two precious gems. But he hadn't thought much further than that. Beyond her striking pink hair, those eyes were the real pressure that could crush you like the deep ocean's abyss.

"Her eyes? What are they supposed to do?"

"Illusions, she can make your mind see things completely out of reality."

Logan thought that maybe people fell under her spell because of her charm, but that wasn't the case. Her mutation went beyond his understanding. Jean took her time explaining what the professor had told her, along with his hypotheses after conducting an initial test with Rosellina. The Canadian listened closely as Jean talked about the classes Charles would have with Rosellina and how she had agreed to become an arts teacher.

"Art teacher..." he muttered to himself with a faint, mocking smile.

It suits her.

Logan thought to himself. Just then, he felt Jean's hands softly brushing against his, her fingertips tracing the calluses on his palms. That small electric charge traveled up Logan's spine, quickening his heartbeat. He turned to look at her.

"I thought you'd be falling for her by now; she's a very beautiful woman." Jean's words felt strange to him. He could sense a mix of teasing and satisfaction in them.

"I only have eyes for one person, if that's what you're worried about." His voice was lower, more intimate and rough. His hands slipped under her jacket, gently grazing her waist, savoring the feel through her clothes.

Once again, he was falling into something he shouldn't. Into the endless flirtation with Jean that always led nowhere, leaving him with scraps of affection that would never turn into anything more.

"She's not even my type," he clarified.

"She's sweet, pretty," Jean offered, "smart, kind."

"I prefer the strong, independent ones." He shook his head at her attempt, his face leaning closer to hers. "What do I have to do to make you understand that I'm only dying for you?" He confessed, now dangerously close.

Jean placed her hands on Logan's chest, creating some space between them, a small barrier, as she felt her breath catch. Logan's masculinity and boldness always made her tremble—a forbidden man who would only bring her trouble.

"Girls only flirt with the bad boy, Logan..." she whispered softly, looking at him with doe-like eyes. "But they marry the good guy."

Jean crossed that dangerous line, her lips almost brushing against his. Jean could hear the low growl in his throat, feel his hot breath on her face.

"I could be the good guy..." he murmured against her lips, barely grazing them.

He was putting all of his effort into not doing something reckless in the school's gardens, where anyone could see them. It was all forbidden and filled with consequences, a mix that made him both sick and excited at the same time. That little fantasy evaporated when Jean, just inches from sharing a kiss with him, pulled away. Once again, the same thing happened. So close, yet so far.

"Scott's waiting for me," she said as her final words, removing her hands from his chest and breaking all contact as his own hand slipped from her waist. She turned to leave, leaving him standing there. Logan didn't dare say anything, letting her walk away. All he could feel was a toxic storm brewing inside, consuming him—pain, pain and resignation. Settling for the bare minimum, knowing it would never go further, and that he would always be the loser, never the first choice for the red-haired woman he desired so much. Could his healing ability save him from that pain he masochistically confused with pleasure? No. He wouldn't feel so lost and broken, knowing he would never be her choice.

"Damn it."

________________________________________

Why does the forbidden always have to be so tempting?

The human desire to always want what we can't have, that greed that makes us brush against sins we will later pay for dearly.

There is no sin without consequences.

________________________________________

Hello, my dear readers! I'm leaving a little note here for you. I know you're a fan of Marvel, so if you're interested, I've recently published another book, though this one focuses more on the Avengers. In this fanfic, the Avengers' story is rebooted from the first movie, and a new female original character will change the course of the movie timeline in this alternate reality. You can find it on my profile, or search for it by title: Immortal Flames.

If you're also into Japanese mythology, this fanfic will be for you! (Of course, it will be explicit and feature romance between the original character and another Avenger, along with secondary pairings among other Avengers).

I hope you're enjoying Rosellina's story. ✨️

Kisses, 

Judy. 💖

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting.  Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

*

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

*

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

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Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

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[she-whatshername]

loved the sleepy Tyrrish men hcs. would you write one for how they’d be if you had a nightmare?

I’m so glad you liked the Sleepy Headcanons. Those were fun to write. Let’s see how they’d react to this prompt

Prompt: nightmares

Bodhi:

If you had a nightmare Bodhi would be an amazing person to consult with.

He’d take you seriously. Even though it was a dream he knows what those are lien and how real the fear is

No matter what he’s doing, if you come to him, he’s pausing any task to be there for you

“Hey, bit late for you to be up - love, what’s wrong? …. Let’s head back to bed and talk about it. Can you walk? I’ll carry you.”

How does he take care of you: giving you lots of attention, eye contact, holding your hand while you talk, and if you can’t share just yet he’s sitting in silence with you rubbing circles on the top of your hands while he holds them.

He always offers tea after you wake up from a nightmare to help you calm down to sleep again

He makes a mean cuppa tea and keeps a kettle in his room near the fireplace so he make a brew for you without leaving the room.

He’s going to hold you, with your permission, for the rest of the night after you fall asleep.

Garrick

This man

He’s so observant he’d most likely sense you’re having a nightmare and help coax you awake

And he’d be so fucking good at it

You’d wake up terrified and he’s hovering over you like, “easy, easy. Just a dream, love. You’re fine. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Atta girl.”

And even if you did wake up ready to fight and accidentally attack him he’d make some joke about how you need to take that energy to the sparring gym the next day

How does he take care of you: Garrick would listen to you like Bodhi but I don’t think he’d be as present throughout the convo, mostly because he’s running though scenarios to see what he can do to make sure the nightmares go away.

And post-nightmare care with Garrick is great

After you fall back asleep he’s sneaking out in the morning to get you breakfast in bed or he’s using his “Xaden is my friend” card with senior leadership or Brennan to push back any matches or get you excused from class

He’s also doing side guard dog duties and giving angry eyes or quick quips to anyone who says how tired you look the next day

Xaden

Ok do not come for me

I do not think he’d be the best person to take care of you after a nightmare

I don’t think this man had a restful night himself since before the apostasy so I feel like he too is working through some shit himself

He probably wouldn’t know you had nightmares unless you told him directly. And honestly he’d be a little stuck on how to take care of you.

He’d hold you, ask if you want to talk and kiss your forehead but it’s very surface level

Nightmares are hard for him, and that’s okay. He’s great at other things

Though he’d make sure that if he can’t help you, you’re getting Bodhis kindness and Garricks careful planning to make sure you’re taken care of.

Honestly he’d probably get Bodhi and Garrick in a room and be like “Y/N is having nightmares. Fix it.” Lolol

And he’s there too! Not gonna lie but if he’s super confused on how to help you he’s using his signet to find out what the nightmare was. And if it’s related to any living person in the quadrant. He’s going after them lolol

He’s the male lead equivalent to “you were mean to my partner in a dream and now I am pissed and going to kick your ass”

[nnight-dances]

FADE INTO YOU ˚₊☆ ‧₊˚

[a sequel to REPETITION / RARE LOVE]

Mingyu, your best friend turned lover, is possibly the best thing that's happened to you. But as you juggle a rigorous summer internship and pressure from home, you start to spiral. Overworked and isolated, you're spiraling and the cherry on top: you overhear Mingyu say some things that have you convinced he's tired of you. Fighting takes on a different meaning now that you aren't just a couple of besties and heartache is possibly inevitable.

PAIRING: kim mingyu x fem!reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, some suggestive content toward the end

TROPES: unhealthy working habits, miscommunication or rather lack of communication, mean mother, hurt/comfort question mark, you're on your period as well as sick at one point, arguing and conflict :/

WORD COUNT: 6.5k approximately

"So, how's it going with Mingyu?" 

"It is…" you trail off as you poke at the discarded pizza crust on your plate, "...going well."

Yunjin's smile retracts at your hesitant pause. "What's wrong?"

"I never said anything was wrong. On the contrary, if you were listening to what I just said–"

"That pause was at least three seconds long. Three seconds, Y/N! That's the first sign!"

You frown, "The first sign of what?"

"A fight. You're fighting with Mingyu, aren't you?"

"I mean, fighting is what we do. Most of our relationship is based on the other's ability to be a witty bastard." You scoff uneasily. "I think we'd be in trouble if we weren't fighting." 

"You and I both know that's not what I meant," Yunjin sighs at your antics. "I'm talking about a real fight."

"...No. We're fine, Yunjin, you're worrying over nothing."

Though she drops the topic thereafter, you can tell by the way she bids you goodbye, leaving with a sneaky "make up with Mingyu before it's too late!!!" that she's not convinced. On the ride back home, you stare at your phone as you go over the conversation again and again. Biting your lip, you wonder why Yunjin had been inclined to think that you were fighting with Mingyu in the first place, anyway.

The thought, though not unsurprising, was a little out of place in your head. 

Truth be told, all isn't well with you.

You'd been having a couple of rough weeks and it had a lot to do with the fact that you'd chosen to not go back home for the summer, choosing to stay in your college town to pursue an internship there instead. While the internship itself was overwhelming at times, at the end of the day, you felt more fulfilled than ever. However, the consequences of you not visiting your family had you rubbing your temples more often than not every time you fielded a call from one of your parents. 

And though you'd told them that the only reason you weren't back home was your internship, there was more to it than that. For one, as much you missed basking in the attention of your parents and showering your sweet dog with love, you also were actively avoiding the suffocation of home: the prying questions about your future career, the insanely invasive relatives who would no doubt leave snide remarks in their wake, and of course, everyone's reactions to your best friend to lovers arc with Kim Mingyu. 

You'd been renting a place with Mingyu over these few months because he, too, had decided to stay back to take a summer class and study in advance for some difficult courses next semester. Most days, it was everything you'd wanted: waking up to a warm bed and the sound of Mingyu snoring into your neck, slow breakfasts cooked mostly by Mingyu while you clung to his waist, and long days at the desk in front of your computer. Well, the last part wasn't ideal but every time your supervisor assigned you a new, more advanced task, you couldn't help but feel proud of yourself. 

However, some days weren't as dreamy as you'd hoped they would be. To begin with, the past week had you waking up with heavy eyelids, perhaps something to do with the late nights you'd been pulling to finish your work, and an empty bed. Mingyu's class had started meeting earlier thanks to the heat in the afternoons, which meant you were left to fend for yourself during breakfast. Head heavy, you'd drag yourself to eat some sloppy cereal and get to work: somewhat manageable of a day. 

But today as you're swirling through your bowl of muesli to pick out some raisins, your phone buzzes on the table. If the sudden sound doesn't startle you, the name on the screen definitely has your heart beating a little bit faster: it's your mother. You're already dreading the conversation. 

"Hello?" 

"Did you just wake up?" comes your mother's voice, her tone already hostile. Great. 

"Um, yeah, I woke up like half an hour ago. Why?"

"...Nothing. It's just I thought you were really busy with classes."

"Mom, I've told you it's not class, it's an internship. Two very different things." You inhale deeply to calm yourself. When she asks you if you've eaten, you tell her you're currently having some muesli. Ignoring the scoff that she lets out, you ask her about her day, a question that she gives her usual vague answer to. You try to engage with her rationally, intent on getting some cordial connection with her.

But honestly, it's no use, your mother's set on picking you apart today and so she does, especially when you let it slide that Mingyu's at class. 

"In class? Already? Y/N, you should learn a thing or two from him. Just because you're dating him doesn't mean you can slack off like this, okay? I don't want to see you become lazy over some man. I don't care how rich–"

You cut her off, afraid of what you might have to hear if you didn't. "Mom. I can't believe you're making this a competition! I'm not making an enemy out of my boyfriend because you want me to."

Your stomach lurches at how high-pitched your voice sounds to your own ears, vision blurring somewhere along the way. "Fine. If you're gonna scream at me every time I call you, I might as well stop." 

"Mom–" She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you staring at the fading screen with her contact photo on it. It was a picture of the two of you, with you grinning as she leaned in to peck your cheek. It was maybe one of your favorite photos, especially when you came to associate it with phone calls with your mother, something that used to be a comfort amidst the chaos of your life. Now, you weren't so sure as you rested your forehead against the wooden table, eyes swimming with unshed tears. You blink them away, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, because despite everything, you didn't have the time to cry over this. 

So slowly, you pick yourself, wiping at your cheeks. You move on in your day, washing your dishes as well as Mingyu's from earlier this morning. You shower, and pat your face with skincare, find a shirt that doesn't remind you of home, and take a seat at your workstation in the living room. Headphones on your ears, the reminder of your fight with your mother slowly fades away as you begin working. 

Despite everything, you found yourself thinking later that afternoon as you refilled your water bottle, you were so grateful for Mingyu and the stability that he brought you, whether it be as a friend or as a roommate. It was with this reliance on him that you pushed yourself through the day. So when he came back from class, more sullen than usual, you find yourself instantly unsettled.

"Gyu?" you call out, removing your headphones when the jingling of keys catches your attention. The big guy stoops in the hallway, removing his shoes and outerwear before stepping in. He makes eye contact and the soft smile he shoots you, you can tell, is forced. You're standing up, "Hey, you're late today. Everything okay?"

"Not at all. Prof kept us back late to throw extra credit stuff at us. It's ridiculous but I needed it, so I stayed back." You nod in understanding as you walk to him in the kitchen, watching as he washes his hand and pours himself cold water. "It was worst though, babe, I kept falling asleep."

You match the pout on his lips when he finally meets you at the kitchen counter, hands finding your waist as you press yourself into him. "Hmm, sorry to hear that, Gyu. Did you not sleep much last night?"

"No, it's real weird. I kept waking up in the middle of the night. And every position I slept in was so uncomfortable. Plus, I kept thinking I was gonna wake you up on accident."

