#but i can give second chances if I see actual changes

[minyoongisnewthing]

Han river lullaby chapter two | myg

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance

Chapter two content warning: mention of corporate manipulation/control, emotional confrontation, mild swearing

word count: 5.6k approximately

Authors notes: thank you sincerely for the love and support you have shown this story so far it has meant so much to me, it was a much needed confidence boost. Apologies to my boy Namjoon you don’t get paid enough to be readers and Yoongi’s therapists. Please feel free to drop any feedback in the comments

A few days later marked the start of your much-needed week long break after working twelve grueling days in a row. 

You woke up with Han wrapped around your arm, his little body sleeping and warm against yours as he snored softly. 

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across his features. 

Smiling, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before carefully slipping out of bed, making sure not to wake him.

Downstairs, you set to work making pancakes, knowing that the scent would lure him down in minutes. 

The familiar routine helped calm your nerves about what you planned to do today - the conversation you could no longer put off. 

Sure enough, just as you plated the first stack, you heard the telltale sound of small feet padding across the floor.

"Morning, bubba," you greeted him with a smile, turning just in time to see him rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair an adorable mess of soft curls that reminded you so much of Yoongi's bed head.

"Morning," he mumbled back, still groggy but clearly intrigued by breakfast. You lifted him up and placed him in his chair before setting a small plate of cut-up pancakes in front of him.

"What do you want to do today? Before you go to auntie Mya’s house?" you asked as you poured some syrup over his food, trying to keep your voice steady despite the anxiety churning in your stomach.

Han barely took a moment to think before his face lit up. "Can we go to the park!" he exclaimed, his excitement muffled by a mouthful of pancake.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Chew your food, Han," you reminded gently, wiping syrup off his chin. 

The simple gesture made your heart clench - how many moments like this had Yoongi missed?

"Sorry," he said, swallowing quickly before grinning at you - that gummy smile so like his father's it almost took your breath away.

The idea of the park sounded good, a chance to give Han one last carefree morning before everything changed. 

After breakfast, you both bundled up in coats and beanies and set off down the street. Han immediately took off running the moment you arrived, joining a few other kids in the playground. 

You settled onto a bench, watching him with a fond smile that didn't quite mask the weight in your chest. Despite the warmth in your heart at seeing your son so happy, a familiar guilt pressed down on you. 

You knew what you had to do. What you'd promised yourself - and Namjoon - you would do today. No more waiting, no more stalling.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your chat with Yoongi before you could talk yourself out of it.

Y/N: Are you resting like the doctor ordered?

You hit send, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Yoongi: Don't worry, Hobi and Namjoon made sure I am. Why the check-up? Don't believe I'd follow orders?

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head before replying.

Y/N: Was thinking of stopping by, if you're up for a visit?

A few moments passed, each second stretching like an eternity as you watched the typing bubble appear and disappear, the reappear only to disappear again, finally.

Yoongi: What, you visit all your patients after hours?

Y/N: Only the stubborn ones who need extra monitoring.

Yoongi: I'm wounded. But yeah, I'm at home with Namjoon, still being good and resting like ordered.

Y/N: Perfect, do you actually mind if I stop by?

Yoongi: [Address] - Hannam-dong. Door code: 0923

You stared at the screen, barely believing it. He was letting you in - literally and figuratively - and you were about to change everything.

That's how you found yourself standing in front of Yoongi's apartment after dropping Han off with Mya, your favorite nurse and close friend. Your palms were sweating as you tried to work up the courage to knock, the weight of Han's excited "Bye, Eomma!" still echoing in your ears. 

This was it. You were about to lay everything out, every painful truth, and you had no idea how he would react. Taking a deep breath, you finally knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing Namjoon. His blonde hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it while working - a habit he'd never broken. 

His brows furrowed in quiet surprise as he took in the sight of you standing there, though you could see in his deep brown eyes he'd been expecting this. He leaned against the doorframe, his tall frame somehow both imposing and gentle at once.

"You're finally doing this?" he asked, voice careful, his dimples appearing briefly despite the seriousness of the moment.

You nodded, fingers twisting together nervously. "Yeah. You're right, for both of them, I have to."

Namjoon studied you for a second before stepping aside. "He's upstairs in his room. Do you want me to stay?"

You swallowed, nodding hard. "Please, Joon. I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack."

He gave you a reassuring nod. "You can do this, Y/N. I'll be here, for both of you."

You followed him through the apartment, the space as calm and minimalistic as you'd imagined Yoongi's home would be. The walls were lined with awards and platinum records, reminders of everything he'd achieved.

Namjoon led you to the bedroom door before pausing.

"I'll be close," he said softly before stepping back.

Gathering every ounce of courage you had left, you knocked.

“Yeah?” came Yoongi’s voice from inside.

Slowly, you pushed the door open and poked your head in. He was sitting up in bed, lounging comfortably in a dark shirt and grey sweatpants, the ever-present silver chain around his neck.

His dark hair falling over his forehead in careless waves. His feline eyes met yours the moment you stepped inside, sharpening with something unreadable—intense, unwavering, and just a little too knowing.

"Hey, Yoongi," you said hesitantly, the words barely above a whisper.

His expression softened—just a little. "Hey yourself." But even as he said it, you could see it in his gaze: curiosity, the ghost of warmth… but most of all, confusion.

You moved toward him, your hands twisting together as you sat at the edge of his bed. The room felt too quiet, the air too thick with something unspoken. Your stomach churned, the weight of what you were about to say pressing heavily against your ribs.

"Look, Yoongi… we need to talk."

The small, familiar smile on his lips faltered. His eyes sharpened with cautious tension, his body going still. "Okay…."

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for this moment. Your fingers found the edge of his blanket, needing something to ground you.

"Just… just know that I never wanted to hurt you."

His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Y/N." His voice was lower now, edged with something dangerous. "What's going on?"

Your fingers clenched together, nails biting into your skin. There was no easy way to say it.

"Around a month after I left, I… I found out I was pregnant."

Yoongi stilled.

The breath he'd been about to take caught in his throat, his body going rigid as if you had physically struck him. 

The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. You saw it—the moment your words reached him, the precise second his world cracked open.

You forced yourself to keep going.

"I gave birth to a little boy," you whispered, your voice unsteady. "His name is Han and… and, fuck, Yoongi, he has your smile. Your eyes. Even your damn nose."

Silence. A silence heavier than anything you'd ever known stretched between you.

Yoongi’s hands, which had been resting in his lap, curled into fists over the blanket, his knuckles white. The veins along the backs of his hands stood out, a stark contrast against the smooth, pale skin. His long, slender fingers twitched slightly, as if resisting the urge to move. 

His breathing was uneven, like he was struggling to remember how. His voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper.

"I have a son?"

It was the break in his voice that shattered something inside you.

Your throat burned as you nodded. "Yes."

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with an unsteady breath. He dragged a trembling hand through his dark hair, gripping it tightly like he was holding himself together by sheer force. 

When he finally looked at you, his gaze was dark, unreadable—but the hurt in them was unmistakable.

"You—" His voice wavered, raw with disbelief. "You kept my son from me?"

You swallowed hard, guilt clawing at your ribs. "I thought I was doing the best thing for both of us—"

"The best thing?" His voice cut through yours like a blade, sharp and filled with something frighteningly close to betrayal. "For both of us?"

You flinched, gripping the edge of the bed as the weight of his anger crashed into you.

"I know you're angry—"

"Damn fucking right I'm angry." His voice shook under the weight of his emotions. His hands pressed against his forehead as he exhaled harshly. He shook his head, still trying to process. When he looked at you again, there was something raw, something broken in his expression.

"You kept my son from me."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even an accusation—it was a wound laid bare.

You flinched but refused to look away. "I thought I was doing what was best—"

"So you said," his voice rose, something sharp laced within it. "But for who, Y/N? For me? For you? Because it sure as hell wasn't what was best for him."

Your breath caught, guilt twisting like a knife in your ribs. "I—"

He cut in, his tone almost hollow. "I reconciled with the fact I was the only one who lost something when we walked away." His eyes burned into yours, dark and unreadable. "But the whole time, you had my son."

His voice cracked on the last word, and it shattered something inside you.

"Yoongi…" You swallowed hard, trying to find steady ground, but there was none. "I wanted to tell you. I swear, I did. But after everything, I—"

"You what?" he demanded, leaning forward. "You decided for me? You thought I didn't deserve to know?"

You let out a shaky breath, eyes stinging. "You left first."

Yoongi stilled.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of those three words settled between you like an open wound, bleeding and raw.

And then he laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that sent a chill down your spine.

"So that's what this is," he muttered, shaking his head. "Punishment."

Your heart clenched. "That's not—"

"You wanted me to hurt like you did," he said, voice dropping into something quieter, dangerous. "Well, congratulations, Y/N. You fucking achieved it didn’t you."

His words knocked the breath out of you.

"Do you think it was easy for me?" Your voice cracked through the room, your own anger rising like a flame catching air. "Do you think I didn't hurt too? That I didn't spend nights staring at my phone, wanting to call you, to tell you? To break down and beg you to come see me."

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the force of your words. The dark irises, usually guarded and unreadable, flickered with something unspoken, their depth momentarily exposed. 

A faint crease formed between his brows, his smooth, pale skin taut with tension. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, the muscles in his jaw tightened, a subtle but telling sign of restraint.

"You stopped reaching out first," you continued, your voice thick with pain and accusation. "You never truly fought for us, Yoongi. You just—let go. So I thought that meant I had to let go too."

Yoongi's jaw clenched, his hands curling tighter at his sides. His laugh was sharp, disbelieving, barely contained between clenched teeth. 

"It wasn't that simple, Y/N," he bit out. "The company—their rules—I couldn't. Not if I wanted to keep my career, to keep you safe!." 

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "I thought…" 

His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw it. Regret. The weight of what he'd done too. The hurt he didn’t even consider he’d caused. 

"I thought letting you go was the best thing I could do for you. To protect you."

You stared at him, realization washing over you like ice water. The silence. The distance. It hadn't been indifference. It had been sacrifice. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

You let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "The fucking company," you spat. "That's rich. Enjoying the view from that fucking high horse, Min?" The visceral hurt ripped open, the years of heartache spilling out like poison in your veins. 

"You decided that for me. Just like I decided for you. You didn't even give me a choice, Yoongi. You just walked away."

His nostrils flared, his breath unsteady. "My view's just the same as yours, on your own high horse, sweetheart." He hissed the old term of endearment, sounding like venom on his lips.

"You did the same fucking thing, didn't you?" His voice was low, dangerous now. "You took my son from me. His first cries, his first steps, his first fucking words!"

Your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You should have told me," he snapped, his voice breaking slightly on the words. "You should have fucking told me."

Your chin trembled, the fight leaving you, making way for the only emotion you had left: exhaustion. 

"You're right, Yoongi. I can't change my choice, I wish I could. But maybe when we're both less heated, you'll understand why I did, help me understand your choices now." Your tears begin to slide down your cheek.

Yoongi's expression cracked, something devastated flickering in his eyes. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice raw when he finally spoke.

"I was scared, Y/N," he admitted, the confession shaking. "Just like you were. Scared of losing everything I'd worked for. Scared of losing you."

"Fucking terrified of the pressure we were suddenly under, the conditions we had to live in." His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You don't think I thought about you every day?" His voice rose slightly, sounding on the edge of mania. 

"Do you know how many times I got caught sneaking off just to try and call you? How many nights I wanted to just throw it all away and come see you?" 

His breathing turned ragged. "Do you have any fucking idea how much it took for me to let you walk out of that apartment that morning? To smile at you like I was okay?"

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying to recenter himself. "It took everything in me not to chase after you, not to beg you to stay."

The memory of that morning flooded your mind, as vivid as if it were yesterday...

The early morning light painted Yoongi's small apartment in soft golden hues, making everything feel dreamlike and fragile. 

Your bags sat by the door - simple things that somehow held the weight of your entire world shifting.

In these last precious moments before your taxi arrived, you stood wrapped in each other's arms, whispering promises, promises of making the distance work, of visits when time allowed, into the quiet morning air.

"You sure you don't want me to drop you at the airport?" Yoongi murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you as if trying to memorize how you felt against him.

"I'm sure, Yoon," you managed a smile, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "You'll be late for dance practice, and I'm not having Hobi mad at me because your ass is late."

His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, but it held a note of something fragile, something breaking. You snuggled closer, breathing in his familiar scent - coffee and cologne and something uniquely Yoongi that had become home to you.

"I'll call you every chance I can, okay?" he promised, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I know," you whispered, looking up to meet his gaze. The love and fear you saw there mirrored your own.

You shared one final, devastating kiss before your phone buzzed - your taxi was here.

Your breath caught in your throat as the memory faded, bringing you back to the present moment.

"But in the end..." His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with years of regret. "I lost you anyway."

Tears burned at your eyes.

"I didn't come here to fight with you, Yoon," you finally admitted, voice tired and aching. "We both fucked up. We both made mistakes. And now here we are. Hurt. Angry. And too late."

Yoongi's gaze met yours, something shattered in the way he looked at you.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice hollow. "Too late."

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice trembled when he finally asked, "Can I meet him?"

Your chest clenched painfully.

"Of course you can," you replied instantly, your voice soft, careful. "Would... would you like to see a photo of him now?"

He nodded, and with trembling fingers, you reached for your phone. You pulled up a photo taken just that morning—Han in the park, beaming, his dark eyes crinkling just like Yoongi's when he laughed.

Yoongi took the phone from you carefully, as if afraid the moment might shatter in his hands. He stared at the screen, and you watched as something in him completely unraveled.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice breaking.

His pale fingers hovered over the screen, tracing Han's face without touching it, his expression torn between awe and devastation.

"Mother Nature really did one hell of a copy-paste job on him, didn't she?"

Despite everything, a choked laugh escaped you.

Yoongi's eyes flickered back up to you, searching, uncertain. "Y/N..." His voice was quieter now, filled with something fragile. "I would've made it work."

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling shakily.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. "I... I need to see him, to know him beyond just a picture," he said, determination laced with vulnerability.

"I have the next few days free," you say gently, watching Yoongi carefully. "I can bring him over whenever you're ready."

There's a beat of silence before you add, "Also, that bloody chain—let me fix it. It's annoying me."

Yoongi lets out an unexpected laugh, the warm sound catching you off guard. You raise an eyebrow at him in question.

"You never could keep your hands off me. Don't lie," he quips, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The familiarity of his teasing makes something in your chest loosen. It doesn't erase the pain of the past, but it's something—something small, something hopeful.

"Fuck off," you chuckle, shaking your head as you step closer, fingers carefully adjusting it to sit properly against his shirt. He stays still, letting you work, his eyes watching you with something unreadable.

As you step away again, the conversation drifts to Han—his little quirks, the way he scrunches his nose when he's thinking, his stubborn streak that's so clearly inherited from both of you.

"He's so smart," you say with a proud smile, your heart swelling just talking about him. "He loves music already - always dancing and humming little tunes he makes up."

Yoongi hums, glancing down at the photo of Han still open on your phone. "Of course he’s smart. He has Min DNA after all." he says matter-of-factly.

You barely contain the scoff that leaves you, but there's no real annoyance—just an old, familiar fondness creeping in.

"He's obsessed with the piano at my friend's house," you continue softly. "Can't keep him away from it. And he has this habit of staying up late, no matter what I do - just like someone else I know."

Yoongi's expression softens, a mix of pride and pain crossing his features. "What else?" he asks, shuffling forward towards you, voice barely above a whisper, like he's trying to drink in every detail.

"He's incredibly stubborn when he wants to be. Especially when he’s over tired," you say with a small laugh. "But he's also so gentle. So caring. He notices when anyone's sad and tries to make them feel better. Just yesterday, he gave his favorite toy to a crying kid at the park."