"Ha, and since when have you cared about my sleep?" you chuckle into his chest, "Just wake me up next time and we can have hot cocoa or something."

Mingyu hums in appreciation around you, "I'll make you regret that offer tonight."

You hit him when you separate, eyes trailing back to your workspace and Mingyu catches on as his hands tighten around ever so slightly. Eyes desperate, he asks, "You wanna watch a movie tonight? I can order some fried chicken." 

You light up momentarily and then are instantly reminded of the deadline that awaits you in a few days. Mingyu notices you stiffen a little and you sigh. "I have that stupid report due on Friday, Gyu," you whine.

"Can't you take a break for a while? You've been working so hard lately." Mingyu brushes your hair back, his thumb rubbing at your jaw gently. "You deserve some time off." When you seem to remain in your rumination period, Mingyu presses a peck on your lips. "Please?"

You groan as you playfully push him away, "God, I hate it when you're physically affectionate as a way to entice me into doing things with you."

"So movie night's on?"

"...Are you ordering the chicken or should I?"

"Hehe, I love you."  

"Ew, stop, Gyu, go take a shower!!"

As you steer Mingyu toward your shared bedroom, you make your way back to your desk, invigorated by the promise you've made to Mingyu to finish as much as you can for tonight. The motivation's enough to push you into the zone as you go through your notes and begin typing away. 

You don't realize how much time's passed until you feel Mingyu's cold hands press against your collarbones. You jump at the sudden touch but groan in familiarity as fingers gingerly find your scalp before you can scold him for surprising you. 

But then you look at the time and curse under your breath, "Fuck, I forgot to order the–"

"It's okay, I ordered fifteen minutes ago. It'll be here in ten."

You kiss Mingyu's knuckle apologetically, "Thanks, babe. I'll let you choose the movie for tonight."

"Really?" he squeals, and you guffaw at the way he flaps his arms around excitedly, making his way to the couch and TV. "Oh my God, this is so sudden. I need to see if they have all the Nancy Meyers movies on Netflix– Or wait, I could pirate it– Or wait, what about our subscription to– Oh no, I forgot to pay the–" 

You slowly turn back around as your boyfriend busies himself with picking a movie for the night and your head throbs as you look at your screen, feeling guilty about ditching the work that awaited you. But then, you tune back into the rambling Mingyu in your living room and you can't help but care more about sitting in your boyfriend's arms with fried chicken crumbs all over your lap. 

And that's what you find yourself doing half an hour later. It's a little bit concerning how focused on the movie– The Holiday, Mingyu had finally chosen– so much so that you have to keep pushing him to eat as well. At one point he chokes on some chicken and you have to pat his back real hard to make sure he stays alive. 

"Are you sure you're trying to keep me alive because–" Cough, "you're going really hard, babe."

You laugh as he returns to normal and push a glass of water toward him, "Of course, big guy, I wouldn't be able to pay rent if you died so keeping you alive makes top 3 on my to-do list."

"Top three? What's more important than keeping me alive?"

"First of all, rude. Second of all – duh, keeping myself alive. That's second on my to-do list."

"Y/N," Mingyu starts warningly, "Please don't tell me number one on your to-do list is to video-record me screaming at that one Youtube video of scary ghost sounds."

"No! Obviously not, Gyu."

"..."

"It was to record you crying over a video of babies saying their first words."

"Aww, come on, Y/N! You know how I feel about that! It's like their lives have begun when they start speaking! They're all alone in this big world!! And don't even get me started when their first words are a parent's name– That's like endgame right there!!!"

Eventually, the two of you manage to get back on track when it came to actually watching the movie – except, you don't. Admittedly, once you've both finished your food and settled in to focus on the television screen, you find your mind wandering. And while once that would've meant something entirely NSFW, thanks to your long hours, you find yourself thinking about work. The work that's sitting right there on your desk that you can see, just sitting there in the darkness, all tangible and full of consequences behind the TV.  And once you start thinking, there's no stopping it and before you know it, you're all up in your head. 

So much so that you're brought back to earth when Mingyu pauses the movie and stares you donw in silence. It takes you a moment but then you bite your lip as you meet his gaze, feeling like you'd been caught red-handed cheating on him. And well, the way he looked at you in disappointment, you might as well have been. 

"Y/N, you've been looking at your desk longingly for the past ten minutes."

You really don't have anything to say for yourself except, "I'm really sorry, Gyu."

He sighs at your quick admission of guilt and you hate the way he peels his arm of your shoulder. "It's okay, if you need to work, you can go work."

"No, but we're watching a movie–"

"There's no point to it if you're distracted."

"I'm sorry, I won't think about work, promise."

"No, no, it's okay, babe," Mingyu reassures you, hand finding your shoulders, rubbing circles into it as you look back at him in dismay, "I'm serious, I don't want to keep you from completing your work. We can finish watching the movie later, alright?"

You deflate a little, "Okay. But I promise I'll make it up to you, okay, Gyu?"

Your boyfriend simply smiles at you and the sight makes you regret ever making him pause the movie when you could've been cuddling into his warmth instead. But he's so sweet when he kisses your cheek, "Don't worry about it, my love." 

The next few days find you absolutely swamped because where you'd thought things would get better slowly, they only got worse. Your internship was more stressful than ever as you found yourself going later and later into the night to keep up with the tasks assigned to you. The report was coming along slower than you'd like. But while you could do something about those things, there were things that felt completely out of your reach. 

For one, you'd been ignoring your mother's calls, a measure you'd taken to protect your fragile mental state. Each time you'd send her quick but cold text saying something along the lines of I'm too busy to talk right now. You felt bad every time you left her hanging but it was undeniable that you felt slightly less deranged in the monrings without her daily check-in. 

But there was also the situation with Mingyu. Ever since movie night, you'd only spent lesser time with him, to the point that even getting to sleep in the same bed at him counted as a win for you. Even when he would come back around lunch but you'd be too busy working to notice and dinners were usually just the two of you talking back and forth about your days. 

At dinner, he seemed fine, answering your questions about class enthusiastically and listening to your own responses eagerly. But you'd notice the way he'd be quick to clear the table once you were both done eating, not even taking the chance to ask you to watch a movie or talk more with him. And though it stung right through your heart, the fact that you couldn't afford to take the initiative yourself left you no choice but to watch as he retired to the bedroom for the night. 

Which is when you come back from that lunch with Yunjin, your head's reeling. Were Mingyu and you fighting? Could you be? It didn't feel like a fight, it was a lot more nonverbal. More subtle. She'd asked you if things were okay and they weren't, but it's also not like they were terrible. They were just worse than okay. 

But Thursday night came around, and you were closer than ever to finish that godforsaken report and head into a much-needed weekend off. Feeling a little cheery in anticipation of all the free time you'd have, you thought you might take a break and ask if Mingyu to get late night ice-cream, an offer you knew he would never turn down. 

However, you're about to enter the room where Mingyu's said he's going go "rot while watching life-sucking short-form media content" (his own words from two hours ago) when you hear his low voice, presumably on the phone. 

"...yeah, man, I don't know, it's getting pretty bad.."

You freeze instantly, your guts lurching as they tell you this conversation probably has something to do with you. Before you can feel bad about eavesdropping or consider the possibility that you're only projecting, Mingyu goes on–

"Of course I've told her! Or at least, I've tried to tell her. I keep trying to get her to leave the house for something other than grocery runs… but it's no use. I kinda gave up after that." He sighs heavily and you hear the sheets shuffle, probably as he turns to his other side, voice now muffled. 

Your fists are at your sides, tight but shaky as you take in what he's saying, both in shock but also in acknowledgment. 

"It's hard for me, too, yeah, I guess. I miss her… non-overburdened self. I wish I could end the stress somehow…"

His voice gets harder to hear at that point or maybe you stop listening– it's hard to tell with the flood of thoughts in your head by then. You detach from the bedroom door and your legs drag you to your desk. You feel yourself sit but mentally, you're still outside the room, hearing Mingyu's honest thoughts for the first time in a week. Honestly, you ought to have seen it coming, with your one-track mind and his tendency to keep things to himself. 

I kinda gave up after that point… You know he's referring to getting you around to a healthier work schedule and still, you can't help but think of the words more generally. Like, in the context of your relationship and well– it was all dominoes anyway, right? One thing after another. Today, it was you neglecting spending time with Mingyu over your internship, tomorrow, what if he's giving up on you and your inability to prioritize? 

You take in a deep breath to steady yourself, feeling your thoughts get out of control. But they don't let up, Mingyu's words ringing in your head loud and clear. He wanted to end the stress– you were causing him stress. You lean into your chair and look up at the ceiling, stomach uneasily swirling. 

No, you tell yourself, you couldn't go based off a snippet of a conversation you eavesdropped on. Besides, Mingyu had every right to be tired of your work ethic and there was nothing you could do except try to get better at it. Slowly, you bring yourself to stare at your screen, plans to take an ice-cream break long abandoned.

A small part of you rationalized that it was already past one and starting tomorrow might be a better idea, but the larger and much more emotional part of you could only hear Mingyu's worn-out voice in the deep of night, and you know you can't stop till you're done.

…And that's how it's nearly six in the morning by the time you pick yourself off your chair. Good news: you've finished one of the biggest reports you'd submit during your internship, which meant you could take a few days off. Bad news: working an all-nighter on top of your sleep-deprived state meant you were barely functioning as you hauled yourself to bed.

More bad news: in your delirious state, you don't make it to the bedroom and pass out on the couch. 

Three hours later, Mingyu wakes up to a cold pillow next to his and sits up faster than he's ever before, mind racing as he calls out for you. Going to sleep to an empty bed, he was used to, but waking up to one was new for him. Every morning, it was to your peaceful sleeping figure he'd open his eyes to, without a mistake. It was the one constant that he was holding on to every morning. So yeah, he's pretty panicked when he finds you passed out cold on the couch. 

He debates why you might've slept on the couch instead of the bed and almost wakes you up because he can't stand the thought that he might've been the reason why. But he stops himself when he hears you snore quietly and instead presses a hand to your cheek lovingly– only to find you burning up. 

"Fuck." 

Fuck is right because when you finally come to, around two hours later, your body feels like a rock and not at all in a zen way. More so, in the way that every time you move, a shriek rips itself from your throat. Speaking of your throat, it's literally never been this dry. When you manage to sit up in bed and take a sip of the water that's conveniently placed next to you–

You half-choke on the liquid in your throat as you realize your surroundings. You didn't remember going to bed last night but then you spot the note on your side. It's from Mingyu.

Y/N: YOU WERE PASSED OUT ON THE COUCH LIKE AN IDIOT. YOU ALSO HAVE A FEVER. CAN U EAT THE PORRIDGE IN THE FRIDGE AFTER HEATING IT UP? I WILL BE BACK BY 3, HAVE A STUPID WORKSHEET TO TURN IN TODAY :( 

And then, in smaller writing:

we'll talk when i get back, okay?

[PS: please be alive when i come back or trust, i will make u pay rent from your grave]

You laugh at his note, the scrawny letters ever so characteristic of him, but immediately regret it when your headache makes its presence known. You groan as you get out of bed. The morning only seems to get more painful as you nurse your burnout-induced fever. Because the universe has perfectly timed your period to start today. So that's already two kinds of pains you're fighting in bed, when your phone rings a little too loud for your liking.

You don't who else you expect: it's your mother. And this is probably not a good time to hear her voice, not when you weren't on good terms, but the combination of your period and a fever has left you more emotionally vulnerable than ever and you find yourself craving her love.

Except you should've known better because when you answer the phone in a weak voice, muttering a "Hi," she's already snapping at you. "Took you long enough to stop ghosting your own mother!"

"Sorry, Mom, I was just… really busy with work. But I'm–"

"Why do you sound like that?" she sounds concerned and the indication of worry has you feeling a little warm despite everything. So you let it slip that you're sick. And where you'd thought you'd receive consolation and cooing, your mother's only reprimanding you: "Great. Now you've gotten yourself sick. You can't even take yourself, can you? When will you grow up, Y/N?"

You barely hold the sob that escapes your lungs at her harsh criticism and she catches on: "Are you crying? Y/N, you're such a kid–" And that's it, you give up. Silently, you hang up on your mother but instead of watching her contact photo fade, you throw your phone away from you in despair and hear as it lands on the floor with a crash. 

And God, everything might've hurt like hell before but now that you're crying, it's so much worse, you think you're going to die. But painful or not, the nasty crying actually feels good when it's out of your system and you think your fever might even be clearing up by the time you hear the front door open, signalling Mingyu's return. 

You sit up in bed, tears long wiped and phone recovered from the floor, as Mingyu enters the room with careful steps. When he notices you awake, he relaxes and meets your eyes with a concerned frown. 

"Hi, Gyu," you greet him through a small smile. 

Mingyu's cautious, more so than you've ever seen him as he regards you from the door of your bedroom: "Hi, babe. Are you feeling better?"

You nod, "Much. Thanks for the porridge. It was disgustingly healing."

Mingyu approaches the bed now, but instead of the quick affection you thought you might receive, he only narrows his eyes at you. Damn it, what was it with your loved ones and just being nice to you for once? (It might have something to do with… like, the consequences of your actions but you don't want to think too hard right now). 

"Why…" Mingyu starts and his voice is unfamiliarly grave. You almost shiver because you must've fucked up big-time if Kim Mingyu's bringing up serious talk for the first time in your years-long relationship with him. "Did you sleep on the couch last night?"

You swallow against your throat, dry once again but for different reasons. "Um, funny story, I kinda passed out there last night… or this morning. But!" you quickly supply your mistake with, "I finished my report early so I have all of today and the weekend to just do nothing."

Once again, Mingyu's looking at you, face serious, not even a hint of a smile and Yunjin's words are returning to you. As much as you hate to admit it, maybe you are fighting with Mingyu and fuck, you hate it. 

"Are you seriously pretending like everything's okay, Y/N?"

Mingyu's words are like a slap across your face, except instead of sending you flying, you end up returning to his words the night before. It's hard for me, he'd said, and you feel the weight of your selfishness all at once, the doubts you'd gotten yourself sick over invading your mind once again. Your eyes fall to your hands.

"You've been working yourself like a dog, Y/N! And now you're sick! Does that make you happy?"

God, you hate the way he says your name like it's a bad word. Or worse, like you're a stranger. Everything he says is a reminder of the burden you've been to him. 

"I'm sorry," your voice is small and you raise your eyes to his– which is a mistake because you catch the hurt look on his face and fuck, you're tearing up. So much for getting it out of your system beforehand. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Gyu."

Mingyu, on the other hand, is completely taken aback when you start shaking, hot tears streaming down your face rapidly. He'd been upset at your poor health and your mental condition the past few days, but he'd expected you to fight back; to defend your actions and to justify why you did what you did like you usually would. It'd be an intense going back and forth but the two of you would eventually fight it out.

But to see you break like this, fists wrapped tight around each other to the point of white– shit, he hadn't seen this coming.

The thing is you've both been on completely different wavelenghts for a while now. Where you've been plagued with self-doubt and guilt because of work, strained calls with family, and now, your fight with Mingyu; Mingyu's just been lonely. It didn't help that you weren't doing too much except small talk in your free time with him.

"Hey, baby, please, I'm– I didn't mean to make you cry. Please, you'll make yourself more sick."

You look up at him through tears in confusion, voice breaking, "You're… not mad at me?"

Mingyu frowns, "I am. But it doesn't mean I'll watch you cry yourself to death."

"God, I'm sorry, Gyu… I– I overheard you talking on the phone last night."

It takes him a moment to make sense of what you're saying but when his own conversation comes back to him, his heart's squeezing uncomfortably. "You heard me?" He feels guilt, regret, and hurt all at once. 

"I'm so sorry, Mingyu, I didn't mean to be such a bad girlfriend– heck, I was such a bad roommate this past week. And I'm sorry I was a burden to you when you have your own problems to deal with–"

Mingyu interrupts you when he crawls upto and places your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes are wide and you can visibly see the tears pricking there as he stares at you. "Y/N, the literal love of my life, what the actual fuck are you saying? You're not a burden to me. And what problems have you burdened with me when we barely talk about anything real these days?"

You purse your lips at the deserved call-out and Mingyu shakes you, "Babe, I wish you were more burdensome. I want to know everything that's worrying you. Please, I can't be there for you if I don't even know what demons you're fighting."

You blink away fresh tears at his genuine words. "I'm… on my period."

"Oh," breathes Mingyu, hands dropping to your shoulders, "Is it your first day?"

"Yes. And I've been fighting with my mom. My whole family maybe. But specifically her."

Mingyu wraps his arms fully around you this time. "God, I'm so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea you were having family problems. Is it because you didn't go back home?" When he feels you slowly nod against him, he says, "That sucks. But did you tell them how hard you've been working at this internship?"

"Mhmm, but my mom still thinks I won't ever be as good as you."

Mingyu pulls away at that, "Me? You talk to your mom about me? Wait, no, I mean, why does she think that?"

You contain a smile, "She knows you have summer school and that you go to class at nine. That's much more admirable than stupid little me who wakes up at eleven and eats cereal for breakfast. And then I went and got sick. So now she also thinks I can't take care of myself."

"...I think she might be right about that last part," Mingyu tells you with a pointed look and you push him away with a broken sigh. 

"I know, but you know what really gets my goat, Gyu? That you were dishing about me to someone else instead of calling me out to my face. If I was being a little bitch, I would rather you tell me. I don't want you to bottle it up and end up feeling resentful toward me."

"Hold on a minute, where is this coming from? Who said anything about you being a little bitch? If anything, you were a really massive bitch but only to yourself. I could tell that you felt bad about not spending time with me. But I wasn't ever resentful, I was just… lonely. I meant what I told Shua last night: I just miss you! And doing things with you..."

You scan his face for signs of any dishonesty but it's the same handsome but honest face that stares back at you. You lean into him until your forehead bumps against his chest, partly to feel his warmth again and partly to hide the tears that bubble out again. "Sorry. I was just. I was so scared that you were gonna want to break up with me."

Almost instantaneously, Mingyu's grip is on you, stronger than usual so that it actually hurts as he pulls you away. "What?" he asks in disbelief, "Are you genuinely insane. I'm going to need you to never say those words again. Please. Don't bring the possibility of that into existence or I will have to hurl myself back into my mother's womb."

You find yourself half-laughing and half-crying at his hysteric concern, entertained but also so incredibly relieved that Mingyu hates the thought of leaving you as much you do.

While you don't say anything and simply travel the territory between laughter and tears, Mingyu is genuinely losing it: "No, Y/N, I don't think you understand. That is simply not on the table. We've been dating for like, three months? I have so many things I want to do with you, okay? So if you're having these thoughts, throw them the fuck out because I'm going to actually pass away."

You finally break and shut Mingyu up with a kiss– a real kiss, and only pull away to mumble, "It's been a while, boyfriend. I love you so much it hurts."

You're only a little shocked when Mingyu sniffles, because you'd felt his cheeks dampen halfway through the kiss. His hand finds the back of your neck, keeping your lips a breath away from his. "Stupid girlfriend. Thinks she can play with my feelings and then kiss her way through a sorry." But he kisses you again anyway and you kiss him back with equal passion, convincing him enough to stop his crying.

"God, we must both look like shit right now," you giggle when you pull away, running a finger across his red cheeks. "Sorry I made you cry."

"I love you," Mingyu replies, "And if you ever overwork yourself to the point of sickness again, I will hurt you." 

"The way we talk is concerning to me sometimes. It sounds like we're… married or something. As if we're not literal college students. And as if you're not the biggest coward ever."

"Not sure why you felt the need to say that last thing but– Wasn't it Kazuha who said we were like her parents sometimes? We could live-stream our fights and market them as childhood nostalgia for kids around the world."

You can't keep your laughter in at his plan, but hit his arm anyway to let him know where you stood. "Damn it, Kim Mingyu, that's it, I'm going to call Zuha and tell her to block you as soon as she can." 

"But before I do that, can we go back to being irresponsible, unmarried young adults in love and order take-out for dinner? Please?"

Mingyu's grinning already, and you want to pick him up and pocket him for how adorable he can be but resort to gazing at him with hearts for eyes as he declares, "Of course, love, what do you wanna eat tonight?"

"You can decide. I'll go wash up in the meantime."

"Wait, I'll come with, I need to shower, too."

Now things start to get better. You settle into a comfortable silence with Mingyu, and as you snuggle next to him, you let the scent of him overwhelm you with a giddy smile. The food in your plate is warm and Mingyu is giggly as you finally finish watching The Holiday, and for once, your period cramps are merciful, for the pain of laughter brewing in your stomach is far more intense.

And the pain of love, as you watch Mingyu put away the leftovers from dinner and clean up the kitchen for the night. You'd volunteered to do the dishes but he simply pushed you into a chair at the kitchen table with a soft sigh and honestly, you're not complaining. He's better at doing them anyway.

In the dim glow of the quiet kitchen light, Mingyu's all soft edges, so careful as he wipes the damp plate you'd shared just a few minutes ago and the look in his eyes is loving when he finally makes his way back to you, asking if you'd like to head to bed now.

For the next few days, it's so easy to forget about time because you find yourself talking it away in Mingyu's arms, fighting the urge to kiss him every time he guffaws at something you say. But you also let him drag you out of the house, a real date in the city, both of you dressed up and blushy under the lamplights as you walk back from dinner. 

Wine-drunk, Mingyu stops you outside the front-door to the apartment and leans down to peck your cheek. The modest action has you all flustered and you let out an embarassed huff. "What are you kissing me good-night for?" you ask, more amused than you are confused. 

Mingyu's eyes twinkle in response, head clearly wrapped around some new plot. "I said I'd walk you home. This is home. You should head inside first." 

You laugh when he stands with his hands politely clasped in front of him, catching on to the bit. Only Kim Mingyu would think to pretend to be a shy first date dropping you off home, as if you hadn't known each other for as long as you'd known to love. 

"Ah, I didn't even realize we reached home. Such a shame," you cheekily step closer to him, one hand brushing against his crossed arms, "Do you want to come inside? We can… do things."

Mingyu breaks character with a toothy grin at that, "You're so bad at this!"

"What?" you ask in feigned offense, "I'm inviting you inside!"

"Yeah, but to "do things"? Is that really how you've been flirting with your first dates, babe? Actually, no, don't answer that– Unless? There's no way that works, right? Or do you just charm your way through the awkwardness– No, but that's just–"

"Okay, now you're rambling, big guy," you hook an arm around his and pull him inside after you. "Come on inside, we have things to do."

"Hmm, and these things…" Mingyu hums with an undertone of mischief, his arms sneaking around your waist already, "...they wouldn't include getting naked and um, cuddling?"

"Gross, Gyu! I was offering to watch a movie but– You're such a creepy little pervert– Ha– AGH, Okay, okay, okay, sorry, I'll stop! You can drop the threatening sock now please– NO, DON'T YOU DARE THROW IT AT ME, KIM MINGYU–" 

The next day, you're sure to call Yunjin up, who picks up with a heavy groan and before she can curse you out for waking her, you ask her if she wants to get lunch. "Gyu's coming, too, if that's okay?" Yunjin pauses. And then: "Ugh. So you guys finally made up? Thank God. I was getting tired of the passive aggressive texts from Joshua about you and Mingyu. Speaking of which, can I invite Joshua? He'll shut up if he sees you two in love in person."

– 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

i tried to preserve the best friend banter dynamic but given that they were fighting, it was a liltle hard. idk i can't tell if this is any good but it's something! i promise to proof-read later.... probably... anyway, ... thank you for reading and i love reading any feedback slash reviews in the tags so pls do let me know <3 lots of love to my friends and foes!!!! bye.

[apricityxoxo]

Help and Care.

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✧.* Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

✧.* wc 1,156

✧.* summary: he definitely didn't need help, he doesn't need someone to care for him. no one has ever helped him before, and no one ever cared so why would they start now. he doesn't care, he definitely doesn't need help. so why does he keep ending up in the infirmary with the beautiful nurse?

contents: fluff and a bit of angst

sorry y'all, I had to finish up my winter classes but I'm back. (don't be mad at me it's black history month.) here's something new that I'm working on and don't worry part three of uncertainty is coming soon. I'm going to make a masterlist and a schedule lol. hope y'all enjoy this and lmk what y'all want to see soon.

enjoyy

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Help. He hates help. He can’t stand it. When others look at him, when he looks at himself, he doesn’t see himself as someone dependent on others. Why else would he enlist, he didn’t need help, he learned that the hard way. No one ever helped him and he adjusted, so why would he need help now. People are dependent on him; they rely on him. When someone is injured, scared, or dead it’s up to him to fix the situation, to solve the problems of others, to carry the fallen.

When Price told him to go to the nurse he was upset, actually, he was pissed. He was not a child who scraped his knee playing football at school. He was a soldier; he was more than a mere man. He knew how to endure, he knew how to carry his weight, and he knew that he didn’t need to see the nurse. He knew what was wrong with him, he just bruised his ribs. He didn’t need some old woman with a bad attitude to tell him what he already knew.

He endured and he resisted the pain for exactly two weeks, but the pain was only getting worse. He was confused and didn’t know what to do, he hoped that no one had noticed and he didn’t want people to start. He didn’t want questions or concerns, he wanted relief and nothing more.

He thought no one would notice and he was so wrong.

Training.

Simon hated training the new recruits, they were cocky and they didn’t know their place. They thought after joining and passing the initial physical exams, they were done.

They were most definitely not done. They needed to adjust, physically and mentally, to fit in. Many people think the initial physical and mental exams are where new recruits break, no they break here, during training…with him. He hated it but, he knew why Price asked him to do it.

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Price usually did rounds during training, he watched the recruits and the techniques of the other task forces. The smell of sweat, dirt, and blood filled his system and that smell drew his attention to Ghost. Today he felt the need to check on Ghost, see how he was doing. Ghost was a good teacher even though he didn’t realize this, Price did though.

Ghost was mean, harsh, and disciplined, and the people he taught tended to not last long, however the ones who do, they turn out to be great because the one thing that ghost teaches best is endurance.

When Price was watching him train, he started to get upset and he was confused. This was most definitely not the big and bad Ghost he was used to. He thought at first that "maybe Ghost was pulling his punches?" When he paired Ghost up to train some of the rookies, he thought maybe Simon was finally going soft.

Usually after training, the rookies would be sore, and in pain, sometimes they might even need to be excused to nurse. However, these past few weeks the rookies have been surprisingly...fine. Maybe even better than fine and it's been making them cocky, it's boosted some of their egos.

It would probably boost his ego too, Price chuckled. If he were to beat the big, brutal, and scary Ghost while still a rookie. However, they are starting to get obnoxious because they are taunting and boasting, which is certainly something that Price could not have. It was starting to piss him off. Price was going to tell Ghost that if he didn’t put these pricks in line, there were going to be consequences.

That was the plan, but then he took a closer look and that’s when he saw it.

He saw the way that Ghost taking more hits than normal, he was slow to react and he was even slower to respond. His stance was off as well, usually his form made him feel like a giant among men but now he looked like he was shrinking himself, like it was his first day of training. Ghost wasn’t pulling his punches, he wasn't holding back, he was weak.