You watch as Yoongi absorbs each detail, his fingers still hovering over the photo on your phone. "Does he..." he hesitates, swallowing hard. "Does he ever ask about me?"

Your heart clenches. "Yeah, he does. More and more, He sees other kids with their parents and gets curious. I've told him… that while his appa loves him very much, grown-ups sometimes have complicated situations."

Yoongi's breath catches, and he nods slowly, processing. 

After you agree to bring Han by tomorrow, you tell Yoongi you need to go pick him up. He nods, still looking lost in thought, but there's a softness in his gaze that wasn't there before.

As you step into the lounge, you find Namjoon sitting on the couch, book in hand. He looks up as you enter, a small smirk forming.

"I got worried for a moment there when all the yelling stopped," he teases, dimples on full display.

You scoff but smile back. "We called a temporary truce."

"Progress," he nods approvingly.

"We have organised for me to bring Han by tomorrow," you tell him. "If you wanna be here to supervise the visit." You say it lightly, but there's an underlying truth to it—you don't know how emotional tomorrow will be.

Namjoon closes his book and stretches. "I'll be here," he assures you, voice steady.

Leaning against the wall, you sigh. "How did we get here, Joon?" you whisper, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the city below. "How did we let it get this bad?"

Namjoon sighs, putting the book down beside him. "You mean you and Yoongi?"

You nod, your fingers gripping your knees. "We loved each other." Your voice cracks on the last word, and you shake your head as if trying to make sense of it.

"So how the hell did we end up as two people who just walked away? Who let everything go and ended up like... this—with so much pain and miscommunication between us?"

Namjoon is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs.

"Because it was never just you two," he murmurs.

You frown, looking at him. "What do you mean?"

Namjoon exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the chair. His expression was unreadable, but there was something haunted in his eyes.

"The company, it wasn't just an excuse, Y/N," he said. "You knew they had rules about dating, but you don't know the extent of it. The control, the manipulation—it wasn't just a policy. It was a constant, looming, very real threat."

You swallowed, uneasy. "I knew it was strict, but..."

Namjoon let out a humorless chuckle. "Strict? Y/N, we used to have random phone checks. Random room checks. Managers would come in, take our devices, search our belongings all without warning, and comb through everything. Texts, call logs, even our search history."

He shook his head, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he continued.

"If they found anything suspicious, anything that hinted at a relationship, it wasn't just a scolding—it was a warning. And that's the tip of the iceberg honestly."

Your stomach turned. You knew about the company's grip, but hearing the details made your blood run cold.

"They used to tell us, over and over, that everything we had could be taken away in an instant. Our careers, our reputations. All of it, gone." 

Namjoon glanced at you, his gaze heavy. "And Yoongi? He was already seen as the difficult one. The cold one, the one most likely to push back against that control."

"If they had even a hint of something that could be spun as 'unprofessional'—especially a relationship—he knew they wouldn't hesitate to make an example out of him."

You blinked rapidly, your chest tightening. "They really had that much control over everything?"

Namjoon's lips pressed into a thin line. "You have no idea." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "We weren't just scared of losing our jobs, Y/N. We were scared of losing everything. They had us believing that if we stepped out of line, we'd be ripped apart—no second chances."

You swallowed hard, trying to process it all. "He told me it was because he was afraid?"

Namjoon nodded. "Not just afraid. Convinced. Convinced that staying with you would ruin you both. And Yoongi..." He hesitated before continuing, voice softer now. 

"He's always been the type to shoulder things alone. To suffer in silence if he thinks it'll protect the people he loves."

Your throat tightened. "He thought leaving me was protecting me. Just like I was protecting him."

Namjoon's expression was pained. "Yeah."

You exhaled shakily, rubbing your temples. "I hate that I understand it. I hate that I can see why he did it, why I did what I did, and it still doesn't make any of this hurt any less."

Namjoon looked at you, his eyes showing wisdom beyond his years. "Because understanding the past doesn't erase the damage it left behind. You both made choices based on fear. And now, you're left with the consequences."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, and you laughed bitterly. "So what do we do now, Joon?"

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "That's up to you and Yoongi.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, your mind spinning with everything Namjoon had just told you. The weight of it pressed down on your chest—everything Yoongi had gone through, the suffocating grip they had on him. On all of them.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You wanna know how bad it got?"

You looked at him warily. "I think I already do."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You don't." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter now, heavy with something distant, something painful.

"There was one time—about two months after you left—when Yoongi got caught trying to contact you, after he had already gotten in shit for doing it the times before."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Namjoon nodded. "It was after a long schedule, late as hell. We were back at the dorm, overworked and beyond hungry, I walked past his room, saw the light on under his door. I didn't think much of it at first—until I heard his voice."

You swallowed hard. "He was calling me?"

Namjoon gave you a pointed look. "Trying to." 

He exhaled. "I don't know what happened. Maybe one of the managers was already suspicious, maybe they were just being extra paranoid that night. Either way, someone must've been watching him, because before he could even get through, the door slammed open."

Your stomach twisted.

"They took his phone. Took all our phones, actually, under the excuse of a 'security check.' But they already knew. They already saw."

You couldn't breathe. "What did they do?"

Namjoon hesitated, then said, "They pulled him into a meeting the next day. I don't know exactly what was said, but when he came back, he looked..." 

He trailed off, jaw tightening. "Defeated. Like they'd ripped something out of him. He barely spoke for days after that. Just threw himself into work, into writing. It was like he was trying to drown himself in anything that wasn't you."

Your hands trembled as you hugged yourself, nausea creeping into your throat.

"They threatened him, didn't they?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Namjoon nodded slowly. "Probably, with everything in their arsenal designed to hurt him."

A sharp sob threatened to rise in your chest, but you forced it down, biting the inside of your cheek.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, staring down at your hands as Namjoon's words settled deep into your chest, heavy and unshakable.

A memory surfaced, unbidden.

"I remember that day," you murmured, voice distant. "I was in the middle of a finals exam. My phone was on silent, stuffed in my bag. When I finished, I checked and saw a few missed calls from him. I thought it was my shot to tell him about Han, about how much I missed him. I thought if he's finally got time after a few weeks, I'll take it!"

Namjoon watched you carefully, his expression unreadable.

"I called back," you whispered, feeling the ache of that moment as if it had just happened. "But he didn't answer." You let out a shaky breath. "I tried again. And again. But nothing."

You lifted your gaze to Namjoon, your eyes stinging. "Now I guess I know why."

His face softened with something like understanding, but he said nothing.

That night, you had sat on the edge of your bed, gripping your phone, staring at Yoongi's name on the screen, wondering what had changed. Wondering why, after a few weeks of silence, he had reached out—only to disappear again. 

You had told yourself it didn't matter. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he had come to his senses and realized there was nothing left to say. That the relationship had run its natural course.

But now...

Now you know the truth. Yoongi had tried, tried more than you knew. And they had taken that from him. From both of you.

You sucked in a deep breath, forcing yourself to keep it together, but Namjoon's next words cut through to your heart.

"You spent all this time thinking he didn't care enough," he said quietly. "And he spent all this time thinking he had no choice but to let you go."

A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, thick with disbelief and regret. "What a fucking mess we made, huh."

Namjoon gave you a wry, knowing look. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean you can't fix it."

Your breath came out unsteady. "Why didn't he ever tell me?"

Namjoon gave you a small, sad smile. "Because he didn't want you to know what he went through. He didn't want you to carry that weight."

Tears blurred your vision.

"I thought he just gave up on me," you admitted, voice breaking.

Namjoon shook his head. "Yoongi never gave up on you, Y/N. He just didn't know how to hold on without hurting you."

You wiped at your eyes quickly, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. "And now? Now that we've both hurt each other?"

Namjoon sighed, leaning back against the couch. "That's the thing about love, isn't it? It's not about never hurting each other. It's about what you do after."

Silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words.

Finally, you whispered, "I don't know how to fix this, Joon."

He gave you a small smile. "You don't have to figure it all out right now." His gaze was steady, reassuring. "Just start with tomorrow. Start with being good co-parents to Han."

Tomorrow. When Yoongi would meet his son for the first time.

You exhaled shakily, nodding. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

Later that night, after dinner and a bath, you sit Han on your lap, brushing a hand through his soft hair. The weight of him against you feels both comforting and terrifying, knowing how much his world is about to change.

"Han, baby," you say gently, drawing his attention. "Remember when you told Eomma you thought about your appa?"

He nods, big, curious eyes watching you, looking up at you with such innocent trust.

"How would you like to meet him tomorrow?"

There's a beat of silence as his little brain processes your words. Then, his eyes go wide with excitement.

"Yes, please!" he exclaims, bouncing slightly in your lap. "Really, Eomma? Really?"

Your heart swells, relief washing over you. If there was ever a sign that you were making the right decision, this was it. You hug Han close, kissing his temple.

"Okay, baby," you whisper, holding him just a little tighter. "Tomorrow, you'll meet your appa."

That night, as you watch Han sleep, your mind drifts to another lazy night, years ago...

The soft strumming of guitar strings filled your small apartment, mixing with the soft moonlight streaming through the windows. You were sprawled across your couch, textbooks scattered around you, but your attention kept drifting to Yoongi.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, an old guitar in his lap, dark hair falling into his eyes as he worked through a melody. He was wearing one of his oversized hoodies, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, that silver chain glinting at his neck.

"You're staring again," he murmured without looking up, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Am not," you protested, even as you continued watching his fingers move across the strings. "I'm studying."

"Oh yeah?" He glanced up then, eyes twinkling. "What chapter are you on?"

The memory fades as you brush Han's hair from his forehead, seeing so much of Yoongi in his peaceful sleeping face. Tomorrow would change everything for him, but looking at your son now, you know it's worth whatever pain might come.

Because Han deserves to know his father. And Yoongi deserves to know his son.

As you drift off to sleep, you can almost hear the echo of that old guitar, mixing with the sound of your son's steady breathing, creating a melody of what was and what could be.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new—something scary and uncertain, but necessary. For all of you.

tag list: @busanbby-jjk @jajabro @kam9404 @yoongiiuu93 @julseka07 @tea4sykes @marihoneywk @maryhopemei @sanarin @misschelliejeon @boraluv @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne, @hyuninslutbbgirl , @Granataepfelchen

[bugboi01]

Not again

yandere batfam x trans masc reader

Inspired by @nikovraskol crack baby! (You should totally go read that too)

Summary: After being killed in a robbery gone wrong, you wake up in your younger self's body.

You shot awake, grasping at your chest as the echoes of pain tingled under your skin like electric shocks. You looked around in confusion. Weren't you just at the store? Scratch that. When was the last time your room was pink? Flashes of memories flitted across your scattered mind. You... you were at the store. You remember there being a robbery and a gun being involved. Was it the robber or the cashier who pulled the gun? Did you pass out or something?

You slid out of bed, head pounding as you stumble your way through getting dressed. Everything felt off. A book missing from your desk, clothes you thought you donated sitting neatly in your dresser, and the absence of any personality decorating your walls. You didn't put it together until you saw yourself in the cracked full-length mirror attached to your door. Correction: You saw yourself from two years ago in the mirror.

"What the fuck." There were no other words to describe the situation you had found yourself in. The fragmented memories suddenly make more sense, disjointed parts of a puzzle coming together. You died. Or rather, you were going to die? A soft sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your reflection, disphoria rising in the back of your throat like bile. You had forgotten what you looked like with long hair. Everything about your appearance only made the cacophony of emotions settling inside you at your revelation grow ever stronger and more violent.

A choked sob fell from your mouth despite your best attempts to keep quiet. You suddenly couldn't stand to see yourself, eyes zeroing in on the pair of scissors on your desk. You didn't register that you had picked up the scissors until the first lock of hair drifted to the ground with a deafening snip. Every cut made the weight in your shoulders just a bit lighter until you didn't have any hair below your ears. You looked... better. The style was choppy and haphazard, but it made you feel a bit better about your appearance.

You looked down at the mess of hair, leaving your room to grab a broom to clean it. While you walked, you thought about what to do next. This was a second chance, you supposed. A chance to live your life in a way you had been too scared to before. You were seventeen at the moment, eighteen in a little less than half a year. That was still quite a bit away for your plans. Lost in thought as you were, you failed to notice the person in front of you until you collided into a large body.

"Watch where you're..." A familiar voice snapped before trailing off. Looking up, you spotted Jason's bright blue-green eyes studying you intensely.

"Sorry," you replied flatly, feeling far too drained to care all that much.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Cut it."

"I can see that, princess. Why'd you give yourself a haircut?"

"Don't call me princess."

Jason seemed taken aback by the harshness in your voice. He frowned, eyes studying you with more intensity than before. It felt like thousands of ants crawling along your skin, burrowing inside until they reached your heart and began chewing away at the organ. You turned your head away, unable to stand the feeling any longer.

"Do you know where the broom is?" You asked, trying to change the conversation.

"What?"

"The broom. Actually never mind. I'll just ask Alfred." With those parting words, you brushed past Jason despite him calling out to you. You had better things to deal with than fighting with your brother. You thought back to the first time you met Jason. He was a scrawny little thing the same size as you despite being two years older. That didn't last long once he got a proper three meals of Alfred's cooking per day. He was a sweet kid who didn't mind hanging out with you. He seemed in need of you just as much as you needed him. It made you wonder what happened after he died and came back. He was distant with you but tried to hold his temper when you were around. Well, now you had something in common besides having the Batman for a father. Perhaps that would make the sweet boy who used to look at you with all the love he could hold in his small, fragile body come back.

You didn't bump into anyone else on your way to find the broom, thank the stars. It took longer than you would have liked, though. Seriously, how many closets does one house need? Surely, there weren't that many servants around at a time before Alfred. Satisfied, you make the trek back to your room. Maybe you should ask about moving rooms to one closer to the first floor? Well, that was a conversation for another day. You shut the closet door, only to come face to face with Alfred. Ah, hell.

"Oh, um..." You trailed off, unsure how to talk to the older man. Sure, he was kind enough when you first arrived, but it had been years since you last remembered truly interacting with him besides the occasional small talk or him handing you your lunch for the day. His eyes studied your new hair and baggy shirt carefully before he rested a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Shall I inform the others of this development, young Master?" Alfred asked, plucking the broom from your fingers despite your protests. "And it would please me greatly if you allowed me to touch up your hair."

You could only nod in response to the butler's question and barely concealed demand. Was this why everyone else liked Alfred so much? His ability to know what to say and do to make your longing for affection and acceptance ease away? You found yourself being led to a bathroom where Alfred had you sit on a chair while he made your impromptu haircut less sloppy and more deliberate looking. You looked in the mirror while he worked. You liked what you saw.

[arikihalloween]

why do you follow artsy bug back on tiktok I thought you didnt support problematic and disgusting pppl

Did you check my following on tiktok and then came back here to specifically ask me about this ? That's kinda weird /lh

I saw that Bug made a return with new boundaries, and clear indications that they've learned from their mistakes and is trying to to better

So I followed again to see the developpement

But also, it seems you didn't follow what has been going on and the new infos on that specific situation

For one, it has been proven J and Bug merely enabled K's behavior, and most of the instances were situational and due mostly from a lack of boundary from what I've seen

There was no ill intent whatsoever and things were taken too far out of personal bias against all the creators involved (including K)

So as far as I know

J and B didn't groom, they made a mistake which was to enable a 17yo who approached them with nsfw (it was mostly Java btw, Bug was barely in those vocals to begin with)

Mind you, all the parties involved were like, 17, 18 and 19, which is still in the middle zone of teen and adult and as such, they'll make immature mistakes (you don't received the world's wisdom upon reaching 18 yk)

It's hypocritical to hold them to an impossible standard and try to keep the water muddy about what really happened by reducing them to "unredeemable disgusting problematic people"

And what really happened, again, was two immature young adults with a minor in their friend circle, being approached by said minor with nsfw, and failing to keep their boundaries clear

And they got called out. And made the right moves. Which was to apologize, cut contact with the minor, and improve themselves so the mistake won't happen again.