Now he was pissed.

Price knew.

Price knew exactly why Ghost wasn’t as strong as he usually is, why his punches aren’t as powerful as they normally are. Ghost was a disobedient bastard and Price was pissed.

“STOP! That’s enough training for today, soldiers.”

“Ghost, come now!”

“Yes, Captain” Ghost replied in his thick Manchester accent.

“The hell is wrong with you Lieutenant!”

“Nothin' Capt’n, I'm just-”

“You’re just hurt, did you go to the nurse?” Price knew the answer.

“I didn’t feel the need to go to the medical facility Capt’n”

“You didn’t feel the need to go?” Price asked Simon and looked at him like he was crazy. Since when did his soldiers feel the need for an opinion?

“If you don’t get your ass to the medical facility right now, you’re going to be training these pricks for three months straight. You understand?”

“Yessir!”

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Unbelievable!

He doesn’t need to be here. He feels everyone’s eyes on him as he walks to the nurse’s office. He’s rarely ever here and because of that it draws the eye, lots of them. He thanked his balaclava every day because without it, based on the face he was making, some might think he was actually nervous.

He doesn’t want some old hag telling him what to do and degrading him for not coming sooner. Some old nurse or doctor telling him everything he already knows just to insult him and show off their vast vocabulary just to try and make him feel small. that’s what they all do, that’s what his father did.

Before he goes and knocks on the door, he dries his palms on his pants, desperately hoping to get over this.

Knock-knock.

Some time passed but then he heard a soft voice say…

“Come on in”

He opened the door and he was surprised that the soft voice matched a beautifully soft face. A face with beautifully unique features that worked together in harmony to make the beautiful woman that sat before him.

God damn.

Those were the only words on his mind.

It wasn’t an old woman who looked like she had a chip on her shoulder and carried a deep grudge, nor someone who looked like they were going to insult him… no. definitely not.

It was a young woman.

A beautiful young woman.

A beautiful young woman with the most inviting features. Absolutely gorgeous, he’s never seen a woman this beautiful ever on this base. He feels like she doesn’t belong here, her face is an exact contrast to the environment he surrounds himself every day. He has a million questions he wants to ask her, he feels the strong urge to get closer to her. He’s such a creep. He doesn’t even know her name.

He feels his mouth goes dry and his hands sweat. Gross. He hasn’t felt this way since Secondary School, he feels like a dork and he doesn’t know what is wrong with him.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you!” Her voice was cheery and if he was a little bit more nervous, he wouldn’t notice the shock on her face and the tremble in her voice. He was used to that reaction; it was probably due to his appearance. her voice matched her face and he felt his heart beat faster, he finally was going to die.

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the whole story is coming soooon, pls let me know what yall think

i wrote this while listening to creep by radiohead lol

full story

[jelsah27]

imposter syndrome talked ab just some forewarning

In History Class

MC: *walks into class with a small smile on their face*

Deuce: Good morning, MC. You seem happy today.

Ace: Yeah what's got you all smiley?

MC: Well, Kalim and Jamil were at my dorm the other day. Kalim really wanted to know about foods from my world and Jamil tagged along for obvious reasons. At on point Kalim wanted to look at my room and he found my snap-out-of-it post-it notes on the wall.

Deuce: Snap-out-of-it post-it notes?

MC: Oh, yeah they help remind me that a lot of the problems I think I have aren't really as problematic as I think. Like "Every personality is a creation of experiences that make you you." or "My friends like me because I am me". You see a while ago I figured out that I have a bit of Imposter Syndrome.

Ace: A bit of what?

MC: Well, it's pretty much I feel like I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I'm not the gifted child everyone remembers or the smart person everyone seems to think I am. That if I can't hurry up and live up to everyone's expectations that they'll figure out I'm not as great a person they think I am and be disappointed and angry that all I am is an empty shell of who they believed I was and leave. Some times it will also come in the form of believing that my friends only want to be around me out of pity or that if I don't like what they like or want to do the same things as them then they will leave, even if they've reassured me they love me. I think the worst thoughts I ever got from it was when I started to believe that my personality was fake and that I didn't know why I was so different than the kid everyone liked. I started to believe that I had faked my personality from different shows, books, or even people to even have one.

MC: Honestly I didn't even realize it was imposter syndrome till someone else pointed it out to me after telling them this. I genuinely had no clue I was so disgusted with myself till I was talking with them about it and they pointed out that none of what I was saying was true, that everybody knew who I was and loved me as I am. I think I cried when they told me that.

Deuce: Prefect... I had no idea...

MC: It's alright, I've been learning to get better at combating it. Anyway, Kalim asked me about it and I basically told him and Jamil what I just told you. He then asked me what I'm doing to overcome it. So I told him about the main things that have helped. Reminding myself constantly that I am not fake or hiding who I am from people I love and who love me. Whenever I feel negative thoughts try to take over, think about one positive thing that I have done or something someone had said they love about me for every dark thought. If it gets to bad though, go to someone I trust and ask them flat out about those thoughts, it helps a lot. And twice a week I make a post-it or journal about one or two small things. Maybe a compliment someone gave me, or a task I completed. So every day or so since they've-

Jamil: *walks into the room* Prefect, here. I must get to class before Kalim catches something on fire I mean gets into trouble. Have a good day.*hands MC a small note and leaves the classroom*

MC: *smiling contently* It say 'Thank you for helping Kalim study yesterday great sevens know he needed it and your smile is unique'

Deuce: *getting out paper* If it helps you, I'll gladly join in.

Little bit of a rant u can skip I hope you enjoyed the post <3 Y'all I'm sorry I didn't mean to trauma dump but I really like the idea. But the story is true and I did cry (and it was in a restaurant) when my sis told me I was wrong and she knew who I really and she loves me. That our friends won't leave because all humans have opinions and we are allowed to clash. And that my personality isn't fake, that everyone's personality is what they've created themselves and that people add and take away from themselves all the time and work on parts of themselves they don't like to become better. That my brain was just being dark when there was many lights around me, waiting to be recognized. If any of y'all read this its just one side of imposter syndrome, there are a few versions and many levels of severity. I genuinely think you are awesome and perfectly imperfect the way you are!

Anywho thanks for reading!

[blueberrypancakesworld]

My heart...don't cry I'm here - Saltburn 2023

Michael Gavey x fem!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, angst, implied non-con kissing(from Oliver), jealousy, kissing/cuddling, mentions of blood

Summary : A winter ball or a party is an invitation with consequences and love that blossoms. Michael and his sweetheart were together, everything was perfect until one thing changed and love had to be defended.

Info : So again something for Saltburn and our sweet Michael a little thought/more complex. Have fun reading ;)

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Everything had been perfect since she had been at university, her grades were good and she had made friends. It was the perfect environment in 2006 with the others.

And it was only going to get better since she showed up in his math class, the extra afternoon class with him for the students who wanted to review the subject.

Maybe it was because it was just the two of them in the afternoon class, maybe it was because Michael was the "teacher" for the time, or maybe it was because she started bringing him a crunchy bar every time. Whatever it was, it brought the two of them together.

Maybe it was his smile that appeared every time she got another task right which was so full of joy for her that she couldn't help but smile herself. His joy and devotion to the subject and to her was clear.

That it was bound to happen at some point that when she suddenly dropped a pen and they both bent down for it, it seemed like a scene from a bad romance novel. ,,Please, I insist," he said and his lips curled into that cute smile again, which almost seemed to make him excited.

He adjusted his glasses again and put the pen back in her hand, she greeted him with a ,,Thank you Michael... tell me, I'm very grateful for all this, would you mind coming for a cup of tea with me?" she dared to ask, already preparing to be laughed at by him, that his flight of fancy had caused him to drop her.

Instead, she was almost blown away when he practically ripped her arm out and shook her hand, smiling broadly at her.

,,Oh yes, I'd love to, my dear!" he had told her and this was the first date they had had in a small cafe near the university for tea and a few cupcakes but she had quickly realized that Michael preferred his Crunchy Bars to any other sweet things.

When he dug into the chocolate and drank the tea she smiled at him and she could always see his slight nervousness. He had changed a little, he was no longer as stern and serious as he was when he was studying.

She had often seen him in the library looking at the books and exercise books so intently. Always with a thoughtful look on his face. But now he was as cute as an excited golden retriever.

But it didn't bother anyone, it was even kind of cute when he told the cashier that he had miscalculated. How he insisted that they recalculate that his bill was correct and the machine was wrong.

Michael shouted out the answer and only calmed down when she put her hand on his and gave him an understanding look. ,,Excuse my... my boyfriend, please do the math again?" she asked, not seeing the look of confusion and then complete love behind his glasses.

She hadn't dismissed him, she hadn't laughed at him or shamed him, she had called him her boyfriend. They were a couple.

They were really together. They had been together for a few months, almost a year, and yet their love for each other had never changed, on the contrary, it had only grown stronger.

It was perfect until she found the little note under her notebook, she had met Michael in the library and they had studied together and she still seemed to feel the kiss on the back of his hand when he greeted her.

,,Romance, my dear romantic, is the best thing I can give you every day," he always said before he kissed her enruet gently and always with a little hint of nervousness. He hid his eyes, pushed up his glasses and disappeared, waving.

She looked after him for a moment before disappearing into the library shelves, not paying attention to her notebook, and only when she came back did she see the little note.

Dearest Blood, I would like you to show up at my party for the Winter Ball. With best regards O she left the handwritten message and looked around to see if she could find the person who had left it there. But no?

No one seemed to fit the bill, although she could knowingly assign the O as the sender. Oliver Quick. The mutual friend of the two of them, or the cheat if Michael was concerned.

Oliver and he used to be friends, but since the brown-haired man had been hanging out with the rich guys from Saltburn and such, neither of them recognized him anymore.

Giving the note her attention for a moment, she sat back down to study and decided to tell Michael in the afternoon when they met again, not knowing that two eyes were already watching her.

That his lips curled into a smile and the plan of plans went according to plan. After a while, she disappeared from the library and found her darling in the cafeteria, his plate full of food and almost always the same.

,,Michael, look what I've found from your... friend," she said as she came to him with her tray, also full of food, and sat down at her seat, handing him the paper.

She saw how at first he seemed a little unknowing and then he seemed to remember the deceiver who had once been his friend. Looking at the paper he let her know they knew Oliver had changed but now?

Was it a good idea to go to the party? ,,A party...my darling, only if you feel like it, of course I would accompany you, it would certainly...certainly be interesting to see how he has been," Michael said and handed her the note after reading it again.

She looked at the paper, she didn't know the word "blood" from Oliver, she never thought he would become like this. One of the rich ones.

But was it true and didn't everyone deserve a second chance? That's what they both thought when they turned up at the Winter Ball, or rather the big boozy party, and they were rather overdressed.

Michael had chosen his suit and the white rose on his breast pocket, she had picked it out, fluffed it through his hair and given him a motivating kiss.

In return, he had laced up her dress and showered her with compliments before the two of them had walked through the large double doors just a few minutes later and found themselves at the "Winter Ball".

She heard the horrified sound of Michael looking at the party with an uncertain look that resembled her own. She wondered how the hell so many people could fit in here - it shouldn't be possible, should it?

Everyone was close together, bumping into their neighbors. ,,Shall we go?" she asked, looking at Michael, who adjusted his glasses and looked at her, even though he seemed to want to leave, he shook his head.

,,Shall I get us some drinks and you Oliver?" he asked and looked at her, reaching for her hand to show her that it could be different, that he was looking for his friend and she was looking for the drinks. But when her gaze turned to the bar or whatever else was there, she almost felt dizzy.

Crowds upon crowds of people had taken over the area around it and finding her way back in there would be suicide. ,, Sure we can do that," she said hastily and gave him a grateful look before they parted and Michael set off to make his way through the dancing drug addicts and his favorite through the crowds on the way to Oliver.

After having to dodge several drinks, drugs and dancing people and a leap backwards to avoid being hit by a keg of beer, she was about to give up the search when she saw a brown mop of hair disappear into one of the many rooms. A room she had never seen before.

There were many brown-haired people here, but when she saw the brief smile on the lips of the stranger, there seemed to be no doubt. It was a knowing smile, an amused smile, a hungry smile. The smile of someone who knew exactly what was going on around him.

Following the stranger into the room and opening the door, it suddenly seemed quieter, as if the walls had been built in such a way as to keep the lowly folk at bay. ,,Oliver Quick?" she asked, annoyed that her voice sounded so uncertain even though she had no reason to be.

She knew him, she thought, and yet it also seemed to be due to the room that she felt like she was being swallowed up.

Her voice didn't have the confidence she wanted and she felt her heart beat faster as the man turned around. ,,My blood, you really came, I thought you and the nerd had gone off," he sneered and she could just see his eyes roaming over her body.

He had tried to hide his attraction for her back then, but she had already seen that he was always too tempted to hug her as his hands wandered over her body.

Until she got together with Michael and Oliver left for Saltburn. ,,No we didn't Oliver, we're here to see how you're doing," she replied, glancing over her shoulder, knowing the door was within reach.

But the wolf in front of her was watching her and seemed to want to wrap his jaws around her at any moment. He smiled, winked at her and came towards her, step by step he seemed to enjoy seeing her like this more and more.

,,Looking around then, dear? You were worried how flattering," he whispered and continued to walk towards her, his hand reaching for hers and she felt him kiss the back of her hand, not sure if she should pull away. It was disgusting only Michael ever kissed her like that.