I'll still hold both Bug and Java accountable for their mistakes, I still don't follow Java and only refollowed Bug on tiktok to see their evolution, because Bug took visible actions to change and second chances are a thing, you know ? If Bug does something problematic again, I'll unfollow and probably block.

If musicboxtune has been allowed a second chance from people after being called out for trying to talk nsfw on call while actual children were present, being a shitty person, stealing ideas and forcing people to nsfw rp with them, why can't Bug be given a second chance after a bad joke and accidentally enabling someone they thought would turn 18 a month or two later ?

Bug showed improvements, I want to see if they'll keep those improvements.

Now typing this all out, I realise it's the first time I voice all my thoughts on the matter publicly

From day 1, from the first doc by Exposer, I felt something was off. The screenshots are weirdly cropped and there was only claims about the vocals. And as the situation unfold, it became abundantly clear that what actually happened wasn't important

It all felt like a weird power play, trying to ruin someone's reputation to rise by stepping on the crumbles

As soon as someone would get called out, I'd see 3-4 replies about people saying they'd take the ocs/AUs or advertising their own version of a concept

Right of the top of my head I can think of 5-6 people who stole either Java's or Bug's OCs

Not just AUs, OCs.

Do yall even realise that after all of this, Java and Bug have leverage to sue a whole bunch of people for cyberharassement, defamation and plagiat ? Yall realise ocs fall under original content and thus copyright, don't you ?

The enabling of nsfw, with the proofs that are out now, would mostly rule in their favor imo, because K is shown lying about their age a few times, deflecting blame and even said themselves that they were enabled, not groomed

Speaking of K, don't get me wrong, I'm worried about them. From day 1 it was clear there was someone else influencing them, which wasn't J and B. There had to be someone that brought up the "grooming" idea and K went along with it. There had to be other people K showed the nsfw too, other adults who likely also enabled, possibly intentionally contrary to J and B

Hell, just last week, there was a whole drama on twitter during which it was found out that an ADULT 'friend' of K IMPERSONATED them and made a NSFW ACCOUNT to "GET CLOSER TO K"

Like, fr protect this kiddo ?? After everything that happened how the fuck did people not notice this kinda behavior around K right away ??

And this person wasn't Java, nor Bug.

Now that I'm at it rambling, doesn't it feel so easy to blame Java and Bug ? They were and probably still are popular artists, it's easy to talk about fame and power dynamic (even if on the internet it doesn't actually mean much especially on a scale like this case bfr)

Everyone scrambled to try to claim Java and Bug's ocs right after they got called out. People have been waiting for this. Java had already been in a drama the year before at this point and there was still clear resentment leftover from then.

I'm not saying it was all planned out, it feels absurd to believe this was all a conspiracy to get rid of some popular artists

What I am saying tho, is that it was easy to blame the two popular artists who already had resentment about them, and then muddy the water to hide the involvement of many in the situation

How come we never held accountable the other adults present in that same server who were also on call with Java and K ? They could've also said something to stop the enabling

How come we don't know who K sent nsfw to, aside from J ? How come aren't all of the people who followed that nsfw account held accountable either ?

I disgress sorry

I hope that gave some food for thoughts for you anon tho

As a last note, thank you for asking me about this /gen

Although a dm would've been preferable, I supposed you prefer your anonymity which is fine ig

If I follow someone really problematic, I prefer to be told and shown proof, and I'll unfollow (or block)

I got nothing to hide, hence why I'm not trynna sugarcoat my thoughts on the whole thing

I made my own choice on this matter with the various doc that have been made available

If you want to stop supporting me and my work, that's your choice

Have a good day/morning/afternoon/evening/night

[gacorley]

There’s some common threads I see in the anti-voting posts going around, and I feel like I need to discuss some of them. Let’s start with the biggest one:

Voting to punish evil. I see lots of variations of this. Biden is supporting Israel, therefore we can’t vote for him. Is there any viable candidate who would stop the genocide? I don’t think the anti voting crowd actually cares. They are appealing to moral feelings rather than political strategy, because strategically, you have to realize that voting is not going to change foreign policy, and that change has to be pushed by other means. It’ll probably be something in the long haul.

Democrats should run someone else. First of all, this is a shit strategy. You don’t primary your president in the second term unless your party is falling apart. This may come from people from countries where replacing the head of government is easier, but the POTUS is the de facto party head. Also, going to the lack of thought to the goal — do you know someone willing to primary Biden and able to win who would do the things you want?

Biden hasn’t done anything anyway. This is just a way to bat away pro arguments. There’s plenty of lists of progress on lots of things. Student loans, insulin price caps, regulations, anti-trust.

Putting the entire Palestinian genocide on Biden. I’m not saying there’s not culpability there, but understand that the entire US government is in support of Israel, on both sides. It was a miracle we got a handful of Senators to call for investigations. We should cut off aid, absolutely. Who’s running to do that? And keep in mind that Israel chose to engage. US officials would have liked a more limited response, not out of care for Palestinians, but because they know from experience that it will come back to bite Israel in the form of newly radicalized Hamas recruits.

Liberals just have no hope for change. This is a new one. Just some idea that people are stuck in a rut and that’s the reason the two party system exists. The two party system is a mathematical consequence of the way we vote. There is reason to hope for change. The change, though, whatever means you choose, will take decades. Keep working at it. The hope is not that this election will fundamentally change things. The hope is that many small political actions over the years will push things forward.

Funnily enough, I haven’t seen a whole lot of third party promotion, just lots of this rhetoric aiming to punish. When voting, ask yourself:

Is this problem I have with this candidate something that the other candidate would be better on?

Are there other political actions I can take that will help?

What things can change with a different President or Congress, and what needs to be pursued by other means?

Withholding your vote as a punishment isn’t really going to help. Biden doesn’t know who you are or why you are not voting for him, and there is no one with a chance of winning that will do everything you want. But you have other means. Protest, organize, donate, build up alternatives, advocate for a different system.

Vote to give yourself space and get a little bit. Do other things to keep things moving.

[landoughnut]

Pit Stop Staring

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - lando norris x mechanic!fem!reader

♡ summary - lando notices you during a pit stop, gets distracted and stares at you, and embarrasses himself on the radio being aired as he gushes over you, but with a little push from Zak, he makes his move on you!

♡ warnings - fluff, BLUSHY and nervous lando, love at first sight, a pinch of jealousy, Zak's a wing man, lando being cute and STUTTERINGGG hehehe

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.86k | #ilovetommy

Today was your first day working as a mechanic during an actual race, and you couldn't be more excited. You'd just finished your months of training and you felt pretty confident in yourself, so you weren't too nervous.

The McLaren team was more than welcoming when you first started, although some were a little apprehensive to have a girl working with the heavy tires, you proved them completely wrong and quickly gained their admiration, making friends with some as well.

As for the two papaya drivers, you had only briefly met Oscar about a month ago while leaving a meeting. He told you he was happy to be working with you soon, and he thought you will do amazing. You spoke shortly before he was being called off by someone, but he said goodbye and wished you best of luck.

The other driver, Lando, you had unfortunately not met yet. You heard quite a lot about him, and people said he was kind with a great sense of humor, so you crossed your fingers and wished you were able to catch him and introduce yourself. You also had seen some edits of him on your feed, not that you would tell anyone that, but you couldn't deny that he was quite a looker.

Back to today, though, you were waiting to see the bright papaya cars pull into the pit stop for their tire exchanges. After some laps, the first one to pull up was Oscar, and you and the others quickly got to work with a successful change in just about 2 seconds.

You beamed as he drove away and got a high five from your mechanic friend, Tommy, and he grinned at you, "That was great! And your first time too! You'll be putting me out of my job soon," he laughs.

You shake your head and poke his side, walking back to the garage, "Don't be silly! I did learn from the best," you say and give him a dramatic wink.

"Ha. Ha. You flatter me," he pats your head. You just push his arm away and turn your head to look at the race stats.

Oscar is in a good fourth place currently, and Lando in second, four seconds behind Max. You watch the race for about three more minutes before you hear that Lando was told to box next lap, so you and the mechanics rush out to the pit once again and prepare your gear.

A few moments pass before you can spot Lando's bright helmet in his car coming closer. He finally arrives and pulls up into his spot, while doing so, he glances around and his eyes land on you.

His mouth drops open slightly and he whispers a little, "Wow." Everyone does his tire change just as fast as Oscars, but Lando was still staring at you, who he thinks might be an angel sent down from above just for him.

Wow, he thinks to himself again, you have to be the most gorgeous person he's ever seen. He doesn't even realize that everyone has cleared the way for him to exit the stop until he sees you tilt your head and he hears his race engineer's voice, "Lando! GO! What are you doing, mate?!"

That snaps Lando back to reality, and he quickly drives away, now in last place due to how long he was there. He feels his neck and cheeks heat up in embarrassment. There's no way he would have a chance with you after that.

"I-I'm so sorry, she was s-so beautiful, and she looks like an a-angel, I-I got distracted," he stutters quietly to Will, his race engineer.

"Oh my- Lando this is being aired, you can't say stuff like that, mate!" Will sighs but he can't help but laugh a little bit. However Lando does the opposite now, he chews his lip like he's about to cry of humility, since now he knows you just heard him say that and you were the only girl there, so you know he had to be talking about you.

Back to where you were, you laughed at the radio message, curious to who he was stuttering over. Tommy's eyes bulge as he hears it, head whipping toward you.

You look at him and furrow your eyebrows, "What?"

He just blinds at you before yelling, "Lando Norris said you're beautiful! And look like an angel!"

"What? No he didn't?"

"Are you- who else would he be talking about?!" Tommy puts his hands on your shoulder and gently shakes you.

"Uhh," you laugh and glance at the other mechanics who are smirking and you and raising their eyebrows up and down. "I don't know, there are some women team members right over there," you point to the side.

Tommy just drops his head down and shakes it, "No. He was talking about you!"

"But.. I'm.. well, me? Just an average new mechanic," you look down at your uniform, "in some very unflattering working clothes."

Tommy just steps back and crosses his arms, "First off, don't ever say you're 'just you', because you're my best friend here," he whispers, so the others won't hear him, and you giggle. "Second, the clothes may be a little unflattering but you're still a very pretty girl," he smiles at you.

"Awhhhhh, Tommy! Who knew you were such a sap!" You hug the boy in thanks and he reciprocates it as you walk to the garage once again.

"So are you going to ask him out later?"

You almost choke on your breath, "What? No! Of course not! Are you crazy?"

He rolls his eyes, "Come on, he was just stuttering. Lando Norris was stuttering over you, if that isn't love at first sight then I don't know what is," he shrugs.

"Tommy!" You slap his arm, "We are done with this conversation."

"But-"

"End of discussion!" You huff, turning on your heels and walk away. Leaving your friend to rub his face in defeat.

When the race ended with Lando placed seventh due to the mishap from before, he hopped out of the car and rushed over to Zak.

Zak pulls the boy in for a hug and ruffles his hair, which was quite the opposite reaction Lando had thought he would see, since he cost the team points.

Once he lets go of Lando, the only thing he gets out of his mouth is, "Who was that?"

Zak lets out a laugh and tries to keep in a grin, "Who? Her?" he nods over to you, standing while chatting with Tommy again. Lando frowns as he watches you two.

"Are they dating?" he asks the older man.

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, "yes," he nods. Of course he's only kidding, trying the get a rise out of the British boy.

"What?" Lando's head snaps to the man, looking utterly devastated. Zak starts laughing loudly, looking at him, and thinks this is what the human version of a kicked puppy would look like.

"I'm only joking, buddy, why don't you go and ask her?" Zak pats Lando's shoulder.

"U-uh I don't know...."

"Oh, come on! You're Lando Norris!"

The boy sighs and looks at you longingly. That was until you glanced over at him and he quickly turned back to Zak, his face now turning red again at being caught. "What about no work relationships?"

Zak sighs and shakes his head, "Listen, I'll talk to people about it and I'll make it work, okay?" He smiles and Lando lets his lips twitch into a tiny smile. "Now, go get your girl!" He turns his shoulders and pushes him forward a little bit.

Lando blinks fast and his heart races as he nervously makes his way over to you two.

You don't notice but Tommy does and bites back a teasing comment. "Lando Norris! The legendary man himself!"

You look to your right and see the boy bouncing slightly on his feet, twisting his hands and he looks back and forth between you both. "H-hi," he whispers to you, his ears turning red at your kind gaze.

"Hi! It's nice to finally meet you," you smile at him.

Tommy nods, "Yeah, and nice radio message today, man, real smooth," he chuckles.

Unbeknownst to you, Lando now wishes the floor would swallow him whole. "Uh, y-yeah, thanks?"

Tommy just laughs, "Oh! I think someone is calling me, gotta go!"

You watch him walk away, and Lando glares at him. "Did you hear someone calling him?" you ask.

"No, but, um, I-I'm sorry for today, a-and I didn't-"

You quickly shake your head and smile, "No! Don't apologize, really! I'm honored!" You put your hand on his arm, causing him to tense. You quickly remove it and apologize, "I'm so sorry! I should have asked-"

"N-No!" Lando says, and Zak drops his head into his hands as he watches the scene from afar. "You can touch me anytime! I-I mean- bloody hell- n-not like that! I mean you can if you wa-" he slaps a hand over his mouth before he can embarrass himself and more.

You just blush as you watch the boy, you find it endearing, to be honest, you've never had someone act like this with you before. "Lando! Please, don't worry, I think your rambling is cute, and... you yourself are cute too," you put your hands behind your back.

"Me? Really? You think I'm c-cute?" He lets out a nervous laugh in disbelief.

"Is that so hard to believe?" You frown.

"I... guess not.. but you're.. you! W-way out of my league..." he trails off.

"You have to be joking!"

He just looks down at his feet and smiles, his body slowly untensing as he feels a little less nervous. It's not that he's stuttering and blushing because he's scared of you, he's just never met someone so... perfect.

He slowly raises his eyes back up to look at you, "Well... then would you m-maybe want to... get dinner with me later?"

Your smile widens at the hopeful look in his eyes, you pinch your arm once, just to be sure this is really happening and not a dream. "Of course! Oh, I'd love to, would you like my number to send me the details?" you ask him.

He nods and pats his pocket for his phone, "Oh! I left my phone in my driver's room... but if you have yours, I'll give you mine?"

"Sure," you nod and hand him your phone, watching as he creates a contact for himself. "Well, I do have to go back, I promised my friends to hang out for a bit after the race but I'll see you later," you tell him.

He smiles at you, "Alright, see you!"

You turn around, walking to your friends who were giggling to themselves, watching the whole thing.

Lando is left in his spot, practically lovestruck, "What a woman," he whispers to himself dreamily.

He jumps with a yelp when he feels a hand on his shoulder, "Well done, kid! You got yourself a date!"

Lando turns to look at a way too excited Zak Brown, "Yeah... I suppose I did."

[gloomwitchwrites]

secret baby trope with tf141? 😌😌

Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.

I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst

Word Count: 2.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.

He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and that’s exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.

Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.

It’s bloody fucking brilliant.

Kyle isn’t attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why he’s splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. It’s mostly for background noise. Kyle isn’t really paying attention to it.

With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people he’s had it off with but never took anything further.

He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.

They just happen upon him. Kyle doesn’t drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.

You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex he’s ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw you—over a year now—that Kyle has thought about what could have been.

You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didn’t follow through. He would regret it, but things can’t be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.

Kyle’s thumb hovers above the screen.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But he does. Because why not?

Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesn’t usually give a shit about what’s happening in people’s lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If you’re not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.