He wasn't Michael he wasn't the romantic he was a creep. ,,Let go of me, we're done here!" she screamed, wanting to tear her arm free and run for the door, out of the room, away from him, away from everything, and yet the wolf seemed faster.

Grasping her wrist, he healed her in place and the grin of his fangs frightened her even more and she wanted to scream. She could already feel herself gathering air, she would scream for her friend until she fell silent.

Something almost medicinal tasted, medicinal, bitter. Alcohol. The alcohol and drug-filled kiss of Oliver on her lips that robbed her of any scream.

She felt his hands running over her body, reaching for everything he could get, wanting more and more. It was disgusting the pressure on her arms, legs and back as he tried to loosen the bow.

Before suddenly all her senses exploded fear and panic flooded through her and she tore him away from her. She ran out and saw the grin behind her as he licked his lips as if he wanted more of this forbidden treasure.

She no longer saw anything but fear as she hurried through the crowd, not paying attention to the people, and only cried out again, which was drowned out by the music when she felt hands on her shoulders.

,,Darling!" she heard the nickname and feared it was Oliver who had opened up to her and wanted to pull her back into the room and take her into the dark.

She was afraid of what would happen. ,,Honey, it's Michael! What's going on? What happened?" he asked, his hands on her cheeks trying to calm her down, seeing the fear screaming in her eyes.

Her eyes full of fear looked at him and slowly she began to understand that it wasn't Oliver, that it wasn't the one who had kissed her who wanted more of her. ,,Mi-Michael...I-I want to leave now!" she screamed at him and saw that he was looking over her, searching for something to explain what had happened.

But by then he had already grabbed her by the hand and taken her out of the building, walked her to the car and put her inside.

The cool night enveloped her, but the heat seemed slow to overcome her. ,,What happened?" he asked, his voice calm yet demanding, she didn't have to look to know that he was pulling himself together, that his hands were shaking, that his body was tense and that he would give anything to help her.

,,Oli-Oliver he...kissed me...I flew I had to get away," she stammered, still afraid of what might have happened if she hadn't escaped.

Instead, she felt a comforting warmth other than the heat of the party Oliver gently placed his hand on hers and gave her a soft sympathetic expression before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a Crunchy bar.

His kiss was as gentle and careful as Oliver could ever be and he said, ,,Wait here please I'll be back in a few minutes everything will be fine darling". It was almost absurd how gentle he could be in this situation and she gave him as grateful a look as she could.

Before he left, he pulled out a handkerchief, skillfully wiped away the tears and gave her one last gentle kiss on the head.

It was so different from Oliver when Michael disappeared into the dark back to the party while she was back in the car looking at the bar in her hand. But this time the beating of her heart was different, it wasn't full of fear, it was full of love.

Even then, when he returned a few minutes later, she was startled to see the blood on his white shirt, the splinter in his glasses and the blood on his fingers. He wanted to start the car without saying a word but hadn't sorted himself out.

This time she put her hand on his, put her head on his shoulder and said a simple, ,,Thank you Michael, I love you" as he gave her another kiss.

She knew the blood smelled of Oliver he knew Michael had hit him but she didn't care she had him with her. His kisses covered Oliver's and with each kiss she slowly forgot what had happened.

There was only her and Michael had only ever given it and would only ever give it.

~~~~~~~~~

@ateliefloresdaprimavera , @valeskafics , @ria-coolgirl , @wigglywoos59 , @sapphirespiders , @su-per-fi-cial-if-rep-us

[lulublack90]

Prompt 23 - Teacher AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 23, word count 966

Sirius had been a teacher for quite a few years, and while he loved teaching the children, his true passion lay in his evening classes. Once a week, he gave up his time to teach adults who wanted to learn and, for some reason, and Sirius was only too willing to help them. 

The class was just beginning. This week, they’d be going over the short story he’d asked them all to read as homework and make a start on one of their own. He’d been told there would be a new student joining them that evening. It was very irregular. Normally, there was a start date that you had to begin at and not come halfway through the course. He’d been assured that the young man had been keeping up at home, but his ongoing health condition had made it impossible to attend the previous classes. 

Sirius sighed when he read the email from the course manager but vowed to help the chap catch up.

He cleared his throat, and his class went quiet. 

“Good evening, everyone. I hope you’re all doing well. Let’s begin with a show of hands. Who’s read the homework?” A sea of hands rose in front of him, and he couldn’t keep the beaming smile off his face. “Excellent! Now, who can tell me why Nellie did what she did?” He pointed at a woman in the back row. “Alice, you’re up.” The short woman checked her notes and began to speak. 

“She was tired of her life and wanted to be free of the chains that kept her there.” 

“Exactly.” He turned and wrote on the whiteboard. “She was a prisoner, and she longed to be free. So when the chance came, she took it. Now, when Nellie escapes, she rushes into the jungle in the dead of night with nothing but a small trunk filled with her few possessions. Was this a good idea or not?” He waited for a hand to go up. He could almost see their brains whirring. The classroom door opened, and a mousy-haired man popped his head around the door. Sirius stared at him, his eyes greedily taking in the slightly flustered handsome man. 

“Are you Mr Black?” He asked politely. 

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?” Sirius’s professional brain snapped back on. The man grinned, looking relieved. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I’ve ended up in the wrong room twice, and no one seemed to be able to point me in the right direction.” He pushed the door open and hobbled in. He was leaning heavily on a walking stick and took the only empty seat at the front of the class. 

“Right, where were we?” He asked, having completely forgotten. The new man raised his hand. “Yes—er?” Sirius nodded for him to talk. 

“Remus. Remus Lupin.” Remus helpfully supplied. 

“Thank you, Remus.”

“I think the risk of staying captive was far greater than whatever awaited her in the jungle. However, taking anything other than food and water was risky, but as we know, it worked out for her.” He answered Sirius’s question. 

“Yes, well done. I dare say even if she’d met a tiger while she fled, it would still be preferable to that iron chain, don’t you agree, even weighed down as she was.” His class all nodded at him. “So now free and on the run, no forced to perform, no matter how good she was at the tasks they set her, what do you think made her go the way she did?”

Remus raised his hand again, and Sirius signalled for him to continue. 

“She went home. There could have been something familiar about the surroundings, which is why she escaped when she did. But the inner child in me wants to say it was magic.” Remus grinned shyly at him, and Sirius had to chant to himself that he couldn’t date students no matter how ruggedly handsome they were or how intelligent they seemed to be. He had to swallow before he continued. 

“Yes, I think we all want to believe it was magic, as though she heard her mother calling out to her across the many miles she travelled.�� He cleared the whiteboard now they were done with that and wrote up the next part of the lesson. “Okay, I want each of you to write your own short story. It can be about literally anything you want. Make a start now. Plan it out. I want them finished for next week, and I’ll go through them.” 

He gave them a few minutes to start their work and made his way around the class, answering any questions they had. Eventually, he had to talk to Remus. He couldn’t put it off any longer. “How’s it going?” He asked, making Remus jump. He’d been so focused on his work that he hadn’t noticed Sirius approach. 

“Oh-er, it’s going good. I think.” Remus rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Sirius peered down at the paper. 

“A werewolf and a man who can magically turn into a dog and an enchanted forest? Sounds thrilling. I can’t wait to read it.” Remus blushed hard. 

“It just popped into my head.” He admitted. 

“All the best ones do,” Sirius reassured him. “Oh, here, before I forget. Take this. It’s got all my information on it in case you can’t make it for whatever reason or need help throughout the week. I’ll do my best to accommodate you.” He handed Remus the little white card. Their fingers brushed as Remus took it, and Sirius felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him, stemming from where Remus’s fingers had been. They looked at each other wide-eyed and stunned. Well, crap, this was going to be harder than he thought.  

[chion3spid3r]

will love prevail ?

pairings : e1610!miles x blackcat!fem!reader

warnings : violence, mention of injuries and blood, gun, abduction and coercion, emotional distress, crime and theft.

summary : miles morales, the brooklyn spider-man, encounters black cat, a skilled thief who turns out to be a girl from his class...

word count : 2.9k

a/n : this is a story I wanted to do for a while, thats why i took long to write the first chapter but dw more to comeee ! enjoy your reading !

pt1 -> pt2

The moon hung low over Brooklyn, bathing the cityscape in an eerie glow and casting long, distorted shadows across the rooftops. The bustling city, usually vibrant and full of life, now seemed like a ghost town under the spectral light. Miles Morales, the new Spider-Man, swung silently between the buildings, his senses heightened and on high alert. Whispers of a high-profile theft had reached his ears, and a tingling sensation at the back of his neck told him that tonight would bring a confrontation he had been anticipating for days.

His premonition proved to be correct. As he perched atop a water tower, his keen eyes spotted a lithe figure moving with feline grace in the glow of a nearby rooftop skylight. Your sleek black suit hugged your form, accentuating every curve, while the white fur trim added a touch of elegance to your ensemble. Despite the mask obscuring your face, it was clear that your focus was solely on the task at hand – stealing a priceless diamond.

"Black Cat," Miles murmured under his breath, recognizing the notorious cat burglar. The name was whispered with a mix of respect and wariness, for he knew of your reputation all too well.

Without a sound, he dropped down behind you, his voice firm but calm as he announced his presence. "Planning a heist, are we?"

You whirled around, your eyes narrowing behind the mask as you took in the sight of the web-slinger. "Spider-Man. Didn't anyone teach you not to sneak up on a lady?"

"Didn't anyone teach you it's wrong to steal?" he retorted, taking a step closer, his body tense and ready for action. The air between them crackled with tension, each sizing the other up, anticipating the next move.

A smirk played across your lips, the expression almost feline in its quality. "It's not always black and white, hero." Your voice was smooth, carrying an undertone of amusement, as if the entire situation was just a game to you.

Before Miles could react, you turned on your heel and fled, your movements as graceful as a dancer's. Without hesitation, he shot a web at you, but you dodged it effortlessly, your agility matching his own. The chase was on.

You leapt across the rooftops, each movement a dance of agility and precision as you traded blows and taunts. The city below seemed to fade away, leaving only the thrill of the pursuit.

You led him through a gauntlet of urban obstacles. You vaulted over air conditioning units, slid under clotheslines, and even used the hanging fire escapes to swing yourself around tight corners. Your movements were fluid and precise, displaying a level of athleticism and agility that impressed even Miles.

"Too slow, Spider," you taunted, glancing back with a mischievous grin.

Miles responded with a burst of speed, launching himself off a rooftop and flipping through the air. He shot a web at your feet, trying to trip you up, but you saw it coming and flipped gracefully over the sticky strand. Landing on the next rooftop, you immediately spun and hurled a small metal disc at him.

Instinctively, Miles dodged to the side, but the disc exploded mid-air, releasing a blinding flash of light. He winced, his vision momentarily blurred, but his spider-sense kept him alert. He sensed you closing the distance, your silhouette barely visible against the afterimage of the flash.

You struck first, a rapid series of kicks aimed at his torso and head. Miles blocked and parried, countering with a punch that you deftly avoided. You were quick, almost impossibly so, and every movement was calculated to keep him off-balance.

"You're good," he admitted, ducking under a sweeping kick and attempting to web your feet again.

"Better than you," you retorted, catching his wrist mid-web and twisting it, forcing him to flip to avoid a dislocation. Using the momentum, you aimed a palm strike at his chest, sending him stumbling back.

He recovered quickly, launching himself into a spinning kick that connected with your side. You grunted, but rolled with the blow, using the momentum to spring backward and gain some distance. You paused for a moment, both breathing heavily, your eyes locked in a silent challenge.

"Not bad, Spider," you said, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth. "But let's see how you handle this."

You pulled out a whip-like weapon, cracking it in the air with a sharp snap. The end glinted with some kind of metallic filament, and Miles knew it would be dangerous to get tangled up in it. He dodged the first strike, but you were relentless, your attacks coming faster and faster. He weaved and ducked, looking for an opening.

Finally, he saw his chance. As you brought the whip down in a wide arc, he rolled forward, coming up inside your guard. He grabbed your wrist, twisting it just enough to make you drop the whip, and then swept your legs out from under you. You hit the ground but immediately rolled to your feet, your eyes flashing with determination.

You clashed again, a flurry of blows and counters that left you both gasping for breath. Miles could feel his muscles burning, but he pushed through the fatigue, knowing he had to end this. In a final, desperate move, he managed to catch you off-guard, yanking off your mask with a swift, precise motion.

He froze, his heart skipping a beat as the face staring back at him was all too familiar. A girl from his freaking class.

Your eyes widened with recognition, but you quickly composed yourself, a confident smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Surprised, Spider-Man?" Your voice was a blend of challenge and familiarity, a reminder of the person you once were and the thief you had become.

Before he could respond or even process the shocking revelation, you dropped a smoke bomb, disappearing into the night and leaving Miles with more questions than answers. The smoke dissipated slowly, but the confusion in Miles's mind lingered, the image of your face etched into his memory.

The next day at school, Miles spotted you in class, but he acted as if nothing had happened, his mind still reeling from the previous night's encounter. He couldn't risk revealing his identity, not even to someone he had known and trusted. The weight of your secret identity as the elusive Black Cat hung heavily upon him, and he knew that your paths would inevitably cross again in the never-ending game of cat and mouse between hero and thief.

As he sat in class, he couldn't help but steal glances at you, wondering what had led you down this path. Each glance brought more questions: Why had you turned to a life of crime? How long had you been hiding this secret? And most importantly, what would he do when they met again? Miles knew that your relationship had forever changed, and the line between friend and foe had become dangerously blurred.

As the school day dragged on, Miles kept a watchful eye on you. You seemed normal, but he knew better. Something was off. During a particularly dull lecture, a faint buzzing caught his attention. Your watch was ringing. You glanced at it, your expression shifting to one of alarm, and quickly excused yourself from the classroom. Miles didn't waste a second. He slipped out, changed into his Spider-Man suit, and followed you.

He found you in an alley, nervously looking around as your watch projected an image of Kingpin, the infamous crime lord. "You're late," Kingpin's deep voice rumbled. "I don't tolerate delays."

"I had to be careful," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "Spider-Man is onto me."

"Then deal with him," Kingpin growled. "Or I'll deal with you."

Before you could respond, Spider-Man swung down, landing between you and the projection. "I don't think so, Kingpin."

The hologram flickered and vanished. You looked both relieved and terrified. "Spider-Man, you shouldn't have—"

Miles cut you off, his voice stern and unwavering. "Why are you talking to Kingpin? What's going on?"

Miles tightened his grip, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. "Start talking. Now."

Your eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but there was none. "Listen Spidey, let me go or I'll get killed, I'm not laughing now."

He looked at you with a worried look on his face; he wasn't going to let you go.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't have a choice, Spider-Man. My father worked for Kingpin. He's dead because of him, and now he's threatening to kill me if I don't do what he says."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Miles asked, his voice softer now. "I could have helped you."

"You don't understand," you whispered. "Kingpin has eyes everywhere. He said if I tried to get help, he'd kill my father and everyone I care about. I couldn't risk it!"

Kingpin's voice boomed from the watch again, "Black Cat, I'll give you one minute."

"No no wait!" you yelled, your voice desperate. "Please, you have to believe me."

Miles looked at you, his mind racing. "I believe you. But we need a plan to take him down. Together."

Your eyes filled with hope and fear. "I…I don't know if we can. He's too powerful."

"We have to try," Miles insisted. "But first, you need to tell me everything. What has he asked you to do?"

You took a deep breath. "I've been gathering information on you, and giving it to him. He's been planning something big, but I don't know what. He keeps everything compartmentalized."

Miles nodded. "Okay. We need to get you somewhere safe, and then we'll figure out how to use this information against him."

"Please, Spider-Man," you begged, tears welling up in your eyes. "If he finds out I've betrayed him—"

"You're not alone in this anymore," Miles said firmly. "We'll take him down together."

Suddenly, the watch's projection flickered and died. Silence hung in the air, thick with tension and fear. Heavy footsteps echoed from the shadows. Kingpin stepped into the alley, his massive frame blocking the exit. His presence was menacing, his eyes cold and calculating. "I don't have time for this," he snarled, his gun aimed directly at you. "You're a traitor, collaborating with the enemy, and traitors pay with their lives."

"I'm not! I swear—" you started to say, but Spider-Man's grip loosened in shock. You took the chance and pulled away, but you were too slow. Kingpin's gun fired with a deafening crack. Miles leapt forward, but not in time to prevent the bullet from grazing your abdomen. You collapsed in his arms, blood staining your suit.

"Spider-Man," you whispered, your voice weak and full of pain. "Please, you have to go, he'll kill you."

"I can't do that," he said, his voice trembling. "You're not dying on my watch."

Kingpin growled and lunged at Spider-Man, who quickly placed you down gently. A fierce battle ensued, with Miles dodging and countering Kingpin's powerful blows. Despite his size, Kingpin was fast, but Spider-Man's agility and determination gave him the edge. After a few intense minutes, Miles managed to web Kingpin to a wall, incapacitating him for the moment.

Panting and bruised, Spider-Man rushed back to you. "Hold on," he said, his voice filled with urgency. He scooped you up and swung to a nearby rooftop, placing you down gently.

You were pale, your breath shallow. You coughed often, it was bad. "Miles," you whispered, your eyes fluttering. "I've always wanted love, I'll die before even having my first kiss, what an irony…"

"That's bullshit," he replied, tears welling up in his eyes. "Y-you're not dying on me."

With determination, he lifted his mask just enough to press his lips to yours. The kiss was tender, desperate, and tinged with the metallic taste of blood. Your eyes fluttered shut during the kiss, and you passed out.

"No…no no no no, stay with me, stay here!" he murmured, his voice breaking. He quickly swung towards the nearest hospital, landing at the entrance as people gathered, whispering and pointing. The sight of Spider-Man, blood smeared on his lips and yours, was striking.

He rushed you inside, shouting for help. Nurses and doctors quickly took you from his arms, and he watched as they wheeled you away. The crowd outside grew larger, murmuring about the blood-stained kiss. Miles stood there, his heart pounding, hoping with every fiber of his being that you would survive.

The minutes felt like hours as he paced the waiting room, the images of the day replaying in his mind. The nurses and doctors rushed past him, their faces set in determined lines. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of concerned looks thrown his way.

Finally, a doctor approached him, her face a mask of professional calm. "Spider-Man," she said, "we've stabilized her, but she lost a lot of blood. She's going to need time to recover, but she'll make it."

Relief washed over Miles like a wave. "Thank you," he breathed, feeling the tension drain from his body.

As he stood there, he overheard snippets of conversations around him. People were talking about the kiss, about how Spider-Man had saved you, and the blood that had smeared between you both. It was a scene that would not be forgotten easily.

Miles found a quiet corner and sank into a chair, his thoughts a whirlwind. He replayed the moment of the kiss in his mind, the desperation in your voice, and the look in your eyes. He knew that they still had much to discuss, and that your connection to Kingpin needed to be unraveled. But for now, he was just grateful that you were alive.

Miles visited the hospital every day, waiting for news. Every time he approached your room, his heart pounded with a mix of hope and fear. He brought flowers, books, and sometimes just his presence, sitting silently by your side, holding your hand as you lay unconscious. The doctors told him it would take time, and he clung to their words, hoping for a miracle. When you finally woke up, a wave of relief washed over him so powerful he had to hold back tears. It took a month, but you were strong enough to be discharged.

He waited outside the hospital, his heart racing as he paced back and forth. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden hue over the city. He wore his Spider-Man suit, the mask securely in place, concealing his emotions. When you finally emerged, your steps were slow and cautious, but your smile was weak yet genuine when you saw him.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft.

"Hey yourself," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of the old spark.

"Ready for a swing?" he asked, extending his hand.

You looked at his hand, then back at him, and nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

With a gentle swoop, he wrapped an arm around your waist and shot a web to a nearby building. You soared through the sky, the cool evening breeze rustling your hair. The city below you was alive with lights and sounds, a stark contrast to the serenity you felt in each other's presence. You landed on the highest rooftop, where you often found solace. The view was breathtaking, the city lights twinkling like stars below.

Miles sat beside you on the rooftop, the city sprawled out below you like a glittering maze of lights. The cool night air whispered around you, but his concern for your wound weighed heavily on his mind. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked gently, his voice betraying the worry etched on his face.

You nodded, a faint smile touching your lips. "I'm alright. The doctors did a good job. It's healing."