You don’t have him blocked on anything—thank fuck—and Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.

Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.

Just three—no—four months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.

Your…son.

Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.

He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyle’s heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

“Fucking hell,” groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you contact him?

The very thought of you not reaching out doesn’t sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.

“Fuck,” says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.

He finds Simon’s number and taps the call button.

It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesn’t think that he’ll answer. But he does.

“Kyle,” comes Simon’s gruff voice.

Kyle sighs. “I need you to track someone down for me.”

John Price

John doesn’t like cutting off contact with people.

He likes to keep in touch, even if it’s just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people he’s able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.

Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.

Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. He’s prone to it since he’s never in one place. Always moving around.

John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesn’t seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when he’s constantly called away.

He chews it over while sitting in his office. It’s late, and there isn’t anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to him—a time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isn’t certain, and it’s hardly enough to go on.

Sighing, deciding he’d rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.

John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.

If this doesn’t work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.

He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.

Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isn’t an issue. He has enough.

John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. He’ll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.

“You have the wrong number, bud.”

The man’s southern drawl irks John. “You sure?”

“Yeah I’m fucking sure. Quit calling.”

John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isn’t recent.

“Fuck,” mutters John, running his hand through his hair.

This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he can’t do that unless he’s on scheduled leave. That’s months away.

And each month is fucking agony.

When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someone’s door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.

But fuck it. He’s here.

Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears it—the turn of a deadbolt.

The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.

“John,” you breathe.

He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. You’re—oh shit.

“Is that—”

“Yours?”

Fuck.

John glances up into your eyes and swallows.

You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“It is,” you confirm.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shouldn’t. Really—it’s fucked up. Wrong.

But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way he’s letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.

Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldn’t make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.

But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.

Sure, you’re not truly his now, but you’ll come back to him. He’ll make sure of it.

In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.

It’s where he first learned you were pregnant.

You know, and haven’t told him. Haven’t reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.

You are fucking pregnant. With his child.

It’s growing in your belly.

Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.

It’s fucking painful watching you like this.

He’s stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.

But you’ve broken it off before, and came back eventually.

Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.

He has to play this right.

He has to.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you think you’ll ever find your woman again?”

Johnny grins behind his pint glass. “If she’s here,” he replies.

The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. It’s refreshing since it’s so bloody hot outside.

Johnny didn’t think he’d ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missions—a way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.

He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnny’s eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charm—melting like butter over fresh toast.

That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnny’s hotel room. But the two of you didn’t have sex. It wasn’t until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.

Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasn’t a moment after that Johnny didn’t have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.

But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.

Eventually, you didn’t talk to Johnny at all.

He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didn’t hear a thing—and he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesn’t exactly like it.

It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you left—and if he’s being entirely honest with himself—he still fucking likes you.

Maybe you’ll be here. Maybe you won’t.

Kyle is with him this time. A guy’s trip. Price isn’t one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.

“We could try that pub again,” suggests Kyle. “See if she’s there.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Did she live here?” asks Kyle.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Sure did.”

Kyle bobs his head. “We’ll find her.”

The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. It’s hot, but it’s a beautiful fucking day.

Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.

Is that?

No. Can’t be.

His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. It’s you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You haven’t changed all that much. Not really.

There is another woman with you—a friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.

But that isn’t what has Johnny’s attention.

You’ve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.

“What is it?” asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.

“That’s her,” murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.

You don’t see him. You’re chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.

“Oh fuck,” says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.

“Is that?”

“It fucking is.”

“She’s fucking pregnant.”

Johnny swallows. “Aye.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.

But that doesn’t sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you sooner—not finding out like this.

You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friend’s arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.

You’re staring right at Johnny.

And he’s staring back.

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@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

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@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[poguehearted77]

Just Another Cliché

Summary: Rafe has been asking to take you out for years and you always shoot him down, but after a particularly bad day, you decide things can't get much worse.

<<Here's some fluffy angst for those who need it>>

Shitty was an understatement for the day you had. This day will go down in history as the worst day any soul has ever lived through.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The murmur is bitter on your tongue as you stuff your hands deeper into your warm pockets. The breath of your words were visible in the crisp winter air as you were about to pass by Rafe Cameron who waited patiently outside of your apartment building with a single rose just like he always did.

Since your senior year of high school, every year on the fourteenth of February, he would wait outside your complex, asking you out, then you say no, then he goes home. That's the tradition.

Well, technically you never said no. You'd always make up some excuse. 'I don't have time for a relationship right now' or 'Now's a bad time' are just a few of the examples you've used over the last five years.

It's not that there was anything wrong with him. You actually did find him attractive. Aside from the sketchy reputation he had going for him back in high school, he was still a relatively nice guy.

You just didn't have the time for a relationship, or at least you didn't before.

A small smile forms on his face as he sees you, already knowing what to expect. Another excuse like "Fine," yup, just as he thought- Wait.

"Say that again?" His head shakes in disbelief, blue eyes bulging slightly. Your shoulders shrug under your heavy-duty winter jacket. "My car was towed, then I lost my job, so why not lose my dignity too? Let's go out." You say and his heart begins to bounce off the confines of his ribs.

Not sure if it was the frosty air nipping at his cheeks or his lifetime wish finally unwrapping before his eyes, his cheeks flushed and he blinked a few times. "You won't regret this, I promise." he holds out the rose for you to take, and you finally do. For the first time in five years. You bite back a scoff, not in the mood for empty promises.

"Why haven't you given up yet?" You ask and now he places his hands in his pockets as a chilling breeze sweeps past you. He's rocking back on his heels slightly, "Life's too short to give up." The tiny smile on his face does make you scoff this time but he moves past it, "I'll text you later," is the last thing he says before he walks off.

You look down at the rose, then at his shrinking figure as he heads for the distance. A little pep in his step and you shook your head, immediately regretting your decision.

Great, this is exactly what you needed, another cliché.

-

Just another cliché is exactly what it was. On the lowest day of your life, you finally gave Rafe a chance. Of course, he changes your life in ways you couldn't imagine and leaves you with a dead weight of regret for not giving in sooner.

Your first date wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was fun. The two of you were inexperienced skaters failing to skate in the middle of the town square during the heart of winter. With festive lights outlining the rink where you laughed every time one of you fell.

There was even a point in time when you'd both embraced the cold connection with the ice floor and had a deep conversation on the sidelines, watching the other skaters circle the rink.

"Why me?" The question slips out before you can catch it and he licks his lips. He anticipated the query would arise eventually. "You remember that party Hailey Vanderbilt threw back in senior year?"

You hum with a nod, that was a party you'll never forget. Pool toys ended up in the trees, broken windows, jello in the hot tub, fights in the front yard and gambling in the back. "You and a few of the girls were playing truth or dare and they had dared you to start a rumour that I'd shaved my head because my family had joined some cult or some shit."

It took you a second, but the memory came back to you. "You don't know this, but I was fucking wasted behind the couch, but I'll never forget the way you stood up for me to them and refused to do it, and I dunno, I jus' think that was really cool of you." His head turns to you, his gaze softening when he looks at you.

At that moment, you felt the butterflies flap around in your stomach for the first time. He clears his throat, expression becoming more sombre as he continues. "My mom," He starts, taking a difficult swallow to get the words out.

"She was really sick. I got caught up with the wrong crowd to deal with it. Doing anything people said would get me distracted, even for a little, but she got worse and me being high every day didn't help so I quit. Her chemo was taking everything from her and eventually, she just shaved it off, she hated looking in the mirror and it killed me."

Your chest tightened at the story, having a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, "So when you shaved your head..." You trail off and Rafe nods along, turning away from you as a stray tear falls. "It was for her. You sticking up for me meant so much more than you know."

So there you both sat, on the ice with your backs against the wall in silence while the faint Christmas music chimed in the background. The date had taken a sad turn but you're glad it did, it sparked the beginning of your forever-evolving bond.

That was only the first date of many. Dozens and dozens of dates had flown past you and with each one you hated yourself a little more for letting him stand outside of your complex for five years rather than invite him inside.

"This is a nice place." He compliments as he takes a look around before settling himself on the couch with you beside him. "Thanks, it used to be a lot nicer when I could afford it. Had to sell some stuff to keep it after I lost my job."

He chuckles, "That explains why we're facing a blank wall and no television." and you pinch him. "Sacrifices had to be made. Who needs a TV anyways when there's so many other things we could do to keep ourselves busy." Your wandering hand gently runs down his firm thigh and you can feel the muscles in his leg tighten.

This was unchartered territory for you. You'd been dating for almost three months now and have never been intimate in that way, but Rafe knew the kind of person you were. A perfectionist, you need to be sure of everything before you try it.

Based on how fervently you were currently kissing along the length of his neck he could assume he had a pretty good idea of where your head was at. "Baby, baby--" He struggles to keep you at bay so he can lock eyes with you. "Are you sure about this? We don't have-" You silence him with the passionate attack of your lips against his.

Nearly tackling him onto his back, your hips straddling his as you demonstrated your certainty to him.

-

The months went on and sleepovers became more frequent. Even when Rafe had that tired look in his eye which was more often these days, you kept him up with your bright eyes and wide smile as you explained to him the newest conspiracy that intrigued you.

He tried his best to listen to what you were saying but he'd often lose himself in the labyrinth of his own mind. You were just so cute when you were talking about what you were passionate about. Especially when you wore the glasses you cursed so much, opting for contacts during the day.

"Why don't you wear your glasses more often?" He asks and you frown, "Rafee, did you hear anything I just said?" He nods, "Of course I did. I heard every last word.... up until about five minutes ago." You whine and he hugs you tight as an apology, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't stay mad at him. That was proven time and time again when even your biggest fights would be resolved within 24 hours. Rafe insisted on talking things out, no matter how hurt the both of you may feel. He never wanted to go to sleep without making things right. "Life's too short," He would say.

You both had your shortcomings, but that goes without saying. Rafe was short-tempered and you were stubborn, a bad combination for an opinionated conversation. Things can quickly spiral out of control but when it came to apologies, Rafe outdid you every time. Flowers, or a small gift to show his feelings.

Even now, as Rafe leant against your kitchen island as you transferred the flowers he'd gifted you 'just because'. A weak smile graced his lips as he noted the way you did everything with such intensity, putting your all into everything you did.

Leaning forward onto his crossed forearms he watches you. "You're staring, babe." You say and he can only hum. "Can't help it. I like what I see," His words elicit a soft warmth to radiate in your chest.

"I love you, y'know that?" You're startled as you feel his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "You tell me only every day, Rafe." He comes down to peck your cheek before you're rotating in his hold to face him. "But I love you too." You're unable to contain your smile as you say it.

It wasn't the first time but every time the words left your mouth, it gave you a little bubbly feeling. Security blossomed within you anytime your eyes grazed over his features.

"Let's go out tonight, yeah? Let's go dancing." Rafe declares without thinking and you laugh, tilting your head to look at the time over the stove. "It's almost midnight, nothing's open at this hour." You reason, but he doesn't back down.

Holding you by the hand, he twirls you. "Not a problem, we'll just do it here." That night your apartment was filled with laughter and soft jazz. Rafe hardly ever had this much energy so late but you loved it.

Two days after that night of dancing, you woke up to an eerie silence that felt too heavy for the morning. You went about your routine, still buoyed by the memory of Rafe's laughter filling your apartment. You checked your phone—just the usual notifications, a missed call from an unknown number, and a message from Sarah that simply said, "Call me."

You barely had time to press dial before she picked up, her voice trembling. She tried to speak, but only the sound of soft, choked sobs came through. Finally, she managed, "I’m so sorry…"

The words hit you, but you didn’t understand them. You wanted her to stop, to say something else—anything else. She kept speaking, her words blurred and distant, as though you were underwater, drowning. Somewhere in her explanation, you heard the words, "peacefully… in his sleep." But it didn’t feel peaceful. Your mind raced, demanding answers. Why hadn’t he told you? How long had he known?

Over the days that followed, Rafe's family gently filled in the pieces: he’d been sick for years, silently enduring, doing everything he could to hide it. Every date, every moment spent laughing with you, was a deliberate choice he made to live his last days fully, in love and joy, with you.

He hadn’t wanted you to know because he couldn't bear to see you suffer for him the same way he was once familiar with in his senior year. Even in the end, he kept the truth locked away, shielding you from the loss he knew was coming.

The weight of his choice tore you apart. You wanted to be angry, to hate him for leaving you out, but in his silence, there was also a strange kind of love. A love that had given you a few precious, unburdened moments together. Still, the pain settled deep within you, refusing to ease.

The anger, hurt, and ache became constant companions in the days that followed. But in his absence, you began to understand just how much he’d given for you.

He'd shared with you how hard it was for him to deal with that eerie state of loss. The stage where the person isn't gone but you know you'll lose them. It alters you in a messed up kind of way and he wanted you as far from that reality as possible. He was protecting you from his own condition till the very end.

Helping his family to clear out his apartment was easily the hardest thing you'd ever done. You couldn't do it without tearing up with every belonging of his you touched.

His favourite hoodie that he never let you wear but loved when you did. The polaroids in his drawer that you took from your first date, taken from the floor of the ice rink.

You noticed he'd scribbled writing on the back of the photo.

She finally said yes.

That was all it took. The last bits of your composure were stolen from you and you wept on his bedroom floor. Everyone always told you it would get easier but it never did. How could things get easier when the other half of your heart was buried six feet below the ground?

You learned to live with the loss, forcing a smile when in the company of others and taking deep breaths every morning when you woke up. Mildly disappointed the realm beyond the living hadn't reaped you during your slumber.

Very slowly, you begin to adjust to this new reality. It’s not the life you imagined, but you learn to live with the loss, carrying him with you in the smallest, most tender ways. His favourite hoodie becomes your comfort on cold nights, wrapping you in his memory and his scent.

Just because he was gone doesn't mean you'd end all of your traditions. Each year on the fourteenth of February, you visit his grave, placing a single red rose on the stone as a quiet tribute.

Though the ache remains, you hold his spirit close, carrying him forward into every milestone and memory yet to come, honouring the love you shared while finding the strength to continue onward.

In some ways, your love story turned out to be just another cliché—until it ripped your heart out from your chest, leaving you with the unbearable ache of everything he left unsaid, every unfulfilled promise, and the haunting silence of a future that will always belong to him.

Somehow, even in the quietest, most heart-wrenching moments, you never gave up on finding the silver lining, because life’s too short.

[madwomansapologist]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ༘⋆ rizz? oh, you mean my autism?

★彡 synopsis: jjk boyfriends' ways of loving an autistic reader.

characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, hajime kashimo.

bella's note: my new year's resolution? to be way more self-indulgent!

.ᐟ.ᐟ KENTO 'QUIZ TIME' NANAMI

The first time it happened, Kento assumed you were way too focused on work to cook something before you were about to faint. The second time, maybe you were distracted. From then on, it was a pattern Kento couldn’t unsee.

Arms shaking as you cook. Changing the shower temperature when your skin is burning hot. Only washing your glasses when they are so dusty he could draw on them. Waking up on the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

You only listen to your needs when your body screams.

THIS PACKAGE INCLUDES: “Do you need a drink?” — “Have you eaten anything? That doesn’t count.” — “Want me to close the curtains?” — “Come clean your glasses with me. I could clean yours, but you would need to clean mine. That’s what I thought.” — “Did you pay your bills this month?” — “Have you watched that movie you told me about?” — “Are you going to bed or I’ll have to start undressing? Oh, so now you hear me?”

.ᐟ.ᐟ CHOSO 'ACCIDENTAL MIME' KAMO

Choso would’ve never noticed if you hadn’t got mad at him. Mocking you? of course he was not! That’s so mean, Choso would never do that to someone he loves.

You have this habit. Of repeating words or phrases others use. Choso thought it was sweet. It showed that you were paying attention to every conversation. He started doing the same for you to know that he was listening, too.

Choso would’ve never understood if it wasn’t for Yuji. Echolalia. You weren’t doing it on purpose. It was automatic. What he saw as a habit was something you have no control over. When Choso started doing the same, you thought it was his way of saying “stop that, you’re bothering me.”

Once Choso explained himself, it was your turn to think it was a sweet habit.

THIS PACKAGE INCLUDES: “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to.” — “Choso, you’re very beautiful. Wait.” — “Can you shut up? Sorry.” — “Do you want to go out? I would love to.” — “Fuck that. Hey, Yuji, don’t use those words.” — “Babe? Yes?”

.ᐟ.ᐟ SUGURO 'SOCIAL CLUES TRANSLATOR' GETO

People, most often than not, will say things without actually saying them. The first time the meaning behind someone’s word were completely lost once they reached your ears, Suguru thought it was amusing. But then he understood some think it’s only logical to blame you for not getting what they chose not to say.

Arguing with someone unwilling to change their ways is pointless. If they don’t want to communicate with others, so be it. Suguru would pity them for wasting their chance of knowing you, but he prefers when you spend your time with him.

In important events, Suguru will tell you what to expect. Out with friends, he may warn you about someone not being very happy. Oh, the countless times Suguru was the one to explain that “no, honey, they didn’t mean it literally.”

Suguru would rather not being called tutorial mascot by his partner, but if you’re happy… so be it.

THIS PACKAGE INCLUDES: “Hyperbole.” — “I think that was her polite way of spitting on his face. It gave me chills.” — “I also don’t know what he meant by that.” — “She’s definitely lying.” — “Not literally.” — “Shit. Satoru will ask me to give a speech. You will pretend to be sick? ... I love you.”

.ᐟ.ᐟ HAJIME 'TELL ME MORE' KASHIMO

Hajime WILL know about all your special interests. You have no say in this matter. He wants to know everything about you that there is to know. After all, what is love if not seeing the other and accepting them entirely?

He prefers to do it while he trains. Hajime will practice his techniques with your voice to sooth his muscles. Don’t matter what is on your mind, he wants to hear it all. A specific actress, some movie you saw, penguins? Lovely, keep going.

It's endearing the way you know so much about what you love. Makes Hajime want to ask you what you know about him. Just to check.

THIS PACKAGE INCLUDES: "No, no. Please, keep going." — "And that was created when?" — "Your voice is enchanting." — "How did you discovered that?" — "I think, when I was young, I read a book that mentioned this." — "Talk to me. I want to listen."

.ᐟ.ᐟ TOJI 'HUMAN FURNACE' FUSHIGURO

Toji knows how to read someone. It's useful. If he can understand their desires and fears, then he knows what to expect. When it comes to you, what surprises Toji is that he uses this skill to help instead of getting something for himself.

He learned to read you. To understand what your body tells without the need to hearing it from you. Toji understands when something makes you upset, mad, uncomfortable. Even when you're drowning on your emotions and nothing else makes sense: Toji knows you.

And what he learned is that, to silence your mind from all those confusing thoughts, something bigger against you can be distracting enough. To be more exact, to have Toji against you. On his lap, between his arms, beneath him on the couch.

THIS PACKAGE INCLUDES: "I'm warm? How sweet of you." — "Can you hear me now?" — "You feel like you can’t breath? I'll let you go when you get sure of that." — "How's your mind now? Too crowded?" — "Forget about them. Just look at me. That's right. It's you and me, nothing else matters."

.ᐟ.ᐟ SATORU 'DEFENSE ATTORNEY' GOJO

Has someone been harsh to you? A boss ignored your rights? A doctor diminished your requests and questions? You know who to call: Satoru Gojo, your beautiful, funny, interesting, inteligent, kind, considerate [50 adjectives later] boyfriend!

Satoru WILL fight anyone that tries to disrespect you. Don’t matter who, don’t matter why. He's ready to throw hands (or cursed energy, to specify). It can be your mom, he doesn’t care. No one messes with you.

But he also defends you in more pacific terms. He will give whole ass lessons to people that tried to argue with you. He will keep talking until they get it right. If someone tries to embarrass you, Satoru is embarrassing them. He doesn’t care about anyone. If they were able to make you uncomfortable, than they are able of dealing with some discomfort too.

THIS PACKAGE INCLUDES: "Well, actually..." — "I understand what you're saying. Completely. But you're wrong and I will tell why exactly why." — "Say that again." — "You must think you are so funny." — "You think so? Ok, sit down. I'll explain it all to you."

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[lokisgoodgirl]

In Your Hands [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: That irritating, smug, asshole Loki has taken your final fuck to give. Or so you think... Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Smut. Avenger! Loki x female reader. Mild BDSM (ball related), hostility, enemies to lovers. Language. (w/c 2.4k)

Loki’s curses beat the air behind you, and the door from the training room slammed; smothering them.

I fucking hate him, I fucking hate him.

In your experience, dramatic exits should be reserved for special occasions. And striking an ego-killer blow to Loki ‘Godsplainer’ Laufeyson was a special-fucking-occasion. It’d been a long time coming. Although you hadn’t meant to punch him quite so sharply in the balls.

I’m sure he’s had worse, you thought as the stale sweat of the changing room hit.

The last thing you’d seen was Steve’s wide, earnest eyes as Loki had doubled over in a slap of dark hair with a muted oomph—the final syllables of his snarky ‘advice’ fading along with his sperm count. You did warn Loki if he told you the correct way to deliver a blow to the transversus one more time that you’d start intentionally missing.

Not my fault he never fucking listens.

It’d been building for months: every ‘actually-I-think-you’ll-find’; ‘bad-form-even-for-a-mortal’ and ‘are-you-sure-you’re-meant-to-be-here…did-you-sneak-in-with-the-domestic-staff?’.

But under it all, the worst thought of all was your own: you still want his praise.

You picked up someone’s shoe from the floor and lobbed it at the lockers – pure, impotent rage ratcheting back with the clang. If Steve kicked you off the A-Team then so be it, worth it to see that moment of pure, wretched shock in his eyes every time you closed your own.

Breaths scraped from your throat, trying to stop the tremble in your hands. You’d spent months trying to catch his eye like a desperate pick-me teenager, spent months wishing his approval into existence: the aloof, pretentious god. Begging any higher power who’d listen for the chance to kneel at his feet and choke on his cock while he called you a good-fucking-girl. You’d bought an emerald green lingerie set for Christ’s sake. It was still in the box—the returns window a dot on the horizon.

Embarrassing. If he knew, you think you’d die of shame. Months running yourself into the ground trying to fit what he’d want and for what? Fuck. “Do you feel better, now?” The ripple of Loki’s smarm filled the air like steam, but it’s edge could cut stone.

Your lips pinched, biting back a slew of curses. You’d expected Steve, but not him.

The idea of turning made your feet root even firmer to the floor. But with every strained second that shifted past, thickening the air, he was winning—staring at the back of your head with that imperious look that only said one thing: I’m better than you, and you know it.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t hold your breath.” Loki released a low chuckle. “Be assured, I can wait much longer than you. How much of your meagre lifespan would you squander staring at those dismal tiles in order to preserve the façade of your superiority, I wonder?”

You spun with a force that twinged a nerve in your neck. “My…?” It came out in a pathetic gasp. “My…superiority?!”

Loki’s face was the picture of serenity: posture impeccable, lips straight. His eyes slid between yours, brows peaked in sanctimonious expectation.

Borderline indecent gym-wear clung to the sinews of his muscular body. The material was like elasticated silk, and every time you’d made contact in training it made it impossible not to imagine frotting against him: bitch in heat.

The lines of the sweatpants draped like a sheet of liquid tar to the bulge of his thighs as he shifted his weight and said, simply, “Yes.”

Heat flared up your neck.  “You’ve got some fucking balls, Laufeyson, I’ll give you that,” you hissed, regretting it immediately. “I’m not sure your knuckles experienced my anatomy’s full glory to report on such an accolade,” Loki replied without a beat. “Their contact was a little brief…”

He tilted his head, an infuriating dimple crushing into one cheek as the heat scorched up your cheeks and made your eyes itch. “A little…weak.”

“Maybe I should twist them again,” you said, folding your arms. You hoped he couldn’t see the fingers trembling. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he crossed the changing room in three, elegant strides and loomed so close that your bellies touched. “Go on then,” he goaded. “You seem under the impression I don’t like it.”

You searched his face, noting the tremor of something deeper than the familiar irritation. Was that…but, it couldn’t be. “What are you doing?” you whispered, stumbling slightly against the lockers. The heat from his abdomen radiated through your gym top. Christ, his stomach was so hard.

“What are you doing, Agent?”

A few black strands had come loose from his ponytail, sticking to the sweat pearling on his jaw. “All bark, no bite,” he murmured, squinting lightly.

His scent crept up your nostrils like smoke under a door: fresh musk, the linger of the cologne he wore at last night’s party, and above it all a scent that was inextricably him. You could never put your finger on it. It drove you mad: just like the rest of him.

Loki released a short puff of irritation, eyes rolling to the side. “I knew you didn’t have it in you.” As he took a step back, your mind skidded to a stop as a hand flew to his chest, gathering a clutch of the slutty gym top, making no effort to cushion the scrape of your nails against his skin, and pulled.

Loki’s mouth crushed to yours with a gasp, his hands flying to the lockers on either side of your head with an ominous crunch of metal. His breath groaned into your throat, the softness of his lips jerking your senses.

Had you expected them to be cold, hard, unwelcoming: just like the rest of him? Yes. But there was time to mull over that later.

Loki’s tongue nudged against your lips, and you relented. The tension in your body seemed to melt as he draped over you like liquid; the cage of his frame and the rub of a thumb down the valley of your cheekbone making you forget just for a second how much you really fucking hated him.

“Show me,” he murmured against your neck. You hadn’t even realised the kiss had slid apart and your head was tilted back against the lockers, the god’s mouth raging a ravenous path down the valley of your throat.

“Show you what?” you panted, bringing your head forward so quickly your vision swam. A lopsided grin spread across his mouth. “How much you hate me,” he said. “You have a problem.” The barb was unnecessary, but Loki’s grin widened all the same. “Discipline me, then.”

His sapphire eyes blazed as your hand flew to his shorts, grabbing his crotch. Fingers curled around the soft, tight sac nestled below the huge erection snaking up the hip joint. Loki hissed, stomach clenching, more clutches of hair falling free. His forehead pressed to yours as your grip tightened.

“Fuck,” he grunted, voice tapering to a whine. You squeezed tighter, and the lockers behind you crumpled under the strength of his fists bearing down.

“Harder,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His legendary cock twitched above your white knuckles, straining against the running shorts and Loki’s narrowed eyes glistened, the muscles in his jaw and the veins in his neck hard enough to pop.

“Apologise,” you spat, and Loki’s breath hitched as you gave him a brief moment of relief before clenching an even tighter fist than before.

His trainers slipped against the floor, thighs shaking with the effort not to fall to his knees. Even gods, it appeared, shared some of the weaknesses of men. Loki flipped his hair back.

“Why should I? You’re the c-combative v-viper.” A deep set of lines furrowed his forehead, rippling with each flex of your fingers. “You’re nothing but a shit-talking, spoiled prince with a big cock and nice hair,” you said, every muscle tingling with the desire raging through your veins. “You noticed,” Loki said with the twitch of an eyebrow: incorrigible, even in this position. “The hair, I mean,” he added. He didn’t mean the hair.

The god swept your forearm to the side, and your fingers ached immediately. How tight was I holding him? But there wasn’t time to wonder. His kiss slammed into you with the force of a storm, teeth clashing and his fingertips digging in to your scalp and the wet slide of lips across your own. “Loki,” you breathed, and he moaned into your mouth in response. You found yourself bucking against his hard body, grasping at everything and anything you could to be closer to him; to wind yourself so tightly to him that you though you might snap.

And then, your fingers were playing at his waistband. Loki drew back: eyes wild. “Really?” he asked, flushed and breathless. You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of ulterior motive, any sign he was about to pull the rug from under you. You gave a curt nod, and Loki’s expression rippled with surprise.

Your hands slid up the sides of his face, tangling in his hair. “You better make it good, considering you have a lot to make up for.” Loki snorted, “Please,” and then several things happened at once. Out of the corner of your eye, the door to the changing room glowed green around the crack. Loki shoved the waistband of his shorts down, scooping his cock in one hand while you fumbled with your leggings and send them skittering across the gleaming floor. “Norns,” Loki groaned as he cupped your breasts under the flimsy sports top, palming upwards. Beneath the bra, your nipples were hard as pebbles.

His brows peaked as his gaze rose from your chest to your face: a realisation that there wasn’t time for all that— all the filthy things you were beginning to realise he’d fantasised about. All the filthy thing you were beginning to accept that you’d fantasised about. “Maybe next time,” you muttered, pulling his hair-tie free in one sharp movement. A wicked smile unfurled on Loki’s lips.

He dipped, burying his face in your chest as he cupped the back of your thighs and you let out a gasp as he hoisted you upwards. Your legs folded around his hips, slick pussy flush to his stomach, sliding down the taut skin until you met the solid bar of flesh beneath.

“Oh, Agent,” he said in your ear, low and smooth, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You shoved his shoulder, but Loki’s fingertips sank into the soft curve of your ass, pushing you up so your slit hovered above the crown of his cock.

His eyebrow rose. “Last chance,” he said with a ladle of sarcasm.

Steadying one hand on his shoulder, you scraped the other through his hair, winding in a fist. You tugged, slowly…slowly, and Loki groaned, letting you sink onto his cock with every sharp ache pinching at his scalp. His thrusts weren’t like you imagined: selfish, primal, uncontrolled. If anyone was a Jackhammer —you’d always imagined it would be Loki. But his hips rolled like dough, undulating against you until your eyes rolled back and the rear of your skull cracked against the lockers. “Harder,” you sobbed quietly, nails digging into his back muscle. “Harder,” Loki groaned, his breath hot in the hollow of your neck. “Ruin me, Agent—I’m in your hands.” You dragged the nails deep against his skin: not enough to break blood, but close. Loki’s ragged breaths of pleasure made a new thrill swell between your legs, meeting his sloppy fucks like you were trying to beat him.

The fist wound in his hair yanked again, and again, and each time…the gods hips jolted. His thrusts were faster now— your moans higher— the rattle of the metal lockers and the squeak of rubber soles on tile making your mind swim. “Can I come?” he gurgled between rough exhales, and you pulled his face to yours. There was something in his eyes you’d never seen before—swimming in the whirlpool of blue. “No,” you said, and his head fell back to the ceiling. Loki’s veined cock tugged every inch of your walls as he pulled out, and buried in, stars bursting in your vision as climax began to shift and slide in the depths like a riptide.

Your legs spasmed against his hips, crossed ankles digging into the base of his spine, the grip on the god’s hair unbreakable. Biting back the urge to sob his name, you slammed your hips down to the root of his length, pulling Loki’s mouth to yours. His tongue massaged the syllables of his own name forming on your tongue, the rumble in your throat matching the one you could feel in the depths of his chest.

“Gods,” he choked when you broke, panting, riding your cunt in sloppy thrusts.

You could feel the slip of your cum between your thighs, and coating the length of his cock: and Loki could too. He looked at you with something a little like fear, one hand flying from your ass and steadying against the lockers.