He exhaled softly, his fingers tracing over where the wound had been, now concealed beneath your suit. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of this. None of it should have happened."

You looked at him, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and sadness. "It's not your fault. I chose this path, even if it wasn't really a choice at all."

"Why did you work for Kingpin?" he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to reveal the truth you had carried alone for so long. "My father… he was a thief. Always was, since I can remember. He taught me everything, how to be quick, how to be silent. I thought it was just a game, a way to bond with him. But he was working with Kingpin long before I was even born, and even promised me to him to be the next Black Cat. And then, when he grew too old to keep up, Kingpin… he killed him."

Miles felt a pang in his chest, hearing the pain in your voice. "And then he took you in," he murmured, more statement than question.

You nodded, tears shimmering in your eyes. "He took me, trained me. He made me into Black Cat. Promised my father's skills and my loyalty before I even knew what was happening. All I ever wanted was to be a hero, to do good."

"You are a hero," Miles insisted, his voice firm with conviction. "Despite everything, you've saved lives. You've helped people."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "At what cost? How many lies have I lived? How many people have suffered because of me?"

He reached out, gently cupping your cheek, his touch warm against your skin. "You're not alone in this anymore. We'll find a way to make things right, together."

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes briefly. "I'm scared, I don't know if I can face him again."

"You don't have to face him alone," he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears. "I'll be there with you, every step of the way."

You sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared burdens hanging between you. Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "…Can I trust you?"

He met your gaze unwaveringly. "With everything."

You hesitated for a moment, then reached up to unfasten the mask that concealed your face. As it slipped off, your features softened, vulnerability shining through. "I'm y/n," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

He swallowed, his heart racing as he reached up to remove his own mask, revealing his face to you for the first time. "I'm Miles," he replied, his voice gentle yet resolute.

You stared at each other, your masks now discarded, laying bare your true selves. You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Thank you, Miles. For everything."

He squeezed your hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you, y/n. For trusting me."

You sat close together, your shoulders touching as you watched the city below, the night sky stretching endlessly above you. In that moment, you weren't superheroes burdened by duty or past mistakes. You were just two people, finding solace and understanding in each other's presence.

"I never thought I'd find someone who understands," you murmured, breaking the comfortable silence.

"You're not alone anymore," Miles said softly. "We'll figure this out together. And we'll make sure Kingpin pays for everything he's done."

You nodded, determination flickering in your eyes. "Together," you echoed, a sense of hope blooming within you.

As you sat there, wrapped in each other's warmth and acceptance, you knew that your journey ahead wouldn't be easy. But as long as you faced it together, you were ready to rewrite your story, to carve out a future where you could be the heroes you had always dreamed of becoming.

Over the next few weeks, you and Miles formulated a plan. Using the information you had gathered for Kingpin, you were able to uncover his major operations and weaknesses. It was a risky gambit, but you were determined to bring him down once and for all.

The night before the big confrontation, you met Miles on that same rooftop overlooking the city. The air was thick with anticipation and apprehension.

"Are you ready for this?" Miles asked, his voice laced with concern as he took your hand.

You squeezed his hand, steadying your nerves. "As ready as I'll ever be. We have to do this, Miles. For my father…for everyone Kingpin has hurt."

He nodded solemnly. "I'll be right by your side. No matter what happens."

Leaning in, you pressed your forehead to his, drawing strength from his presence. "Thank you," you whispered. "For everything."

The next night, you infiltrated Kingpin's compound, slipping through the shadows like the skilled thief you were. Miles provided support, taking out guards and clearing a path for you to reach Kingpin's inner sanctum.

The confrontation was intense, a clash of wits and brawn as you faced your former master. Kingpin was a formidable foe, his bulk and strength almost overwhelming. But you fought with a ferocity born of years of pain and oppression, determined to break free from his grasp once and for all.

In the end, it was Miles who landed the decisive blow, webbing Kingpin and leaving him vulnerable. As the authorities swarmed in to arrest the crime lord, you stood there, chest heaving, a mixture of triumph and disbelief washing over you.

"It's over," Miles said, his voice quiet yet filled with wonder. "You're free, y/n."

Tears streamed down your face as the weight of those words sank in. You turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck and holding him tight. "Thank you," you whispered fiercely. "I couldn't have done this without you."

He returned the embrace, his arms enveloping you with a sense of safety and belonging. "You were the brave one," he murmured. "I was just here to support you."

As you pulled back, your eyes met his, a lifetime of understanding passing between you. Without hesitation, you leaned in and kissed him, pouring every ounce of gratitude and affection into that single moment.

When you finally parted, breathless and grinning, you saw the city stretched out before you, a tapestry of lights and possibilities...

*to be continued*

Ⓡ chion3spid3r all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

[joonlaksme]

Sign Here: Chapter Four

Sign Here Masterlist

Summary: All of Min Yoongi’s partners never knew what he truly wanted. Too scared to tell them to their face, he decides to just invest into a professional. He didn’t know you were exactly what he was looking for.

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

-> Genre: Yoongi x Dominatrix!reader, Smut

-> Warnings for this chapter: Breath play, handjob, Yoongi gets a little manhandle-y, semi-public stuff (briefly), masochist Yoongi, edging (m), aftercare

-> Word Count: 4,400+

A/N: After months of being in a stump, I’m FINALLY back!! Thanks for waiting and enjoy :D

Chapter 4: Maroon

Taking a break has never felt so stressful before. You sit down, an extended sigh resting hot on your lips and you feel the faux leather clinging to your thighs. With it getting hotter and hotter outside, humidity enters your older apartment through cracks in the balcony doors and no matter how often you shower, you can’t seem to get the sticky feeling off of you. 

“Maybe we should eat something cold.” Mi-na interrupts your thoughts.

You lean forward and place your elbows on your kitchen island, marble feeling nice and cool on your skin. Kyung Mi-na has been your best friend ever since your shared second year of college where she became your new roommate. A cute 5’2 with pretty black hair and an even amber complexion. No one would think she had the same job as you considering her sweet appearance but she was the one who had gotten you into BDSM. 

Your fingers feel around the plastic-y texture of the stool, a deep maroon color. It jogs your memory to check your bathtub later. 

“What are you in the mood for, hm? Eggs? A muffin?” She opens your off-white fridge and rummages through it. There really isn’t much in there but you can see she’s smiling ear to ear, tapping her fingers on the fridge door and standing on the tips of her toes. You often wonder why she’s always in a good mood but you suppose you don’t always need a reason to be happy. Maybe she’s feeling content because nothing wrong has happened. Right now, at 9 in the morning, you want to complain and then stew in your pot of thoughts. You have a meeting planned with Yoongi and you have no idea what should be on the agenda. Of course you have a great variety of ideas but not specifically for someone who’s more of a beginner like Yoongi. You even think you went a little hardcore on him in your most recent session.

“Can I just get some tea for now?” You finally reply.

Mi-na tilts her head but turns around to turn on the electric kettle. “What’s on your mind?”

Of course you can never keep anything away from her. She majored in psychology and she was always the top of her class. 

She’s subtly shaking her hips to the blasting music of an apartment down the hall. You gave up on trying to complain about them for a while now.

You’re distracted from the task at hand. 

“Well, remember I was talking about my new client?” 

She nods, “The one you said you were worried about because he was a total beginner? I told you that you should have just offered me. I know you’re uncomfortable with beginners.”

“Based on what he filled out on the form, I was fully expecting him to have experience. You should’ve seen him, Mi-na. He doesn’t look submissive in the slightest. I thought he was joking at first.”

Mi-na scoffed, “There goes you and your drawing to conclusions. So, what’s the issue?”

“I don’t know where to go from here to be fully honest.” And then you tell her what you HAVE done, assuming she can work from there.

She takes out a cup from your cabinet and pours out hot water, plopping a teabag in it and looks you in your eyes. “Hm…why don’t you touch him properly? Beginners feel better when something more familiar is implemented in play. I’m sure you can work your way from there, you know. I think that once you are both comfortable, you can start implementing the things you like to do like shibari, general bondage, sensory deprivation, edging, all of that.” 

You nod. Of course. You have to be the more confident one in this relationship. After all, he is the one paying you for it. 

“So what made him stand out?”

“What do you mean?” You reply, eyebrows knitting.

She lets out a short laugh, “C’mon. You never talk to me about your clients. I was a bit surprised by how much you talked about and described this new guy.”

“Like I said, you have to see him to understand where I’m from. He’s this guy with a composed look, stylish, tattoos all down his arms–”

“So? You’ve had hardcore bikers and models under you. What makes him different?”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. You knew exactly what made him different. You just don’t want to admit it to Mi-na just yet. Instead, you’re fiddling with the tail end of your tea bag, watching the water turn into a deeper red color.

-

When Mi-na leaves, you make your way to your bathtub. Walking into there is a bit of a pain nowadays since water covers the tiled floor and you’ve constantly found yourself too sluggish to lay a bunch of towels down. There, plunge your hands into the dark red water of the tub. You pull out the bunch of ropes you had just bought, feeling the texture on your fingers and then you drain the water, rinsing out the excess dye. You pull it out of the tub finally, the water making it a bit heavier and then you loosely coiled it on a specially made drying rack. 

-

Then, here you were, standing in your closet and deciding what heels would be best for tonight. Something more comfortable or something more sexy? Why is this something you’ve been deciding on for as long as you have? You barely have an hour left and you’re thinking so critically about which shoe to wear on your next meeting. Something tells you that you need to keep your mind on what’s important: Keeping Min Yoongi satisfied. 

So you pick a simple pair of black heels with comfortable soles and make your way out your front door. 

When you arrive at the restaurant, you arrive 10 minutes earlier than you should be. You tell the host about your specific and private reservation. This is a place more familiar with your line of work and more specifically, in a collaboration with the company you work under. So, it’s no surprise when you’re led to a luxurious booth covered with maroon velvet seats and with foldable panels, separating you from the rest of the public. Here, there’s menus with small and fancy writing and no price next to the variety. There’s cherry blossoms decorating the walls and a dim but warm light hanging from the top. 

You’re sitting close to the kitchen so you can smell all different varieties of aromas from food that vary from pasta to creamy sauces. You haven’t been here in a long time so you were looking forward to this. 

Speaking of looking forward to something, that’s when Yoongi takes the corner and sees you sitting there with crossed legs and the small wave of your manicured nails. He takes a seat at the booth across from you, looking how he always does: calm and collected. 

“I’m glad you found the place alright. I know the further you get to the back, the harder it is to navigate. The host and hostess often don’t come back here...” You start, trailing off. You’re looking at him with a piercing stare because he looks good enough to eat. His sleeves are rolled up and one button is down in a normal, white button-up shirt. His belt really shows his hips and his suit pants make his legs look nice and slender. Did he dress up just for you? You clear your throat. “How have you been?”

When you look closer, you can see the shade of Yoongi’s ears turn a nice pink and it sparks up your confidence. “I’ve been fine. Just a long day…So…” and he mutters something you can’t hear. It’s obviously aimed towards you by the way he meets your eyes but you can’t quite hear him. 

“Speak up?” 

“I asked…what’s on the agenda for today?”

“After dinner, we’re heading to your place but after that, it’s a surprise. You like surprises don’t you?”

He lets out a scoff, “I do but it takes a lot to surprise me.” 

“Humor me.” You pick up the menu. “I’m paying so choose whatever you’d like.”

His lips twitch a bit, “Aren’t I paying you? Why are you paying?”

You hush him.

You choose one of your favorite things from the menu and as he’s ordering, you pretend to accidentally slide your foot up his leg. He does spring up a bit but he keeps his expression flat. You mutter an apology but don’t bother to try to hide the small smile that creeps up your lips. The waiter seems submerged in every word Yoongi communicates to him. You look back at your menu but in the corner of your eye, you can see his eyes flicker down to your foot that is a bit too close to his side of the table. He doesn’t acknowledge it outloud but his gaze lingers and then he shifts his weight from one leg to the other before finishing his order. Once the waiter leaves, Yoongi places his elbows on the table with raised brows.

“You gonna try anything else here?” He asks. His lips quirk up just for a moment.

“You should take your elbows off the table. That isn’t very proper.”

Instead of answering his actual question, you offer him a small smirk. Your heel is nudging his leg playfully. There’s an anticipation between you two. The sexual tension is becoming thick and as you reach over and grab his hand in yours, you can feel the goosebumps raise on him. He’s nervous when his mind is submerged in possibilities of what your surprise may be and you can read him like a book, even when he’s just giving you a blank expression. 

Your fingers interlock on the table and you think about your first impression of him. He’s looking at you and slowly, you can tell he’s cracking. He takes a deep breath as tension grows and you slide your foot up until it’s resting on his knee. Then it goes back down to the carpeted floor. You want to tease him more. As your foot retreats, his eyes glaze over. Your foot returns to the floor and his gaze snaps back to yours, while you start up a new conversation and you can see the slightest hint of disappointment in his expression. He quickly masks it, however, and clears his throat.

“I think you’re easily surprised. You just choose not to show it to many but…I believe I can wrap you around my fingers.” You say, taking a sip of water.

The waiter returns with a basket of bread and a small dish full of seasoned olive oil for dipping. He leaves quickly after. Yoongi keeps his eyes on you. When he goes for a piece of bread, that’s when you decide to move your leg up until it’s at his inner thigh. His hand stops in mid-air as your foot drags up until it’s touching his crotch. 

“What am I feeling here, hm?”

He swallows hard, his eyes widening slightly as he feels your foot against him. He tries to steady his shaking fingers. "I…uhm…I don't know what you mean."

You press harder and he can’t help the breathy sigh he releases from the sudden pressure. He pushes himself closer. 

“I think you do. I think you have been anticipating something.” Your smile is kind but your tone is sultry, low. He’s having this conflict in his mind between keeping up his facade to keep cool or to give in and beg you to stop your torture. He thinks he can last longer but he’s burning up so he pops open a button. 

Watching him attempt to compose himself is more fun than you expected it to be. His heart even jumps out of his chest when the waiter comes back with your food. That’s when your foot starts moving and he’s feeling so much that he’s getting lightheaded. 

“Maybe we should get this to go? You look a bit tired, Yoongi.”

He presses his lips together. "I'm fine," he manages to say, his voice strained. You can see the vein on his neck popping with the effort of keeping himself under control. It doesn’t last long because as soon as the waiter walks away and there’s steaming plates of food in your faces, he’s holding your hand tighter. “Please?”

You raise your eyebrows and have to clench your legs closed, “I don’t know what you mean?” You echo his words back at him.

“You’re mean.” You can see the way the side of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Okay, I think we should go.”

So you do. Your untouched food goes in boxes and you send your regards to the owner of the restaurant. When you make it back to Yoongi’s place, you can tell he’s nervous by the way his hands tremble when he brings out his keys to open the door. You lay your hand on his and help steady him. It’s when you start laying light kisses on his neck that he goes weak under your touch. You feel as if you’re sucking his energy from the way he lets out this deep exhale.

The door turns open and he stumbles in with you. His jacket is off and on the floor before you even make it to the living room. His breathes out in short and shallow gasps. His hands make their way in your hair when you find a particular part that gets him rowdy and suck on it. His back meets the couch and his knees buckle. 

He gets confused you don’t come down with him. You don’t bother to fix your hair but you take off your own jacket slowly and get his remote from the coffee table. 

“What should we watch…?” You’re acting as if nothing happened just a couple of seconds ago and as if he’s not half hard in his pants. 

He whimpers your name to get your attention. You turn to look at him and sit down right beside him. Just by the way you look at him, he know you’re not going to give in until he does first and if there’s anything Yoongi is confident about, it’s his stubbornness. So he gives you a movie recommendation and then you lean back and watch it together. 

However, as much as Yoongi wants to calm down, he can’t stop looking at you. You’re dressed like the goal was to tempt him and he’s wondering if this torture was his surprise. The movie begins, but Yoongi's eyes are not on the screen. He’s taking in every detail of your appearance. Your outfit, while it looks comfortable, leaves little to the imagination and Yoongi can't help but feel himself getting more and more worked up as the minutes pass by. He can’t stop shuffling by the time half an hour goes by.

His hand lands on your thigh to your surprise. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

His lips are shut but his eyes are begging. 

“That’s not exactly what I want and you know that…” You move his hand away with little regard for where it goes. 

You look away but it’s quick when he takes hold of your waist. You’re on his lap almost immediately and you’re caught off guard for a just a moment. 

“I thought we were going to watch a movie but you just can’t hold yourself back, hm? If you’re having so much trouble focusing, maybe we can do something else?” You guess he can win this time.

He stopped himself from eagerly nodding, “That would be nice…” He mumbles back.

You lean closer to him and grab his wrists, holding them together up above his head.  While that hand is holding his arms away from touching you again, the other unzips his pants. 

“Is this your surprise?” He lays his head back with a huff. 

You pull out his cock, twitching in your palm. As you begin to stroke him, you start talking. “Let’s set some rules. I want you to last until I say you can. No touching and think about your behavior. I think that if you were more avid, I would be nicer.”