“Can I—” he started, but before you could respond his knees buckled, wobbling as orgasm hit him like a train. Loki’s cry echoed around the changing room, the pained pleasure of his release making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Fuck: he was beautiful. And now...it was over. A sharp stab of sadness slipped between your ribs. The doorhandle shoogled violently. “Everything okay in there? Loki?” You and Loki’s eyes met. Steve was outside. And he wasn't alone. “What if he’s fallen? Jeepers, the floors are freshly waxed for crivven’s sakes—” “—will you calm down. I think Loki can handle himself on some polished floors,” Sam said dryly through the door. “—Bet that’s not the only thing that’s been polished,” Bucky replied, and even at a distance you could feel the heat building in Steve’s cheeks. “You’re disgusting—our comrade could be in peril. I don’t know what got into her.” There were a series of snorts, and several brisk knocks. “Yo, Laufeyson. You in peril in there?” Sam asked, and Bucky’s laugh followed. “Yes,” Loki whispered; brushing a sex-damp strand of hair from your cheek. His eyes searched yours, pinning you to the lockers as he lowered you to the floor. “I think I might be.”

Tags in comments: ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜❤️

[itsabird-itsaplane-nopejustabird]

DPxDC Prompt

I've had this idea for a while (since seeing that art of Johnny and Kitty robbing a bank so Danny can get Top Surgery lol) but I haven't even had the brain to work on my own fic recently (sorry about that btw) so I'm writing this instead

So the concept:

T4T Johnny and Kitty, who died in the 80s after running away together.

Johnny was the kid of some rich asshole automobile mogul from Bristol, and Kitty was one of the workers' kids from the Narrows. They become friends, fall in love, both realize they're trans around the same time and then decide to run. They know that being trans on top of tax bracket difference gives them almost no chance of making it. Johnny steals a bike and a fuck-ton of money from his parents, and Kitty's parent(s) helps them leave.

They're still toxic and spiteful as hell, but nothing the other does can change the fact that they know and understand each other better than anyone else could.

They travel around the country being menaces together for a while until they decide to settle down in a strange city called Amity Park. They figured it could handle a couple more anomalies. But before they can get there, they get into a bike wreck with their final thoughts being of each other and Johnny specifically cursing his bad luck in life.

The next thing they know, they're in the infinite realms being given the chance to stay together and the freedom to simply exist with no strings attached. (Other than each other cause I firmly believe that they're mutually the others' obsession)

About 20 years have passed, a portal to their old world is permanently open and this scrawny little ass kid ghost that they've never even heard of keeps stopping them from going through it.

It isn't until Johnny actually starts paying attention a few months into it that he notices that first, the little shit can actually fight, and second, HE WAS FIGHTING THEM WITH A BINDER ON. (Johnny also vaguely wonders why Danny looks so much like his old neighbor Brucie, but that's less important than the binder thing). Johnny lets out the universal ghost fight timeout signal and vaguely explains the situation to Danny, who seems confused about the noise he made and why it made him stop.

Johnny gets Kitty to spread the word that if the timeout isn't called off by the next morning, stay TF away until they get an all-clear.

That night, *after yelling at him a bit*, he starts teaching Danny how to reshape his ghost form to his preference and even his vocal cords.

From there, Johnny and Kitty sorta ghost adopt him as a sibling and then take him to Frostbite to make sure his T-shots are ecto compatible.

(I hope this was coherent it's 4am for me and I haven't slept lol)

[paarksunghoon]

part two for this (https://www.tumblr.com/paarksunghoon/764887604741210112/heeseung-with-a-corruption-kink-and-maybe-size?source=share) please…Heeseung corrupting her into fucking 🤤

part 2 to this drabble

warnings: subtle (?) manipulation but not really because she wants it, she’s just shy

***

Heeseung’s got you on your back with the pillows situated underneath your head for support while he leans down to kiss your lips once before pulling back. He’s bare from the waist down and all you’re wearing is sheer tank top. His breath touches your lips. Paired with the way his dick is sliding between your folds, it almost makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.

“Let me stick it in,” he whispers, pushing his lips to kiss your neck softly. His feather-like touches make you shiver.

You don’t say anything yet. The boy on top of you keeps his ear close to your mouth and your soft whimpers make him hornier by the second. You hear the wet splashes and how it sounds as he glides right against your wet pussy, and it almost convinced you to give in.

“It’ll feel so good,” he says against your neck. “Are you scared, baby?”

“A little…”

Heeseung brings his head up and pushes your bottom lip with his thumb as his dick catches your clit. “Are you a virgin?”

You shake your head. “It’s just…it’s been a while.” Heeseung grunts from above you. His warm cock feels alright against you. You’d probably be really tight, tighter than the girls he sleeps with.

“I’ll make it feel like the first time.” He grinds even slower, letting his dick make its way up to nudge your clit at its own pace. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want, I swear.”

You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling. “You already do.”

“Mm, yeah I do. But I’ll make you come with my dick inside of you. Don’t you want to feel good too?”

“I don’t know…”

“I love grinding, don’t get me wrong, but…” Heeseung lifts his hips just high enough to rest the tip of his dick against your hole. “Grinding only does so much, ya know? Fucking though…your pussy’s gonna love it.” He pushes the head inside and loves the way you gasp and clench his biceps.

Ever since that might a few weeks ago, Heeseung hasn’t been able to get you anywhere farther than grinding, sometimes with or without clothes. He has his share of girls to hookup with when he needs hard and fast sex, but he can’t deny that the slow pace you set keeps him on his toes. He loves that lovey dovey shit in between his rough hookups but he won’t admit that to you. You’re a pallet cleanser for him.

He thinks he might be addicted to the change in pace when he’s with you because you don’t really expect him to be anything or anyone when you’re both together. You let yourself be pleasured in a way other girls don’t. Heeseung enjoys the high intensity he gets with other people but, mostly, he likes that he doesn’t have to think too hard when he’s with you. It’s probably why he keeps coming back even though you haven’t let him fuck you yet. So far, you’re the only person who can get him to stop what he’s doing or leave whoever he’s with for the chance to actually hook up.

“See?” Heeseung says when you clench around his tip. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…” His tongue licks against yours and captures another moan from you when he starts to thrust only his cock head into you.

“You’d love the way I fuck.” Something about your silence and compliance underneath him makes him crazy. Heeseung seems to let go of his demanding person when he’s got you in his bed and finds himself talking you through it.

“Oh yeah?”

Heeseung smirks against you. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah. I know you want that kind of sex, baby. I feel it every time you sit on my lap and get yourself off.” You feel him push another inch in when he speeds up his hips. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I promise.”

“Do you…do this? With other girls?”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Do what? Fuck?”

You look always. “N-No…do you make them cream?” He pushes even more of himself inside you just thinking about it.

“All the time,” he moans. “Love it when my girls get all wet like that. It’ll be hot when you do it too.” You clench again. “Ohhh. That felt good. Do you like it when I talk about how I fuck?”

You suck even more of him inside of you. He grins wickedly. “You’re so dirty, aren’t you? My shy little thing, have you been hiding?” Heeseung laughs. “I prep them all nice so they’re sopping wet. Some like it when I fuck them dry at first. Others like it when I show no mercy and make them all creamy.

“Everyone loves it when I come inside, though. They always tell me it feels so good. It’s good for me, too. Love watching it drip out of their pussies.”

Your legs wrap around his body as his hand comes to grip one of yours. Heeseung pushes the rest of himself all the way in and drinks in the way you moan into his mouth. His pelvis touches yours and he grunts right into you.

“I like the slow sex with you, though,” he says honestly. There’s a lot of truth behind it, even if he can’t figure out why. “I don’t do the whole kissing thing, you know. Just with you.”

You snort. “Sure.”

“It’s true.” He bends down to kiss you and mumbles against your lips. “I’ve wanted your pussy around me more than anything.”

You barely speak above a whisper. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung picks up the pace and feels your chest bounce against him. “Want my dick?” He moves like he’s on autopilot when you nod, keeping the slower pace until you give him a signal to go faster. “We’ll get you up there soon.”

“To where?”

He chuckles. “Rough sex, sweetheart. I know you want it. You clench every time I talk about it.”

“Mm, yeah…”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He kisses your lips again. “It’ll take some time but that’s okay, right? I’ll have you get used to me until you’re ready. We can practice until you get there.”

“We can?”

His cock slides in and out of you like some kind of physical prayer. “As much as you want, sweetheart. All day and all night. Whenever you want.”

You don’t say anything. He feels your arms encircling his shoulders and that tells him everything he needs to know. Speeding up his hips, Heeseung fucks you well into the night and you lose count of how many times he makes you come.

Despite himself, he stays the night.

***

[logansdoll]

thinking about logan x reader who’s literally the most introverted but bluntest person he’s ever met. that meet-cute (if it could be called that…?) would be entertaining as hell

cottontail

wolverines are known to prey on rabbits... which would explain why Logan was looking at you like that.

CW: fluffy fluff, heavily suggestive, profanity, i kinda changed it up a bit, takes place after X-Men (2000), reader is a bit of a personality, reader also has a bunny mutation, again kinda iffy on how this turned out, etc. (@OstarwomenO for the inspiration)

"And, finally, the gym," Ororo finished, motioning toward the door. "Much like the Danger Room, we use it to train or spar, but strictly without powers."

Logan cocked a brow, ears perking at the faint sound of music coming from the other side of the door, along with the rhythmic thuds of limbs slamming against a mat.

'Huh...'

Ororo insisted on giving him the official tour of the mansion now that he was back from his trip to Alkali, seeing as she never got the chance to when he first arrived.

And, of course—Logan being Logan—he waved her off, insisting he'd be able to figure it out.

But the woman did not take no for an answer.

"Someone in there?" he asked, shifting his cigar to the side of his mouth as his thumb jutted toward the door.

"Just (y/n)," she shrugged, an amused smile rising her to lips. "It's actually kinda ironic, she rolled in about an hour before you did yesterday."

That was the new smell he picked up on.

It was the same one the hallway was currently drowning in—not that he was complaining.

It was sweet and musky, with faint, floral notes and a smidgen bit of earth—like taking a breath of fresh air in the middle of a meadow.

"And I didn't run into her?" Logan raised a brow, feigning indifference.

Ororo let out a dry chuckle, as if she was in on a joke he wasn't, "(y/n)'s a... character. She kinda does her own thing around here."

Character?

Forget indifference, the man was intrigued.

"I can introduce you if you'd like," she nodded, her eyes widening slightly, remembering something. "Fair warning, she says whatever she wants. So just... don't be shocked when she says something appalling. She's a sweetheart once you get to know her."

'Jesus...'

She made it sound like he was about to meet some sort of feral grizzly bear.

Logan shrugged, and she let out a sigh, pressing the keypad and opening up the door to reveal you.

Grizzly?

No.

Feral?

Entirely possible.

With a wide grin, you weaved around, dodging jabs from the automated dummy before back-flipping onto the wall and pushing off like a spring.

Tackling the robot, you slammed its head into the ground, winding for a second blow when it suddenly bucked you off.

You recovered quickly, shifting in mid-air so you landed on your feet, before launching another attack.

Jumping high, you landed right on the dummy's shoulders, locking your thighs around its neck before effortlessly throwing around your body weight, sending it crashing to the ground

But that wasn't it.

With a soft grunt, and a small twist of your legs, you popped its head right off in a flourish of sparks and circuits—the action sending a warm tingle through Logan's stomach.

'Damn...'

You pulled yourself up off the ground with a laugh, grabbing the robot's body and tossing it in a pile in the corner—which consisted of at least twenty others.

"Finally," you sighed, jokingly, as the two entered further.

You sauntered over to your boombox and cut the music, dusting off your hands.

"This is a disgrace. How the hell are the kids supposed to learn from these things, 'Roro? They barely last two minutes."

She playfully rolled her eyes, fighting off her smile as she pulled you into a hug, "I hope you know you're paying for those."

You chuckled, giving her a loving pat on the back, "Put 'em on my tab."

Logan was still transfixed.

In all his years, he had never seen a mutant like you before.

(h/l), (h/c) hair, plump lips, heavenly curves, made evident by your workout clothes, or slight lack thereof, stark white bunny ears, equally white tail, paired with alluring (e/c) eyes.

You were dripping in beauty and confidence.

Logan, so mesmerized, didn't even realize that you'd already cruised your way over, and were now standing directly in front him.

"I take it you're Logan," you smiled, shamelessly staring at him. "If I knew you were this handsome, I woulda introduced myself sooner."

"(n/n)," Ororo scolded, pinching the bridge of her nose.

'Here we go...'

"Is that so?" Logan smirked, amused by your blunt start to the conversation.

"Hell yeah," you nodded, shifting you weight on your hips

You weren't stupid.

You saw the way he was staring at you, and you heard the way his heart frenzied when you walked over.

So what's to say you couldn't have a little fun?

After all, it wasn't every day you'd meet someone as sexy as Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.

"Of course, I could always do that over a few rounds."

His brow quirked with interest, eyes slowly flitting over your body at the proposition.

"On the mat, that is..." you chuckled, reading him loud and clear as you turned to walk toward the sparring area, stretching out your arms.

"That works, too," he grinned, tugging off his leather jacket.

"You two are doing this? Really?" Ororo groaned, resting a hand on her hip.

"Yup."

"She asked for it."

Ororo sighed, deciding to check herself out for the day and head for the door.

"Y'know what? Knock yourselves out. I'm gonna take a nap," she waved, turning the corner. "Don't break anything."

Logan scoffed, cracking his neck as he stepped onto his side of the circle, "No promises..."

You grinned, pleasantly surprised by his seriousness.

Many assume that because of your mutation, you're just some helpless little rabbit—as kids, you and Scott got into a huge argument when you caught him pulling his punches.

But Logan seemed ready to throw down, a fact that not only excited you, but made the man move up a great many rungs in your respect ladder.

"You sure you want this?" you smirked, lowering yourself into a split, stretching your legs. "I don't go easy."

'Goddamn, how flexible is she—'

"Neither do I," he snapped himself back, playing it off with a chuckle. "Let's see how long you last."

You scoffed, tongue in cheek as you stood up, shifting into a defensive stance.

'I'm gonna kick your ass, mutton chops."

"I'd like to see ya try, cottontail."

[confessioncassette]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐍𝐚𝐦-𝐆𝐲𝐮 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

summary : getting high leads to dirty, dirty things

tw : getting high, smoking, dry humping, minimal fingering, this may be dubious consent [DUBCON] due to being under the influence and the boys have been waiting for a chance with you, very small yandere themes if you SQUINT

words : 1.7k

notes : I’ve been unhinged lately. Feral. Horny. I want to be stuck between two men. I was too lazy to write a full fic or many details of this concept… AND it’s not proofread. It’s honestly not my best work… sorry…. but I still hope you enjoy!

Thinking about…

“Well, no,” You squirm over your heels, “I’ve never actually been high.”

The duo looks back at you utterly perplexed. Before Namgyu opens his mouth to question, you continue.

”I just don’t think I did it right the first time. It was out of a soda can,” Your gesture with your hands but your excuse didn’t change their glare, if anything, their eyebrows furrowed into confusion.

“And I don’t think I inhaled all the way.” You paused for a moment, eyes darting back at the two who were giving you judgmental looks, “I only took one hit.”

The air is plagued with an uncomfortably long moment of silence before Namgyu stifles a laugh and hugs his arms across his chest.

“So, what? Last time you smoked was in high school? No one has used soda cans-“

”Shut up Namgyu,” Thanos slaps his friend over his chest with a muffle thump.

“You want to try it tonight?” The purple haired man continues, his blue colored contacts scan your face in anticipation.

And that's when you find yourself sitting rigid on the end of the couch, curiously watching Thanos roll a blunt over his glass coffee table. Oldschool R&B plays low over the speaker and the glow of purple LED lights create a soft contrast to the night sky through the large windows.

His pink tongue carefully licks the paper, eyes finding yours as he does, offering a wink before slender fingers slide over the edges. Namgyu lounges over the fur rug below you, mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“I always have to roll because he can’t. You should see how fucked his shit comes out.”

“Shut the fuck up, T,” Namgyu retaliates, “I like when you do it because it’s not as tight.”

The other man ignores his friend and directs his attention solely to you.

“Okay, pretty girl,” Thanos flicks the lighter, bringing the blunt to his lips. Namgyu looks up from his phone, brows raised as he watches his friend.

”Watch me.” Thanos says, voice low with bass, before inhaling the joint, the tip growing brighter as he does. Once done, he passes the joint to Namgyu and sucks the smoke in deeper.

You squirm, rubbing your sweaty fingers together over your lap. You watch Namgyu sit up to take a hit, blowing a cloud of smoke to the side. His eyes meet yours, extending his hand to offer you a hit.

You hesitate, and they notice.

”You don’t have to-“ Namgyu begins but you cut him off.

“No, no, I want to try.”

You take the joint to your lips and suck in slowly, attempting to copy what Thanos had done. The musky taste fills your senses, warm and itchy, tickling the back of your throat almost immediately. You tried, like really tried, to keep it in but your body reacts without a second thought and you cough uncontrollably. Squeezing your eyes shut, you lean forward, hacking up a lung. Puffs of smoke leave your mouth with each cough and tears swell almost immediately.

Namgyu reacts almost instantly, sliding onto the couch next to you to pat your back.

”Yeah, it burns like shit when you’re not used to it.”

Moments pass and you catch your breath. Your eyelashes sticky from tears, most likely messing up your mascara in the process you look over to Thanos, who carries a slack smile. You didn’t even notice the quick look he shared with his friend.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, first time is always rough.”

“Do you want to try again? I doubt you inhaled anything with that.” Namgyu offers.

You suck in a breath, cringing at the man beside you, but he gently takes the joint from your fingers, his touch lingering a moment.

”Trust me, it won’t hurt as bad this time.” He gives you a sheepish smile.

”There’s nothing to worry about, baby. You’re safe, we got you if anything happens.” The purple haired man reassures you.

You nod, adjusting your frame to face Namgyu completely. You wanted to try this after all. It’ll probably be your only chance to try it anyway. You gotta live, you know?

Namgyu brings the paper to his lips, sucking in deeply while his eyes never leave yours. His intense stare ignites a flame deep within your belly, and before you know it, his palm slides over your knee. The warmth of his flesh simmers over your skin, his pinky toying with the hem of your dress before leaning close. His other hand comes up to gently caress your jaw, tilting your face up to him.

His scent has you surrounded and you’re incapable of moving. His intense stare drawing close and the wafts of swirling smoke and cologne filling your nostrils paralyzes you. For what felt like forever and a second all at once, his nose grazes your cheek, bringing you back into reality.

“Open, baby,” Thanos murmurs from across the table.

Opening your mouth for him, Namgyus soft lips graze yours and begins pushing the smoke inside. This time, the smoke felt smooth, hydrated and warm.

”Breathe in.” Thanos guides again.

You inhale slowly with every push he gave until there was nothing left. Once done, he lingered close to watch your every move. You felt his breath tickle your cheek, hot and intoxicating. Looking up at him through thick lashes, his gaze was already upon you, eyes swimming dark with desire. Losing yourself in the moment, heartbeat thumping between your ears, you almost didn’t notice that the couch dipped behind you.

“My turn.”

Thanos’s arm slithers around your shoulder to grab the blunt from the other man, once again snapping back to reality and releasing your hypnosis from Namgyu. His chest presses firmly against your back, his different scent wafts up to your nose, filling your scenes with clean shampoo, cigarettes and an airier cologne. The paper crackles when he takes a hit, incredibly close behind to your face before you feel his fingers sliding up the front of your neck. With his palm flat over your trachea and fingers splayed along your jaw, he adds pressure in turning your head into his lips.

Thanos’s lips were hungrier than the other, confidently latching onto you, pushing the smoke inside your mouth with his tongue. You take him fully, inhaling every last bit of smoke he gives. His lips were sweeter than Namgyus. Traces of candy burst your tastebuds.

The palm that caresses your neck slides up to your jaw, the pads of his fingers pet against your flesh, sending wavelengths of chills down your spine.

Once he was finished, he pulled away only a mere centimeter to allow you to exhale.

The duo continued this for another round, guiding your face back and forth between the two of them. Each time their lips lingered longer and longer, hungry to devour you whole. Like they were waiting for you to make the first move, or waiting to see who of the two would begin the downfall. It was only a matter of time that you felt the side effects creeping through your veins, viciously spreading throughout your body. It was gradual at first, until it hit you head on like a door being opened in a hurricane. Your skin prickled and crawled, while your mind grew hazy and light. Their faces became one, meshed together in a vision.

You began to giggle.

“There’s our girl,” Namgyu’s knuckles graze over your chin, his other hand creeping up your thigh, palming at your muscle.

”Feels good, yeah?” Thanos lets you lean back into his chest, his arms slung over your waist. The joint lays forgotten in the ashtray, but the musky scent lingers heavily.

You giggle and nod in response.

“I’ve never felt like this before! I feel… feel…” you nuzzle yourself against Thanos, “so relaxed.”

”Hey,” the mans chest behinds you vibrates, lulling you deeper into your high. You want him to do it again-

“Keep talking it feels good,” you mumble.

”Baby, you know what would feel even better?”

You hum, drifting, drifting… Namgyus kneading over your thigh feels too good.

“Sit up for me.” Thanos says lowly, but you remain, completely entranced by Namgyu’s ministrations.

Thanos shot his friend a look, stopping him from teasing you. You protest when his warm palm leaves your skin, only to be replaced by thick arms hooking under your pits to lift you up.

”Here we go, sweet girl, up,” Namgyu says softly before placing a chaste kiss under your ear and turning you around over Thanos.

You adjust to your newfound position, straddling the purple haired man. You open your eyes to find his face close to yours underneath you.

“Su-bong, I feel great.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head to observe him in the purple ambience. He looks so beautiful.

Blue eyes swimming with an emotion you can’t decipher scan over your face before he pulled up into a deep kiss. Large hands tug your hair and pull you impossibly deeper, and for a moment you feel like you might suffocate. It was voracious and wet, his tongue slipped past your lips instantly to taste you fully. He rumbled, a groan that came deep from his chest awakened all your senses.

Your core rested fully now over something hard and warm.

Thanos breathed into your kiss, devouring your lips like he was a man starved. His hips bucked up into you, igniting the fire between your legs. Your body erupts in a hazy desire grinding back into him, letting a sweet moan fall past your lips.

Rocking back into his thrusts, Thano’s breath becomes ragged and the hands that pull you close search your body, running over every curve like he was carefully studying you. Your mind’s completely drifting into this ecstasy so much so that you completely ignore the feeling of Namgyu flipping up your dress to expose your ass.

The other man sits up and kneels before the two of you to palm his cock over his sweatpants.

“Wish you could see the way her ass bounces from back here, oh my god.” Namgyu groans.

This earns a growl from Thanos before his exploring hands move south to grip your ass, spreading you open. Namgyu could almost cry at seeing the wet spot on your panties now spread in full view for him.

Your cunt drags along Thano’s thick shaft as he dry humps up into you. Your body rocks roughly over his between wet kisses. Your mind spins, your body completely limp in his grasp, his blunt fingernails dig into your flesh like he’s afraid to lose you.

Namgyu leans forward a slender finger to trace along your wet core over your panties, the other hand palming himself a little more roughly.

“She’s so fucking wet, T, look.” Pulling your panties to the side, you jump at the sudden intrusion of his finger.

“It’s okay, pretty girl, just want him to taste you.” Slowly, Namgyu scoops up your slick to rub between his fingers. You’re sweet and sticky like honey, and he admires the sight. He allows himself to play with the juices between his fingers, watching sticky strings expand and droop before his friend growls - a warning to hurry up. At that, he leans forward to present the sight to his friend.

When Thanos breaks the kiss, you groan, hanging your head in the crook of his neck. You inhale his sweet cologne mixed with sweat, drifting once again in pure bliss. Your core aches for release now, so you mindlessness hump and hump when Thanos turns his head to taste his friend’s fingers, moaning before he does just at the sight of your slick.

“Holy shit, you’re so sweet.” He groans.

”Let’s bring her to the bedroom, yeah? The couch is too small for this.”

[princesssmars]

you sometimes forget how… slightly obsessive, violet could be. nsfw.

when you were younger you had a love hate relationship with her tendency to become so completely fixated on something. staying up for hours at night thinking about their next score, holding a grudge for years against anyone who got piss drunk and pissed off vander in the bar, planning and fidgeting over the perfect way to ask you out for weeks before you finally took the step yourself.

even if it got her into danger, got her and her siblings into a temporary struggle that made your heart stall with the thought of nearly losing them, you always reminded her that you thought her fixation on things was cute, and a useful tool about half of the time.

(you even said that the trait reminded you of powder, always blabbering to you for as long as she could talk about her new ideas for gadgets and bombs. the girl was overjoyed in sharing something in common with her big sister, immediately climbing on her back to ramble about something new.)

but then you actually you lost her. you lost all of them. and you wished you had told her that that insecurity she had, all the insecurities she had, were stupid and inconsequential to how perfect you thought she was.

but maybe you’ll get the chance to tell her (and tell jinx that yeah, you were right, i did start seeing ghosts too) because a scarily realistic replica of your ex is standing in front of you and before you can shoo it away she’s hugging you so tight you think your ribs will break.

you follow as ekko gives her the tour of the firelights base, admiring each and every way she’s changed. she’s taller, obviously stronger, wearing a prison uniform that you don’t if you’re allowed to say looks good on her and a red jacket she stole from some guy because of course she did. you stifle a laugh as she tells the story and she smiles at you, indiscreetly wrapping your hand in hers.

it’s obvious by the look on his face ekko is so going to tease you about this later, but you don’t get a chance to care when she turns to you and ask where she and her enforcer friend can sleep. and janna knows you want to offer for her to sleep with you, but it’s been years and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable so you lead her and caitlyn to the newbie dorms.

but it seems like you’ve forgotten just how damn stubborn she is, because not even half an hour later a loud banging at your draws you from your bed, her flushed and nervous face shocking you into silence.

she asks to come in, but with her it’s always more like a demand then a question. you try to ignore the burning feeling of her eyes trained on you as you lead her to your bed, rolling your eyes as she aggressively flops back onto it.

“holy fuck, i haven’t been on something this soft in years. i think i’m gonna fall asleep right now.”

“i wouldn’t be mad if you did.” well, you’d be a little upset. you have so much to talk to her about everything, anything that’s happened since she disappeared. granted a lot of it was bad but there were still a few things you think would cheer her up. she’d already told you enthusiastic she was to eat jerichos again, just wait till she found out that-

you must of zoned out for a minute because you’re shocked back to reality by soft lips pressed to yours, vi’s bandaged hand cupping your cheek like you’ll fade into dust if she lets go. you mentally kick yourself in the head for not responding quicker when she pulls away and looks at you with that sad puppy look she gets.

“i, i’m sorry. it’s just, you were staring at me for a while! and it’s been so long since i’ve seen you and i don’t even know what we are or if we’re still girlfriends but you’re even more beautiful than the last time i saw you-“

you cup both of her cheeks in your hands,(maybe a little too hard) give her a second to back away if she wants, and pull her back in. her arms wrap around your waist and she lets out a whimper when your hand travels to the back of her neck to pull her closer and closer-

and now it’s around one hour? maybe two? it’s a while later, and as her hand travels back into you for the fourth time, yeah, you’re starting to remember how obsessive she could be.

“vi, baby - oh my gods, y’know you can slow down!” your voice pitches when her fingers, her beautiful long and big fingers push up against that spot inside you, her other hand keeping your hips down when you involuntarily raise them off the sheets.

“don’t think i can, princess.” she groans into your breast as she sucks another path of bruises down your chest, slate eyes amused at how your hands grip the bed like it stole from you, how your mouth opens so cutely before you bite your lips to hold back your sounds.

her mouth finally closes around your clit and the increased sensitivity from your past orgasms combined with the almost growling sound she makes when she tastes you sends you right over the edge, thighs clamping around her head as she carries you through it.

the rubbing of her rough hands over your thighs and her gentle words of praise merry drag you into the beginnings of a soft slumber.

until you can feel the damn brute lift your legs onto her shoulders and stick her tongue inside you, laughing at your shocked squeal and resumed grip on her hair.

“besides, we’ve gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

writing a drabble based on the fic you’re writing instead of finish the fic i’m such a genius like 😍😍 glad her tag is coming back but i want content coming out like a factory line ok everyone get to work 🙏🏽

[velvetures]

Soap would be so fucking protective of you, and I can’t get it out my head. So now it’s your problem :)

You don’t like drinking? He’s the first to draw attention away from the lack of a beer bottle in your hand. Using that irresistible charm to woo everyone out of their questions and peer pressure to get you to join in. He sees how nervous it makes you. And he’s far too sensitive to your feelings to let it happen. Besides… he’s gotten really good at giving the right orders to bartenders, so that he can give you some fruity, soda-laden thing, that passes off as one of the other cocktails all your friends are nursing.

Uncomfortable family dinners? You know, that one where your least favorite uncle is oh-so-willing to give you shit for not going into the career all of them think you should’ve pursued? Oh hell no. Soap won’t spend one second thinking over whether it’s polite or not to speak up. He just does. Abandoning your mom’s casserole he’s been complimenting with a full mouth, just to look your bastard of an uncle in the face and tell him he’d be better off complaining to the business end of a pistol. At least then, he’d get a response that would shut him up for good.

That ex who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer? He’s as good as dead. Not that he’s instinctively jealous… because really, he knows better. It’s just the mere thought of someone taking advantage of your life. Of your time. He’s livid because you’re too special to be harassed like that. Treated like a game that can be picked up and put down whenever the mood arises. Soap won’t make a spectacle of it… but the monthly calls and texts suddenly stop after a while. And you think it’s because you finally broke down and changed your phone number a second time. But… that hadn’t stopped your ex the first time. Soap just shrugs. Giving the excuse that common sense might’ve given him a change of heart. Johnny just didn’t have the heart himself to tell you that ‘common sense’ didn’t have the chance. He was far quicker.

Soap had lived a life so uncomfortable for so long, that seeing a sweet thing like you experience it becomes intolerable. It’s as if all of the killing and destruction he’s committed was for nothing, when something -even trivial- blockades your walk through life. His nature is to fix the problem. And his training only enhanced the instinct to do it violently. Quick and controlled action, using brute force to make the world spin to your tempo. And god… you hate when he does it. Constantly reassuring him that you’re an adult. That you’re prepared for life not to be easy, and that it’s only going to make you stronger in the end.

He won’t hear it though.

He wants you soft. Desperately, actually. More of a requirement for his own happiness than anything. And often times he thinks that it’s selfish. That maybe he is truly robbing you of some experiences that might be good for you. Make the life you lead interesting for the kids and grandchildren you tell stories to. But then again, he’s so staunch in his ways, that it comes to fruition like muscle-memory. Placing you on your silken throne and taking a defensive stance in front of you like a medieval knight hellbent on keeping his royalty alive and well.

John MacTavish knows your place and it’s to be behind him. Right where he can protect and provide, without the fear of you crying or getting hurt by the seemingly endless amount of people who unfathomably don’t want the same things for you. They all say they love you… want the best… but he challenges it.

Every. Single. Time.

[umadosedepascal]

DIRTY HOLIDAY | Pedro Pascal X f!reader | One Shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You go with friends spend the holidays in Mexico, such a coincidence to be at the same resort as Pedro. What a world, so small huh?

wc: 3.7k

rating/warnings: [little surprising plot] [Pedro being Pedro][unprotected PIV][oral sex m/f] [alcohol comsuption] [Curse words]

a/n: C’MON GUYS. Do I need to explain myself after yesterday pictures and videos? NO. FUCKING HELL NO. wtf Pedro.. WHY is he so fucking hot??? WTF. 😭

You are going with your friends to Mexico to spend the holidays this year. It was a tough decision to make because you always spend the holidays with family, but this time you decided to try something new away from home since your whole family always judges you. Your dad always comes to you saying, “You’ve been drinking a lot, my baby; slow down…”

All you want to say is that you are a grown woman and do whatever you want, but every year you keep behaving as an angel to them.