He finally lets out a full blown groan, the same sound reverberating down your body and all along your skin. For as long as he’s had this boner, he’s so sensitive.

“I don’t know how long I can l-last for.” He thrusts into your hand. 

“C’mon playboy…” You let go of his arms and instead grip his jaw. The way you’re treating him has him submerged into what feels like paradise. He feels as if he’s been placed in a place where he does not have to think about anything but you and the way you skillfully make him feel. “You don’t last and there’s going to be an issue, understood?” Your voice is raised just a bit. He’s hesitant to admit that your voice turns him on in itself.

“Yes…” He replies with, hands lowering to take handfuls of his couch as you continue to stroke him at the same torturous pace. 

“Yes, who?” Your grip tightens.

He moans out a blended mess of, “Yes mistress.”

You smirk at his response, “Better.” You’re pleased with his obedience so as a little reward, you lean close to his ear and the heat of your breath causes shivers to run down his body. If there’s anything that Yoongi has learned in your sessions, it’s that he’s definitely more submissive than he ever was dominant. He’s never felt so embarrassed about how he might cum soon if he doesn’t think of something else before and sure, pussy feels good but when he’s been edged for what feels like centuries, he gets desperate. He likes seeing how satistsfied you are, how much you feel from making him feel good. 

You turn him to lay down on the couch just like how it was before when you discovered his seriously sensitive nipples. Only, this time, youre sitting on his face in a pencil skirt. Coming to a conclusion that he feels the most satistisfied when you are, it’s now a new torture to feel you stroking his cock while you’re needy and shuffling on his face. You gather saliva up in the cheeks of your mouth and spit a glop on your hand, using that to  guide your hand in a more slick handjob.

His words and sounds are muffled under your skirt. His mind drifts off to when you made him cum before without even touching his dick.  

“Hm?” You ask him, leaning off of his face for a moment.

“Can I…”

 "Can you what?"

Yoongi swallows hard, his face flushed beneath your skirt. "Can I taste you?" He asks softly, pleading you for permission.

You think for a moment, considering his request. You know how wet you are right now but…“No. You can’t.”

“Please?” He’s getting whiny, out of his typical deadpan character. 

Watching him beg only makes you want to get more mean, more cruel. You finally quicken your pace and instead of answering him with another denial, you sit back down on his face, only with more pressure and he’s damn near suffocating under it. All he can breathe in is the smell of your arousal and feel the limit of how much air his lungs can take. There’s some breathability when you open your legs but sometimes you shut them and practically suffocate him with your thighs. He’s way too into it and he twitches in your hand like crazy. It’s invigorating and pretty soon, he’s getting louder under your skirt. Every once in a while, you lift off of him to give him one big breath before he’s back. 

So it’s a wonder with all the air you give him, why he grabs onto your hips when you explicitly told him not to.

You let go of his dick, wetly hitting his stomach and you lift yourself up again. There’s a mix of amusement and annoyance in your tone and even in your expression, “Didn’t I tell you not to touch me?” Your voice is cold and now, Yoongi can feel it. He can feel a slither of fear run down him and it does nothing but fuel his fantasies and increase his desire for you. He’s gotten himself enamered with you by now. If you react this way, he’s thinking that maybe he should do it more often; acting out and seeing how you punish him. 

“‘M sorry…” He apologizes but any one would be able to tell that it was lackluster, pathetic. 

So he admits he’s surprised when you land a slap on his dick. He thrusts up but is confused why. It burns at first but the shock of pleasure is addicting. His fingers are tingling and his brain is clouded. “Fuck–I’m sorry…” He says it again but it’s even weaker than the first one. It’s not on purpose though, he just can’t think straight anymore. 

You slap it again and the moan he lets out is damn near angelic. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely are now and it threatens to soak through your skirt if it’s already through your underwear. “Oh…seems like you’re more of a masochist than I thought you were. You’re getting off to this, aren’t you?”

He shivers under your touch once you take his dick in your hand again. A mix of pleasure and pain courses through his body and before he can open his mouth and admit it, a moan comes out instead, gushing pre-cum as you slap it once more. 

“I’m–I’m gonna cum.” And he says your name with such a shaky breath that you actually think he’s scared to cum.

“No, you aren’t.” You state matter-of-factly. “You’re gonna hold it for me and make up for your mistakes, aren’t you Min Yoongi?”

He whimpers but nods. There’s pressure building up in the pit of his stomach, the need to release almost unbearable but he doesn’t want to disobey you even more. 

You lean back down so he can tell there’s new arousal, thick and heavier than before. “Good boy,” You whisper.

You can feel his chest vibrate at his groan. After multiple sessions, of course you could tell he liked praise and you found it amusing how much it affected him.  

His words are muffled but he gets more and more despreate as you stroke him harder, tighter, faster. His tip is this bright and pretty shade of pink from your treatment. The last thing on your mind at this point is treating him kindly. It’s when you use your other hand to rub his tip that he really can’t stop moving. You watch and feel him squirm beneath you as you continue. Then you twist your torso and grab a handful of his hair, pulling him back slightly. The breath that touches your skin is quick and hot, chest heaving with every pant.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”

His ears perk up and he lets out this long and low moan as you pull his hair and give him your final command. It’s like a switch flips in him as he bucks his hips and gets closer to your masterful touch. There’s sweat down his stomach as he trembles and rolls his eyes back. 

You keep stroking him and nudge yourself off of his face. “Let go for me. Focus.”

You know he’s stuck at this moment and he just needs a little nudge. That’s what your words do to him and he finally bursts, cumming all over your hand and on his stomach. He’s heaving so hard that you go into aftercare mode immediately. When he’s done. You come off of him and hold his face in yours. Even when his forehead is sweaty, you press it to yours. 

“Breathe…You did so good for me, Yoongi. So good.” 

He’s almost completely limp in your hold but you can see his smile. He’s already starting to feel achey everywhere even when you just finished and that lets him know that he’s going to feel this even more in the morning. He only starts talking when his breath is nearly calm and he’s realizing how dirty he is. Sweat all over his body and he hadn’t taken off most of his clothes. There’s cum on his stomach and dried up tears on his cheeks. You’re flattered.

“Fucking hell…” He mumbled. He whinces as he hears how raspy his voice is. 

You kiss his cheek, noticing a nice purple mark on his neck. “Did I go too hard on you?” You ask him, taking his safety into mind.

He laughs, “Honestly, if you keep doing things like that to me, I’m gonna fall in love with you.”

You both laugh. “Where’s your towels?”

He points to a closed door, “In the bathroom, in the closet next to the sink.”

So you make your way there. You find the closet and take out a rag but before you can close the closet, your eyes catch on a black box. Curiosity takes the best of you and you open it just for a peak inside. 

You find a variety of women’s clothes. Cute turtle necks, skirts, knee-high socks, the works. Your jaw drops. This could mean so many things depending on which way you plan to look at this from. 

When you come back to him, he’s completely calm but just uncomfortable. You bring a bowl of warm water and a rag and wipe him down, assuming he doesn’t want to make his way to the bathroom. He looks at you through it all and feels himself overwhelmed with a certain feeling. Maybe he’s just horny again but the silence is sweet and he doesn’t want to do anything but look at your face. His blinks are slow and eventually, he starts to feel really sleepy. 

“I’m just gonna get you some new underwear and then we can make our way to your  bed, okay?” You’re kinder with him now that he’s completely weak. 

He feels a bit fresher and knows he’ll have to shower later tomorrow but he feels nice when you lay with him on his bed. You play with his hair with let him lay between your breasts, gentle in reflection to how you treated it before. When he falls asleep, you slowly move his arm from on your hip and make your way out of his home. 

You’re chewing on your lips as your mind is busy with other thoughts. What was up with that black box? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[glitterguts13]

Honkia star rail boys with a baby stuck in their pussy! (I love how you did this with the genshin boys)

The long-awaited part 2 is here!

Argenti There certainly was nothing beautiful about this situation. He'd kept a calm, clear head for the last 12 hours, but Argenti just can't find the last amount of strength needed to push this baby out. Each try leaves the head bulging from his aching pussy, but always slipping right back inside of him when he gasps for air.

Arlan The medical staff on the space station are second to none. Arlan expects them to help but...with the baby not showing any signs of distress, they don't have any reason to intervene. One nurse on each side, holding his legs so far back he worries his hips might break, he's left only able to struggle with pushing his unborn child to crown before it slips right back.

Aventurine Has he not suffered enough? The IPC medical staff seem more annoyed than anything, sharing irritated glances and reminding him over and over he has to push. Hard. It just isn't doing anything! He can feel them right there, large head keeping him stretched open, but no amount of pushing makes it budge.

Blade Is so very close to just cutting them out with his sword. It isn't like he'll die from it after all. Stubborn baby, resting right in his swollen cunt and ripping him open, only to refuse to come out all the way when it matters most.

Boothill There's a deep panic in his chest, head pounding with effort as his lungs feel full of fire. He has to get them out. He'd known people to die in childbirth back home, and he'd heard the cries of mothers holding their stillborn babies. He's lost one child already, he can't handle the idea of not being able to bring his second child safely into the world.

Dan Heng/Lunae The rest of the Astral Express crew are sleeping peaceful while he struggles alone in his room. His fingers brushed over the damp head of his stubborn child. Squatting low, he prays gravity will do the worst of the work for him, but he's finding it isn't helping at all. His baby is stuck, refusing to do more than peek out of his dripping pussy, the very real terror of having the call for help sinking in.

Dr. Ratio Did every bit of research he could do before his child was born. Versed himself in all the risks, tricks and tactics used to help bring newborns safely into the world. He's certain he can do so, on his own and better than any medical professional. However, as he's sprawled on his back, gasping for air, womb still full with child, he can't figure out what he's doing wrong. Why won't they come out? They don't seem to be stuck, but...no amount of pushing is making any progress.

Gallagher He told himself it was a bad idea. He was far too old for this shit...but...maybe leaving behind a piece of himself wasn't the worst idea. Well, that was before he was left bow-legged behind his bar, his baby's thick head stuck in his cunt, refusing to budge another millimeter no matter how hard he bore down. Luckily, being in a dream meant no 'real' danger...but it also meant no real help either.

Gepard His sisters are right by his side, offering all the help they can. Lynx has plenty of emergency medical training and had attended classes on childbirth in the past, but learning about something and doing it are very different things. Seeing her stoic brother wailing in agony, crying and pleading for her or Serval to do something, broke her heart. Writhing in pain, the sisters watch helplessly as their niece stubbornly stays lodged in Gepard's burning pussy.

Jiaoqiu There had been a few instances over his many years as a healer where he'd been called in to assist in delivering a baby. Doing it himself, however, was a much different task. The burn in his cunt was indescribable, he can feel his baby wiggling unhappily in his birth canal, but no amount of pushing was dislodging them.

Jing Yuan He'd tired, so very tired. The best healers and medics on the Loufu were attending him, sharing worried looks as each push grew more and more weak. The baby was there, he can feel them opening him up with each struggle, but always retreating back inside the safety of his pussy.

Luka After nearly two hours of pushing, Luka knows he isn't making any progress on his own. With the baby crowning in his cunt, he struggles through back alleys as he limps his way to Natasha's clinic.

Luocha Using the coffin he carries as an anchor, he squats, deep and low. Each push causes his dripping pussy to squelch, the head just barely peeking through, before sliding right back into place inside his womb.

Misha Sobbing and gagging on spit and bile, Misha feels as if his hips are cracking open, his tight cunt being torn open as his baby stays firmly stuck right at full crown. Each push and squeeze leaves him feeling more and more hopeless.

Sampo Maybe this was just another joke Aha was playing on him. One hand cupped the head sticking from his pussy, the other pressing down on his rock-hard belly, trying to force them from his womb and into the world.

Sunday Dignity stripped away, legs held open for the other family heads to see, Sunday sobs. Labor had dragged on for days, and each failed push earned him another disapproving sigh and scoff. The midwives are standing nearby, watching, ordered to not touch unless Sunday's light was in danger. It isn't, but he feels like death as his unborn baby refuses to leave the safety of his womb. Welt Much like Dan Heng, Welt closes himself inside of his room. He knows it's time, his baby is right there, teasing him with the relief of being born, but refusing to leave his exhausted form. Yanqing This feels like one final test of his strength, and he feels like he's failing. His baby is just too big, and his hips too narrow. The head is right there, but no matter how far back the midwives pull his legs, or how hard they push on his aching tummy, nothing moves his baby any further.

[libraford]

I know I’m a rando so apologies if this is over familiar but your work situation sounds a lot like what my friend was going through in grad school. She had been doing really well the first year, then the second year her advisor suddenly started finding all sorts of “fundamental issues” with her research project. He discouraged her from applying for grants and said her submissions were too poor to even consider. All sorts of really harsh criticisms that often contradicted each other and were hard to follow. She felt like she was going crazy. Then she learned he found a different student that he would basically be able to pay much less to do all his lab work for him, and he was clearly trying to force her out to make room for the newer cheaper student. Trust your gut, I don’t think this situation is your fault at all. Something fishy is happening with your company for sure. I’m sorry for all this trouble.

Yikes that's harsh.

Part of the reason that my crits have been so numerous and harsh is that this year I was expected to learn something new. And I understand it in concept, but I have been making mistakes that are typical of new learners. But because there was no SAFE place to make those mistakes, the pressure is on to do them correct the first time and every time.

Like with groups, right?

My first groups job I was doing really well, I thought. Up until we got to the football team, which was 45 minutes late to the location. And they lined them up by number even though we asked for tallest to shortest. And the coach said he wanted to do them by number. So I did them by number. When we got to the end of it, he saw how terrible it was to do them by number and we had to redo it by height. At this point, they're frustrated with me for not doing it right the first time. I am frustrated with them for not listening the first time and also being 45 minutes late. The tennis team was waiting for me on the other side of the school, so I did my best. I showed the photo to the coach before leaving. Boss didn't like what I made for the football team and had to go back and do it again because I fucked up. I told her all of this and she said that I should have accommodated them because they're the football team and they have to have the best, even if that means waiting 45 minutes for them to arrive and making the tennis team wait 45 minutes.

My second groups job was a middle school that was asking me to do the team photo AND in between teams do candids for the yearbook. The kids were not behaving well and did not seem interested in taking a good photo, so I did my best even though the kids were fighting. Unfortunately, I made the completely reasonable mistake of leaving my aperature on too low between tasks and they ended up a little bit out of focus- which was not apparent in the camera but WAS apparent on the computer screen. This is a mistake that other people have made. I showed each photo to the coach before letting them go.

My third groups job was a class groups job, which all I had to do was follow the guide given to me. Which I did, up until about the 4th grade classes, which had their special classes going on at that time. Because of this, the number the teacher gave me was incorrect and I had to add students to rows in ways that did not reflect the guide because the other option was to disassemble the class group and reassemble it so that it reflected the guide. Teachers were rushing me to hurry up, so I made executive decisions. This was unfortunately the wrong decision. I also posed them in a way that was consistent with what my boss wanted, but not what the district specialist wanted.

On my fourth groups job, I was told all of the mistakes I had made in the previous jobs and that I need to take consideration all of the details and guides that were there for me to use because my previous jobs required her to go back and do them again, so I had better not make the same mistakes (all of which were different mistakes each time). I am upset. So to make it easier on myself, I asked the coaches if they had a specific way they would like to have them posed. The coaches, delighted that I asked, gave me their feedback on previous years and what they would like to change. And I, delighted that they had preferences, obliged. I showed the photo to the coach before leaving. My boss said I did well! She was very pleased with my work. The district specialist was not! He said that I needed to follow the guide because the numbers were incorrect and that I needed to follow the numbers. He tapes a guide to the back of my slate to use. I ask my boss if she could help me next time.

On my fifth groups job, I am disheartened by the amount of criticism I've gotten but I am determined to get it right this time. My boss is present. I am placing the students with the order given to me by the specialist. I walk away to double check. She tells me that its wrong- that I shouldn't have 9 people in front. I tell her that I was using the guide. She shows me her guide. The guides are different from each other. I ask her which guide I'm supposed to use and she says 'whichever one is correct.' I ask her how I'm supposed to know which one is correct and she tells me the theory of how the placement is supposed to go instead of giving me an answer. I get a little shirty. She tells me that this is my 5th job like this, I should know how to do this by now. I start crying. She goes away for the rest of the day to do admin stuff and I handle the rest of the day fine.

My critique says that I am unable to adapt to change and I am inflexible, struggles to take criticism well or think under pressure.

So I'm expected to do well because its my third year. But I have two different supervisors who don't agree on what 'doing well' is and my progress is not seen as progress so much as 'another mistake.' If my mistakes were consistent, then that would be indicative of refusal to take criticism. But because the mistakes are different every time, that's not the case. I WANT to learn. But I would like everyone to be on the same page about what they want from me.

And when I pointed this out, I was told I was being confrontational.

So I am feeling the rage right now.