You and your girlfriends get on the airplane on the 24th, heading to Mexico for 2 weeks.

All of you are very excited and feeling some freedom in the air.

“Hell yeah, the first thing we get there will be a round of tequila shots… you gotta deal with me…” and your friends laugh with your sassy attitude.

A promise is a promise. You check in, change to your bikinis, and go to the bar by the pool.

“Hey buddy, 3 shots of tequila, por favor?”

The barman looks at you with half-closed eyes. “ID first, my ladies; you look under 18…”

Although you are all over 27, actually, you three hand your IDs on the counter and look around the pool waiting for your drinks.

One of your friends comes to you and says, “Hey, isn’t that guy from….”

Your jaw drops, your legs start trembling and shaking, trying to hold on to something and not to fall… “YES?”

Pedro is lying down on a sun chair in red shorts, drips of water are running down to his bare chest, and he is really deep into a book.

“I need my shot RIGHT NOW!” You say loudly to your friends, trying to compose yourself at the same time.

They know you have a crush on him and talk nonstop about his work, so this is going to be a wild trip if you get to meet him even for a second.

“Second round is on me; let’s do it,” one of your friends says.

All you can think about is him. You don’t stop to look in his direction and try to plan how to approach without being a silly, stupid, drunk idiot.

The most down-to-earth friend of yours tries to calm you down, saying that you will have your chance, etc., but you are so far away in your thoughts that you ask for a large margarita and tell them you're going to take a sun chair as close as possible to him and see what happens.

“You crazy! But yeah, good luck; I hope he’s not a dick with you…” one of them tells you, hopeless, not trying to hurt your feelings.

“Dick? Yeah, I want some dick… You laugh, already buzzed, walking towards the chair right next to his.

As long as you get near him, by himself, still deep into the book.

You already worked up the courage and asked, “Hi, is this chair taken?”

He gives a side eye, looking at you from head to toe. “No darling, all yours…”

As you sit on the chair, you can hear your friends from the bar cheering like party animals.

You look at him saying, “Jeez, these people know how to party, huh?” Hoping he didn’t see you before taking shots with them a few moments ago.

“Yeah, yeah… young people... having their time…” he says with a smooth voice.

You feel relief because he didn’t see you before with them and anxious at the same time because YES, you could start a chit chat with him.

“Erm, yeah…” You don’t know how to keep this going and pick anything that you find inside your ecobag just to create other possible ways to talk.

Lay down on the chair, put on your Ray-Bans, and open the FUCKING MAP of the resort.

Jesus, what am I doing? Should I say I know him? Should I just ask what he is reading or maybe wait for another brief comment coming from him?

You can see by the side of your eye that from time to time he looks at you, but very, very fast, you just hold that giant map, feeling like you're on mushrooms with empty thoughts on your mind.

You’ve got your friends getting drunk and cheering for you from the bar and the hottest guy in the world by your side.

Think wisely…

You grab your drink from the side table and sip it.

“Is that good?” He asks you.

Pretending like you got scared, almost dropping the fancy glass on the floor… “Did you just.. talk to me? Um, well, I had better ones. But this one isn’t bad at all…” you describe your drink with a shy smile.

What the fuck did I say???

He chuckles, closing his book and now sitting down on the chair.

“Hm... 3-star review? I’m getting one myself; I like cheap stuff.”

You simply just give a “ha” to him as he stands up and walks towards the bar.

Your friends get wild; at this point, they might think he is going to talk to them for sure.

You immediately look at them trying to mimic something like, “Nooooo, noooooo, don’t say shit, you motherfuckers!!!”

You are in a panic because you know them and what they are capable of, especially under alcohol influence.

But they understand wrong; they know you always need a hand in terms of trying to flirt with someone else.

You see one of them approach him, saying something and looking at you at the same time.

You are screwed up. You know.

The only thing you can do now is wait for your end, getting big gulps of your drink and trying to calm down.

He comes back with a wild smile on his face saying, “I just met your friends over there; they told me things... you don’t need to hide anything…”

You sit down quickly. “What? Hahaha, they… They are buzzed; don’t believe in what they say…”

He keeps looking at you with half-closed eyes. “Hmm,” he sits on his chair sipping his drink and says, “Yeah, it’s not that bad at all…”

You simply don’t talk for some moments; your anxiety is building up like a pressure cooker.

Until then… “Hey Pedro… I’m sorry… I just wanted to say hi, but I’m already drunk, and I don’t know how to start a proper conversation. They probably told you I’m a sucker for you… and the ‘dick’ thing as well. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a stalker; I don’t want to bother you. I just think you're awesome, and it was a stupid idea to come over right here, right now.” You run over words.

“Wow, wow, wow, they just told me to be nice to you, haha, because you care... about me.” Pointing to himself.

After you say all that with a flushed cheek, you let out a loud laugh looking at your friends that are already out of sight. You get more desperate saying sorry a million times, trying to compose yourself.

“What more did they say?”

“That you are awesome and know everything about my stuff, but with moderation… I don’t know what they meant, but yeah, I just didn’t catch your name…"

You tell him your name with eyes open and disbelief that your friends, for the first time, did a good job, but not you… not you.

“What’s the dick thing you told me?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Aaah, nothing… being a dick… that’s it.” You say, looking to the ground with shame.

He grabs you by the chin and says, “I would never be a dick to a beautiful girl like you…”

You feel a shiver down to your spine when he touches you like that.

Oh shit…I’m already wet without even getting into the pool.

“I, I think I need to… brb…” You leave everything behind and go straight to the toilet, locking the door and sitting there.

Breathe in, breathe out.Ok, I will just grab my stuff and disappear…What did I do?

As soon as you open the door, Pedro is there waiting…

“I usually don’t do things like that; it can be the vibe, my drinks, or even Xmas. I don’t know…” He says, grabbing your hips, pushing you back to the toilet, and closing the door behind him.

“Is that what you wanted? hm" He rubs his beard on your face, searching for your mouth.

He guides your hands to his growing bulge while running his right hand from behind you, rubbing one finger over your pussy.

You moan when he rubs his finger roughly against you…

“So wet already for me…” he says in between sloppy kisses.

“Since the moment I spotted you here, yeah…” you whisper, with both hands stroking his cock over the shorts…

Then Pedro takes you slowly to the sink and sits you there, spreading your legs…“Let me see what you got, beautiful… spread more…” putting your bikini bottom aside and lowering to the same level.

You grab his wet hair with one hand while he tongue darts you deep, sucking your lips and moaning low with pleasure…

You don��t even blink, just looking down at him savoring you, such a tease.

No fucking way this is happening…

You can feel his nose rubbing against your clit; you are getting close to the edge, but suddenly people knock at the door…

“Oh dammit…” You murmur disappointedly.

Pedro stops his worship on you and tells you with a low voice, “My room isn't far... want to see what naughty presents Santa has for you?" His fingers trace small patterns on your thighs, making you shiver.

“But we need to be discreet… What’s your room number? I meet you there…”

Pedro chuckled softly, his breath tickling your ear. "Discreet, huh? I like the way you think." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispered, "Room 217, second floor."

Luckily nobody is at the door anymore, so you sneak out the toilet.

You try to find your girls just to quickly freak out and disappear again, but there's no sign of them.

You come back to the pool area, and Pedro isn’t there anymore; you bite your lip, get a deep breath, take your stuff, and go towards the elevator.

Room 217

You knock twice.

The door slowly creaks open, revealing Pedro standing there, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing his chiseled chest. He's holding a bottle of tequila and two glasses. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily.

Stepping aside to let you in, he whispers suggestively, "Merry Christmas to me, indeed." He gently shut the door behind you, his free hand trailing down your arm. "Hope you like tequila..."

“Hm, yeah, better be careful… right?

Pedro's eyebrows shot up, a devilish grin spreading across his face at the memory. "Ah, but that was just a sample of what I can do sober. Imagine what I'm capable of now, all loosened up." Doing a little dance…

Then he pours two generous glasses of tequila, sliding one towards you before picking up his own. "I've got a list of naughty things I want to do with you..."

Oh, he wants to play a game…I’m just gonna faint 😮‍💨

“Oh… tell me more…” You push him to the sofa, sitting on his lap.

A deep, sexy chuckle escapes his lips as he lets you push him onto the sofa, his hands immediately finding your curves. "Mmm, you're being a naughty girl..." He takes a sip of his tequila, then offers you the glass. "You first."

“My list? With you... it is an extensive list. Better you tell me yours first…”

Pedro leans back into the sofa, a confident smirk playing on his lips as his hands continue their exploration of your body. "Well, since you asked..." He takes another sip of tequila, his eyes never leaving yours.

The motherfucker is a tease; I knew it… I knew it!!!

His hands wander up and down your body possessively as he continues. "I want to see those perfect lips wrapped around my... gifts." He punctuates his words with a gentle bite to your neck.

"Then I want you bent over this fireplace mantel while I take you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.” His fingers trailed along your waistband suggestively.

“Wow…You really don’t waste time on your list, huh?” You start unbuttoning his shirt all the way down.

He chuckles, his eyes locking onto yours as he sees you unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest and abs one button at a time. He helps you finish the job, tossing his shirt aside. "Guess not..." He growls, pulling you closer.

Pedro's lips curled into a wicked smile as you slowly head down towards his chest, his hand lightly gripping the back of your neck.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur approvingly, pressing your lips against his nipple.

He let out a low groan as you began to suck, his other hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "Fuck, just like that..."

You let out a soft laugh. “So… you like some worship on your nipples, huh?”

A deep, sultry chuckle escaped his lips, his voice husky with desire. "You're learning my secrets, aren't you?" His hand urges your head towards his other nipple. "Not just my nipples... but every part of me deserves some worship."

“That’s how I make my way down…” you whisper.

His breath hitches as you whisper your intentions, his body tingling with excitement. "Well then, I can hardly wait to feel those heavenly lips trailing lower..." He guides your face down his torso, his abs clenching instinctively under your touch.

As you kiss and nuzzle your way down his abdomen, Pedro's hands rest lightly on your head, his fingers gently guiding you. "Lower... lower... yes, just like that..." He hisses as your lips brush against the waistband of his red swim trunks.

You slowly peel back his zipper, the sound echoing in the room. Pedro's breathing grows heavier as you reach inside and wrap your hand around his thick, hard length. He lets out a low groan as you pull it free, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck... oh god..."

Pedro's cock twitches eagerly as you firm your grip, the skin velvety soft, a prominent vein runs along the underside. The head is broad and round, flushed a deep red, with a tiny slit oozing with pre-cum. His hips giving an involuntary thrust forward, seeking more of your touch. "Don't tease me, beautiful..." He breathes out, voice strained with lust. "Put those gorgeous lips to work."

As you bob your head up and down, Pedro's hands tighten on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin. He starts to thrust gently…”Fuck... You look so beautiful with your mouth full of me..." He pants, his abs flexing with each thrust. His hands move to cup your jaw, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he guides your movements. The wet sounds of your sucking fill the room, mixed with his guttural groans.

I take you out of my mouth for a few seconds. “You taste so good, but I don’t want you to reach the edge, hottie…”

His breath catches at your words. "Mmm, teasing me now? You know exactly what you're doing..." His tone is a mix of both frustration and deep satisfaction. "Yeah, don't make me come just yet…”

“Yes, let’s work on your list…” You say, sitting back on his lap, cleaning the corner of your mouth with his precum.

Pedro's eyes darken with desire as he watches you clean your mouth with his precum. "Fuck, you're so naughty... I love it." He reaches out and runs his thumb over your lips, spreading it around before leaning in to claim your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

“So…What did you say about the fireplace? Second of the list…”

Pedro smirks mischievously. "Ah, the fireplace... I was thinking we could move our little session over there." He stands up, lifting you with him effortlessly. "I want to bend you over the mantel and fuck you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.”

Pedro carries you to the fireplace, setting you down gently on your feet. He spins you around and bends you over the ornate wooden mantel, the cool marble pressing against your skin. "Keep those elbows locked," he commands, a firm hand on the small of your back.

Not happy with that, you just suggest, “Why don’t you just take me to the bed?”

"Because the bed is too ordinary," Pedro murmurs, running his hands down your thighs possessively, "I want to do this here, where I can watch myself take you in the mirror." He steps back to admire the view, his eyes roaming over your arched back and rounded bottom.

With a mischievous tone, you ask him… ”and you like to watch yourself?”

"Right now I’d love watching myself fucking you," Pedro confesses, his voice low and husky with desire. "Seeing my cock disappear into your pussy, feeling your body shake as I pound into you... it's fucking incredible." He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the loose strands.

"And the mirror," he continues, his other hand reaching out to the mantel to steady himself as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Watching myself push into you, feeling your tight little hole squeeze around my dick as I fuck you hard against the mirror... fuck, it's going to be perfect."

With a deep grunt, Pedro thrusts forward, sheathing his hard length inside you in one smooth motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside you before he starts to move, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you hard against the mirror.

"Look at us in the mirror..." He reaches around to cup your breasts while continuing his steady pace. "Watch how beautifully you take my cock. Those whimpers you're making... fuck, you're perfect." His pace quickens, his breath becoming ragged against your ear.

His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The mirror fogs up from your panting breaths and his sweat, obscuring parts of the reflection but not enough to hide the lewd scene unfolding before it.

In between moans, you beg him to take you to the bed; you can’t stand your legs anymore with so much pressure.

Pedro growls, pulling out of you abruptly and spinning you around to face him. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, tossing you onto it before climbing on top of you. "I need to be inside you again, now."

He settles between your thighs, his hard cock pressing urgently against your slick folds. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, easing the tip of his shaft teasingly along your slit. As you comply, he grips your wrists, pinning them above your head with one strong hand.

Pedro leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you again, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with lust as he begins to move, thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, your pussy feels amazing," he grits out, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Pedro quickens his pace, his grip on your wrists tightening as he chases his release. The room fills with the sound of his hips slapping against yours and your breathy moans. "I'm going to fill you up so full," he pants, nipping at your jaw. One of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb. "I want to feel you come on my cock…”

"Fuck, you're getting tighter... Is this what you need, baby?" His thumb presses harder against your clit as he fucks you with deep, forceful strokes, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "Come for me..."

Pedro feels your walls clench around him, and he growls, "That's it, cum on my cock." He slams into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. His thumb circles your clit frantically as his release builds. "Fuck, I'm close..."

With a loud grunt, Pedro explodes inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His thumb presses hard against your clit, sending you over the edge as you scream in pleasure, your pussy milking his cock for everything he's got.

He stays buried inside you, his thumb slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves as he nuzzles his face against yours, breathing heavily. "Damn it, I will tell your friends you are amazing… they were right..." He murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck.

After a moment, Pedro slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free from your still-quivering pussy. He collapses beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Can we keep up with this list?" You say.

He kisses the top of your head, his heart still racing from their intense encounter. "I think we should keep going, yeah. There are a lot more things on that list I want to try with you." He pulls out his phone and starts typing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, I need to check on the girls...” you say, worried about them being away for a couple of hours already.

Pedro looks up from his phone, his expression softening. "Of course, go check on your friends. I'll be here when you get back. But don't be too long, okay?" He says giving you a little wink.

As soon as you go back to your room, you find your friends passed out on the bed.

Well, I guess you will leave a note at the door saying thanks for the little help, and you guys will catch up on the next day because you won’t sleep in the same room for a while… The list is endless.

😈

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